St. Jacques smiled at Segal and grabbed Laurent by the arm. “We’ll see about getting you transferred to Montreal, sir.” The two officers left the patient with his visitor.
“They’re beautiful,” he said, nodding at the tulips. “They’re lying when they say that food is the fastest way to a man’s heart.”
“I know. I have a saw that’s much quicker.”
He laughed, but it hurt.
She leaned over and kissed him, a kiss of relief, and of hope.
Вы читаете The Dead of Winter
