”“Couldn’t play for the other team?”“Not my A game. Nor my B or F game either.”“Right. Maybe blindfolded?”Trevor chuckled. “I can sm...ll them Joe. Even more blindfolded I would think. Believe me I tried. Both jobs.”“Couldn’t have been performance anxiety?”“Nope.”“Oh well.”Trevor scooted over. Opened the glove compartment. Took out a pen and a small pad. Wrote down his hotel and room number. Tore it off and gave it to Joe. “Tell him he can call,” he said. “Or just stop by.”“No.”“What do you mean. The Place Dauphine itself is a small, bare patch of dirt with a few trees and benches. But it is just behind the Palais de Justice, and from the front windows of the apartment she could see the spire of the Sainte Chapelle. It was an extravagance, in a way, but one she treasured and never regretted.Today, she walked to the Pont Neuf and crossed to the Cité, climbing the narrow, dingy stairs to the office."Good morning," she called as she entered the sunny front room. There were several. More

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