Peregrine was close; he felt it.
The kidnappers had first said Algeria. Then, at the payphone, a husky voice had given him the name of this Parisian building. A dress on the balcony showed the apartment.
An upper window exploded in a blossom of shards and a body hit the sidewalk with a stomach-turning crunch. Another man appeared at the broken window and stepped out—placidly, deliberately—and landed on the roof of a BMW. Glass shattered; the car alarm began to scream.
Peregrine sprinted through milling crowds to the apartment entrance. Becky was definitely inside.
Powerful, special Becky.