He said, “You look like you’re thinking way too hard. Just chill. You’re on holiday.”

She ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass. “So who do you think the people are renting the villa next to me?”

He shrugged. “I have an idea.”

She sat slightly forward, looking at him expectantly.

He noticed this and grinned. “Hey, no grand revelations, okay? I did check with the real estate office in town, but they don’t handle that listing and didn’t know anything.” Shaw wasn’t about to admit that he’d talked to the agent controlling the listing or that he knew she had too.

“Okay,” Reggie prompted. “And?”

“And I think it might be some political type. You know. They have an entourage. They send in security ahead of time. Stuff like that. I saw it all the time in D.C.”

Reggie sat back, trying not to look disappointed. “Or it might be somebody quite rich, even richer than me.”

“Right, right. Like Bill Gates or Warren Buffett.”

“Or a mobster. You said the one guy looked really tough.”

“Well, even Bill Gates probably doesn’t hire wimpy-looking security. You want to look tough as a deterrent. Goes with the job.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“We’ll just have to wait and see who shows up.”

Their food came and as they ate the conversation turned to other subjects. They drove back to Gordes two hours later when the daylight was just beginning to run out completely. When Shaw turned onto the small side street leading to Reggie’s villa a man dressed in a black suit and a white T-shirt stepped in front of them, blocking the way. Shaw had to stop so abruptly that Reggie bumped against him and almost slid off the scooter before righting herself.

Shaw lifted his visor and eyed the guy. He was only a couple of inches taller than Janie, but even through the suit Shaw could see the guy was wiry, not a gram of fat. The hair was curly, the chin jutting, the eyes focused and missing nothing, the hands strong and nimble-looking. Shaw knew he was right-handed because the shoulder holster was on the left side under a little bump-out built into his jacket just for that purpose.

“Where you folks going?” Pascal asked pleasantly.

“I’m taking this lady home,” said Shaw. “And since this is a public street, I’m not sure why we’re even having this discussion.”

Behind him Shaw could see Reggie squirming slightly. He felt one of her fingernails digging into his side.

Pascal turned around and stared at the two villas. “Ma’am, are you the one leasing that villa?” He pointed to the one on the right.

Reggie didn’t lift her visor. “Yes.”

The man gazed at her, his eyes running up and down, from the helmet to her long bare legs.

“So you’re Jane Collins?”

Now Reggie snapped up her visor. “How did you know that?”

“The real estate agent was very helpful.”

“That’s an invasion of privacy.”

“No,” Pascal said calmly. “It’s just part of my job.”

“What job would that be?” asked Shaw.

“Let’s just say I’m in safety management.”

“Can we go now?” asked Reggie.

“Sure, I’ll just follow you on up and make sure you get in okay.”

“I don’t think the lady needs any help,” said Shaw.

Reggie said hastily, “No, it’s all right.”

Shaw puttered up to the villa, the Vespa’s single headlight illuminating the way, while the man followed behind. They could see that not only was the Citroën van back but there were two large SUVs that had somehow made their way up the narrow streets off the main road heading into Gordes without shearing off their side mirrors. The villa also had all the lights on inside. Shaw could see shadows pass back and forth in front of one window.

They slipped off the Vespa and Reggie opened the door. The beep-beep of the security system sounded.

Pascal had stopped near the scooter and he nodded appreciatively. “Good thinking, ma’am, using your security system. Can never be too safe.”

“Do you want me to come in, Janie?” Shaw asked as Pascal stood there watching.

She hesitated before eyeing the other man. “No, that’s okay. I’m tired. Thanks for dinner.”

She closed the door and Shaw got back on the scooter.

“Foxy woman,” said Pascal.

Shaw had known men in special forces units around the world who looked just like this guy. They could run circles around the tall, bench-press-muscled jocks. In that line of work the essential wasn’t strength or even speed, it was endurance. The tortoise definitely won in that world. These guys could kick ass with the best, shoot the wings off bees at four hundred yards, change plans in midstream, read complicated maps on the fly, employ stealth when it was called for, and steamroll the other side when stealth was all played out. But in the end it was all about survival. That’s why Shaw had never lifted many weights but had instead run the soles off his sneakers up one side of a mountain and down the other. That and a good, true aim and stout nerves made all the difference between going home safe or getting wedged in a box for all eternity.

He broke free from these thoughts when Pascal stepped next to him and said, “You need anything else? If not, I’d appreciate you moving on so I can secure this area.”

No overt threat, very professional, Shaw thought. The guy was good. But then a man like Waller could afford the best. Shaw rode back to his room and phoned Frank.

“Okay,” Frank said after Shaw briefed him. “Game on. Keep me posted.”

Shaw changed his clothes, waited another three hours, and then headed back out again on foot, after retrieving his night optics-which looked like an ordinary camera-from the hotel’s safe deposit room. He slipped through the dark streets of Gordes. Normally he would be pleased that the target was in town and on schedule. Even though the villa had been rented and the private tour at Les Baux arranged, plans changed and there was never any guarantee that Waller would actually show up in Provence. Yet Shaw was not pleased. The target was here, but so was Janie Collins. Shaw suspected nothing good could come out of that.

30

REGGIE LOOKED in the bathroom mirror as she washed away her makeup with a damp cloth. She had on a long green T-shirt and white bikini panties, and her hair hung straight to her shoulders. She turned off the light and moved to the window overlooking the street in front. The van and one SUV were still there. The second truck had left about twenty minutes ago; Reggie had heard it start up but had been too late getting to the window to see who’d been in it.

She’d texted the professor and Whit and told them that Kuchin’s men were here. The message had gone out over a secure line, but would still seem innocuous to anyone who might intercept it. It had read simply, “Dear Carol, the views here are even more beautiful than I thought. I’m going to get up early to see the sunrise.”

She walked into her bedroom and edged open the window, which swung out like a door. From here she could see a portion of the rear grounds of the next-door property. She was startled to see the silhouette of a man sitting in a chair near the end of the pool smoking what looked like a cigar. There were no lights on in the back, but the moon was bright.

It’s him. It’s Fedir Kuchin.

If Reggie had had a gun, she could have ended the man’s life right then. But that was not the way they did things.

She saw the man flinch. Had he seen her watching? That would have been virtually impossible. She was not in his line of sight and there was no light at her back. Still, she eased back into the room but left the window open, figuring if she tried to close it that would alert him that someone was watching.

She drew a deep breath, pulled off her T-shirt and panties, slipped into her bikini, and walked down the stairs. She slid open the rear door and stepped to the darkened pool.