“Excellent.” He bent to kiss her hand.

Reggie turned when she saw the slender man emerge from Kuchin’s villa and start toward them. She noted he walked with a slight limp. He was dressed in blue slacks and a sleeveless yellow sweater over a white shirt.

Kuchin straightened. “Ah, Alan, let me introduce you to this lovely young lady. Alan Rice, Jane Collins.”

They shook hands.

“Alan is my business associate. He works all the time, but I succeeded in convincing him to join me here for at least a brief time.”

She said, “It was a good decision, Alan. There are few places like Provence.”

“So Evan keeps telling me.”

“Well, enjoy your time here.”

“I plan to.”

Later, Reggie was sitting on her bed and staring down at the tile floor. In a few days it would all happen. And during that intervening time she could make no mistakes, had to hit her marks to perfection, and still it might all go wrong. She knew that she had Fedir Kuchin where she wanted him. But she had been doing this long enough to know that not everything was always as it seemed to be. That he was cunning was without doubt, so she could not assume that she had deceived him fully. He was playing the role of the elder suitor quite admirably, but that was all it might be, a role.

She put her face in her hands. It was not easy, the career she had chosen. You literally couldn’t trust anyone. And there was something else on her mind.

The potential for evil lurks in all of us.

Though she’d openly disagreed with Kuchin’s opinion, in fact she could see some truth in it. Indeed, at a certain level what she did could be seen as evil. Judge, jury, executioner. Who was she to make those decisions? What gave her the right? And then there was the reason why she had chosen this life for herself. The image of her dead brother flashed across her mind. Only twelve, so innocent. A tragic loss.

She hurried to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and ran some water over her face. She had to stop thinking about such things. She had to focus.

She was playing Bill against Kuchin for the benefit of the mission. All the time she spent with either man was because of the mission, she told herself. Bill Young was merely a convenient piece on the game board, nothing more or less.

There was a momentary disconnect in her mind, like a flash of lightning’s effect on a TV. When her synapses started operating again, the revelation almost made her sick.

If Kuchin thinks I’m really interested in Bill, he might…

A part of Reggie was cold and calculating. That part said collateral damage happened, but if the mission was successful the sacrifice was justified. Another part of her was repulsed by an innocent person’s possibly dying just so she could claim her target. That, for her, was the epitome of the very evil she professed to be fighting against.

Reconcile that, Reggie.

Yet she had already set everything in motion. How could she possibly stop it now?

44

REGGIE STRIPPED OFF her clothes and showered, scrubbing so hard it felt like her skin was peeling off her bones. Afterwards she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, drifted downstairs, found her market basket, and headed up the hill to town. She left through a rear door that opened onto the cobblestone path so she would not have to deal with her neighbor.

An hour later she returned, her basket full of the ingredients for the meal. She prepped the kitchen, freshened up in the bathroom, and put on a white skirt and a light blue tank top. She remained barefoot, as she liked the coolness of the tile floor against her soles. She took time with her hair and face in the bathroom mirror, taking five whole minutes to decide on a bracelet and earrings.

She froze in the middle of this, staring at her made-up face and wide eyes made wider by the magic of eyeliner and mascara.

It’s jealousy. Playing one against the other. That’s all it is.

Whit’s voice sparked across her brain. “So this is all tied to the mission?”

She kept staring at her image in the mirror. “It’s always about the mission.” One more monster ticked off the list. That was all she wanted. And however she got there it didn’t matter.

The sound of the front doorbell almost made her collapse. She looked at her watch. Eight o’clock on the dot. She finished with her primping and rushed down the corkscrew stairs. When she opened the front door Shaw held up two bottles of wine. “The vintner in town swore these were the two best reds he had if my goal was to shamelessly impress a remarkably sophisticated lady of means.”

Reggie took one of the bottles and glanced at the label. “He was right. I am impressed. These must have cost you a small fortune, even in Provence.”

“I’ve never let money get in the way of fun. And as a lobbyist I’m used to negotiating folks down on things.”

She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He followed her into the kitchen, his gaze running over the twitch of her hips.

“Do you miss the work?” she asked.

“Not really. I basically was paid an extravagant amount of money to make even more money for people who already had too much of it.”

“I’ve got all the prep work assembled. Your instruments await you.” She pointed to a serrated knife and a wooden chopping board set next to a pile of vegetables and tomatoes.

“Okay, but first a thirst quencher.” He grabbed the corkscrew off the counter, worked the cork out, poured two glasses, and handed her one. They clinked and sipped. He put down the glass and picked up the knife. “So what are we having?” he asked as he started slicing.

“The main course is a stew with chicken, tomatoes, and vegetables and a few closely guarded secret spices. I’ve got a cheese platter and crackers with some stuffed olives to munch on beforehand. Then there’s salad, some bread and olive oil, and a little creamy dessert that I bought at the bakery because I can’t bake. The coffee of course will be from a French press.”

“Sounds terrific.”

“You know, as depressing as Goya can be, I really did enjoy today.”

He glanced over at her as she was stirring the stew. “Me too. Must have been the company.”

Reggie frowned. “Okay, in the interests of full disclosure, Evan asked me to go with him to Roussillon tomorrow.”

Shaw finished dicing a tomato and started on the celery. “Are you going?”

“I told him I would, but I think I’ll drive separately.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t seem okay.”

“If it were up to me you’d have nothing to do with the guy.”

“But it’s not up to you.”

“I’m acutely aware of that.”

“You really think he’s a bad guy?”

“Let’s put it like this, I don’t want you to feel the brunt of my being correct on that issue.”

She smiled. “Well, I take solace in the fact that you’ll be here to protect me.”

His thrusts at the vegetables became so fierce that she asked, “Is there something wrong?”

He dropped the knife and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “I’ve had a change in plans. I have… I have to leave tomorrow. To go back home.”

The color drained from her face. “Leave? Why?”

“Something’s come up with my son.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. Is it serious?”

“He’s not sick or anything. It’s more emotional than physical, but I’m his dad and it’s important enough to cut short the wonderful time I’m having here.”

“I can see why I like you. You have your priorities right.”

Shaw looked away, ashamed at her unwittingly misplaced praise. “So I won’t be here to protect you.”

“I was just joking about that. It’s not your job to protect me.”

When he glanced at her again she’d turned her attention back to the stove. Shaw sensed something else in her features. Was it relief? Was she actually happy he was leaving?