HAW WAS MAKING his way around the crowds that had already gathered at the market. There were hundreds of vendors, some with simple baskets pulled from their old, tiny cars and set up on rickety tables, while others had row after row of stacked goods on professional-grade display racks. Idly killing time, he had been here an hour, had two cups of coffee and an almond croissant, and was about to make his way down a long narrow street where still more sellers had migrated when he saw them approaching.

He acted on his first impulse and took cover behind a rack of cotton dresses and ladies’ hats. He crouched down, as though he was examining a pair of leather boots on one counter, but his eyes behind the sunglasses were focused on two people.

Janie Collins and Evan Waller were walking arm in arm up the street to his left. She had a basket in one hand and Shaw could see that she had already purchased some things. Two steps behind them were the muscle. One was the runt from the night before, the other one was six-five and about two-eighty. Shaw scanned the other streets, doorways, and even the rooftops to see if any additional guards were around. He didn’t see any, and he would have if they were there.

What the hell is she doing with him? The guy must not have wasted a moment.

He fell in behind them, but keeping well back and using the cover of people and goods for sale whenever they looked around and might’ve spotted him. This was one of the few times when his height was a drawback. Taking refuge next to a stand selling hand-cranked music boxes and T-shirts, Shaw stopped to take a good, hard look at Evan Waller. He came away impressed, at both the man’s obvious physical fitness and his confident manner. He was clearly regaling the lady with amusing anecdotes, and for some reason Shaw’s gut clenched every time he saw her laugh at one of the man’s remarks.

For a moment Shaw thought Waller had looked in his direction when he was exposed in front of a stand selling leather jackets, but then the man had looked away and guided his companion to another destination. Shaw watched as Waller purchased a handcrafted necklace for her and then placed it around her neck, his fingers lightly touching Janie’s skin. Twenty minutes later, her basket full, the pair, followed by the silent sentries, slowly made their way back down to their villas, leaving Shaw standing there undertaking a swift analysis that led to nothing helpful.

He hurried back to his room and called Frank.

“The lady’s playing with fire and might just get burned,” Shaw said. “There must be a way to protect her from this guy.”

“Whoa, Shaw, whoa. I thought we had this conversation. We didn’t send your butt to Provence to protect some rich chick from the States. You’re there to bring in Waller, that’s all.”

“We can’t just let this guy…”

“What? Have his way with her?” Frank chuckled. “Geez, you’re a piece of work.”

Shaw sat on his bed and rubbed his thumb against his index finger so hard it made a squeaking sound. “He could kill her. Or kidnap her and make her a prostitute.”

“Yeah, right. He kills or snatches a wealthy young American staying in the place next to his just so the police will come and investigate? I don’t think so. And why would he do that when he can get as many fourteen-year-old orphans from Asia as he needs for his business? The guy’s on holiday. He finds out there’s a good-looking chick next door that swims in the nude. He probably just wants to get laid.”

“And that’s okay with you?”

“It’s none of my business. Do you see it differently?”

Shaw hesitated. He wasn’t exactly sure how he saw it. No, maybe he did, but was afraid to voice it, at least to Frank.

“What if she screws up the op?”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. But how about we just pull the plug on the whole thing?”

“Are you nuts?” barked Frank. “We don’t get him this time, he might not surface again until London or New York goes boom with a mushroom-cloud chaser. Now focus on the op, Shaw, and cut this other crap out.”

Shaw put down the phone and let out a small groan. After this was over he was never, ever coming back to France.