DON’T THINK I’ve ever seen water this clear,” said Reggie as they paddled along.

She was in front and Shaw was in the rear of the red kayak. He’d changed into long bathing trunks and a loose-fitting T-shirt with a life jacket worn over it. Reggie had on a striped bikini top under her life jacket and a pair of white cotton butt-huggers, thin enough for the striped bikini bottom to be visible through them. She had the same Red Sox baseball cap on, only now it was turned backwards.

“You’re good at this,” said Shaw as he watched her muscled delts work, dipping the paddle in and out of the water. He’d synchronized his movements with hers except when he had to use his paddle as a rudder to navigate them around the curves of the river, whose current was deceptively fast. In large masses under the otherwise clear water were bright green and purple vegetation and long strands of what looked like kelp. Shaw felt like he was in a large aquarium.

“I like the water. When I lived in Boston I crewed on the Charles River every chance I got.”

He said, “Okay, so you’re a ringer. Now I don’t feel so bad about not being able to keep up with you.”

“You’re doing fine.”

He dipped his hand in the water. It was very cold. He was definitely staying in the boat.

There were five other kayaks in their party, but Shaw and Reggie had quickly outdistanced all except for one. In that kayak Whit and Dominic, dressed as tourists and loudly speaking French, were acting out having a go at paddling. While Dominic held a camera and pretended to shoot video of Whit doing something funny, he was able to record about two minutes’ worth of close-ups of Shaw.

They had to stop at various small dams and the guides helped them transport the kayaks over them. There was one “surprise” rapid that they easily navigated before ending their river run and climbing in the kayak company’s van for transport back to their point of origin. Shaw and Reggie rode near the front, Whit and Dominic in the rear. The van rocked back and forth over winding and rutted dirt roads before they reached asphalt once more. Only once did Reggie glance back and flash Whit a signal by blinking her right eye. He answered by lightly squeezing the bag he was holding. Inside was the gun with Shaw’s prints on it. By prearrangement he’d snagged it out of her car while the others were getting their kayak gear together.

They climbed out of the van and into Reggie’s red Renault. Shaw had to bend his long torso and legs to awkward degrees to accommodate the small space.

“Euro cars are definitely not for tall people,” Reggie said sympathetically.

“I’ll survive.”

The drive back to Gordes took less than twenty minutes.

“You can just head to your villa,” he said. “I can walk back up to my place.”

“How about a swim and some lunch first?” she said. “You’re already dressed for it.”

He hesitated, mentally going through all that this might entail. “All right. Sure.”

They parked in front of her villa. Shaw glanced at the entrance to the villa next door. “Don’t see the Citroën.”

“I know. It was gone when I left to pick you up.”

“Interesting. I saw one of the guys walking through town this morning.”

“Really? Did you talk to him?”

He looked at her strangely. “Uh, no, he looked pretty tough. Sort of like a mobster.”

She unlocked the door, disarmed the security system, and led him into the back. She passed him a towel and some sunblock, pointing to his forearms that were already a bit red from the kayak ride.

“Yeah, all those years spent indoors,” he lamented.

They went out to the pool area. She slid off her shorts and stepped out of her sneakers while he pulled off his T-shirt and kicked off his sandals.

Behind his sunglasses he took a moment to assess her physical condition and came away impressed. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the woman and her muscles were lean and defined; her midsection was a hard pack, her calves as defined as a professional sprinter’s.

She dove in the pool and then came back up treading water with easy motions of her arms and legs. She nodded to her right. “That’s the deep end. Twelve feet. Don’t want you to hit your head, six-six.”

He dove in and came up next to her.

“I’m going to swim some laps,” she said.

And she did for the next twenty minutes, back and forth, flip-turning at the precise moment. He swam a few laps with her and then climbed out of the pool, toweled off, lay under the beautiful Provençal sun, and watched her.

When she came out later, she wrung out her hair, grabbed a towel, and looked up.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Shaw was standing on top of the stone-tiled dining table under a wooden pergola next to the wall separating her villa from its neighbor. The wall was high, but the table plus his own considerable height enabled him to easily peer over.

“Checking out the next-door thugs.”

She crossed the tiled surface in a flash and forcibly pulled him off his perch.

He feigned amusement. “What’s wrong?”

Her face was pink underneath the tan, her eyebrows knitted together in anger. “Just don’t do it again.”

“Why, aren’t you curious?”

“You were the one who saw the creep spying on me. You said the guy you saw in the village this morning was tough-looking. Like a mobster. I don’t want them mad at me. I’m on vacation.”

“Fine, fine. That’s reasonable enough. How about some lunch? I’m starving.”

She regained her composure and continued to towel off. “I was thinking a shrimp salad, some bread to dip in olive oil, and a bottle of white wine? I got some tomatoes, cucumbers, and artichoke hearts from the market.”

“Sounds great. Put me to work. I know my way around a kitchen. I can sous-chef with the best of them. Well, I can’t really, but I can slice vegetables.”

“I will put you to work.” She slipped on her shorts, but did not cover up her bikini top. She twisted her hair back and secured it with a red scrunchie. She’d looked more voluptuous in her sundress, Shaw noted. And yet he was really thinking that she’d failed his little test. He’d stood on the table—a spot he’d calculated could not be seen from next door unless someone were standing in the rear grounds—simply to gauge her reaction. She’d said all the right things, exhibited normal concern about getting mixed up with “tough” people. Yet Shaw had been doing this a long time, and his instincts told him that her emotional underpinnings accompanying these words were off the mark just enough. She was fearful, but not for the obvious reason.

He helped her fix lunch and they ate outside; their talk was innocuous for the most part and neither mentioned the developing plot next door. Later he walked back up to his hotel. He immediately checked the three little traps he always set to see if someone had been there. They were located such that a cleaning person would not disturb them while performing their regular duties—his desk drawer, his closet, and on one of his bags.

He sat back on his bed. Of the three traps, two had been sprung. While he’d been out cavorting with “Janie,” someone had searched his room.