Deliver Us From Evil (13 page)

R
EGGIE HEARD
the horn toot from outside. She checked her watch. She was running late. She peered out her window and looked down on the
street below. Shaw was sitting on his Vespa near her front door. He was dressed in khaki pants and a white cotton shirt he
wore untucked. Loafers minus socks were on his feet. She tapped on the window, got his attention, and held up two fingers.

She hurriedly finished dressing and clipped on her earrings. Next she tidied her hair in the mirror, though it wouldn’t make
much difference after the ride on the scooter. She smoothed down the front of her dress. She’d chosen a formfitting one because
of their mode of transportation. She didn’t need a skirt billowing over her head as they raced along the rural roads of southern
France.

Finishing with her lipstick, she hurried down the stairs. She locked the front door and waved to Shaw.

“You look terrific,” he said.

“That was the goal,” she shot back. “You look very handsome in a carefree sort of way. So unlike a lobbyist. I’m duly impressed.”

“Good, because that was
my
goal.”

She climbed on the back and took the helmet he handed her, strapping it on.

“Pretty scooter,” she said, stroking the pale blue metal.

“Best way to get around here. Hold on.”

She gripped him around the waist and leaned into his back. With her hands around his middle Shaw felt a burst of electricity
rush down his spine. He even jerked a bit, it was so visceral.

“You okay?” she said.

“Fine. Just sore from all that paddling.” He hit the throttle and they sped off going about twenty kilometers an hour. When
they reached the main road he accelerated to double that.

“Okay, where to?” he called over his shoulder.

“I’ll tap your back left or right,” she answered. He nodded to show he got that.

Fifteen minutes later they were chugging up a steep hill, the Vespa’s 125cc engine whining in protest. Shaw found a parking
space and they lifted off their helmets and Shaw attached them to the bike. They walked up to the restaurant, which was only
a half block away, and sat outside on a terrace overlooking the valley.

“Nice pick,” said Shaw as they eyed the vistas.

“The food is wonderful too,” she said.

They placed their orders and, from habit, each took a few moments to observe the tables around them. When they’d finished,
their gazes settled on each other.

“So you’re divorced with two kids? Are they with their mother?”

“For now, but we share custody.”

Shaw broke off a bit of bread, soaked it in fresh olive oil, and then drank some of his wine. “How about you? All I know is
you’re rich.”

She wrinkled up her nose. “That’s pretty much it. I’m involved in a few charities. Mostly I travel, looking for something,
I guess. Just not sure what.” She took a sip of wine and tugged her hair behind her ear. She didn’t look at Shaw—her gaze
eased past him. For some reason Reggie was having a hard time staying in character.

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 also 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.

R
EGGIE 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.

“Okay,” she said quietly, “here we go.”

She slipped into the warm water, kicked off, and started doing her laps.

From the cliffs Shaw watched the two villas through his night glass. He saw Reggie standing at the window and then leaning
out to peer next door. His gaze next swung to the man in the other villa’s rear grounds. Evan Waller sat there smoking a cigar
while two of his security men stood nearby. Shaw zoomed in on the man. His optics gave off no signature, so he wasn’t overly
concerned that anyone could spot him. And even if they had night-vision equipment, he was looking through a crevice formed
between two boulders. The odds that they could “make” him under those conditions were too small to worry about.

Waller’s movements were leisurely. He was talking on a cell phone. A few minutes passed and Shaw was about to give up his
surveillance when he saw Reggie emerge from the back sliding door in her bikini, a towel in one hand.

“Oh, come on,” Shaw said to himself. “You know the creep was already spying on you.”

As though he had heard Reggie come outside, Waller rose and walked over to the wall that separated the two villas. One of
his men joined him there and was pointing at Reggie’s villa. Shaw zoomed in some more. It was the same muscle that had peeped
on the lady earlier. He was probably giving Waller a blow-by-blow account of the incident. The resolution on Shaw’s optics
was good, but not quite good enough to show someone smiling. However, even without the confirming picture, he was convinced
the man was grinning about whatever he was thinking right now.

Shaw flinched when the muscle bent down and formed a stirrup with his hands. A moment later Waller was boosted up and peering
over the wall. Shaw swung his surveillance in the other direction. Reggie was still doing her strokes. Shaw hoped she would
keep doing them until the two men went inside. His hopes were dashed as she stopped swimming and walked up the steps and grabbed
her towel.

Shaw swung back around to look at Waller, who was still peering over the wall. The son of a bitch was probably drooling by
now. Or maybe wondering if the lady would be a good recruit for his prostitution business.

He looked back at her.
Don’t strip, Janie. Don’t.

Now it appeared as though she’d heard him. At least she kept her bikini on, toweled off, wrapped it around her, and walked
into the house. No one watching her could see the waterproof bud in her right ear where she had been receiving communications
from Dominic. Shaw wasn’t the only one watching them from the cliffs tonight.

Waller quickly climbed down from his perch and the two men went inside. Shaw left his observation post and walked back to
his room. There was sweat under his armpits though the night was cool. He called Frank and told him what he’d just seen. His
boss wasn’t nearly as concerned as he was.

“I don’t care about the chick. All I care is that he goes to Les Baux on schedule.” He added ominously, “And that better be
all you care about too, Shaw.”

Shaw slowly put the phone down. He was a pro, been doing this forever. The only time he’d really lost it was when he’d allowed
himself to care about something other than the mission. Well, when he’d found himself caring about
someone
.