Deliver Us From Evil (14 page)

W
EARING HER SUNDRESS
, sandals, and a bright blue kerchief around her hair, Reggie unlocked the door to her villa, stepped through, and nearly
bumped into him. She looked up at the man and confirmed for herself that he looked even more intimidating in person than he
had in the old photos. He was dressed in black slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt that he wore tucked in and that showed
off his trim waist. Though in his sixties he had retained a great deal of the muscle of his youth. His shoulders were broad,
his arms sinewy, and his thighs hard under the black fabric. And yet what drew her attention were the eyes.

She’d beheld the gaze of many mass killers, but the power in Fedir Kuchin’s eyes was something at a different level. They
seemed capable of snatching every secret she’d ever kept right out of her soul. Compared to him the old Nazis were scared
children.

He put out a hand. “I appear to be your neighbor,” he said. “Evan Waller.”

His Ukrainian accent was gone now, buried under decades of a homespun Canadian cadence.

She shook hands, his long fingers enveloping hers. “Jane Collins.”

He stood uncomfortably close. He was four inches shorter than Shaw but still towered over her.

“I understand you had a little misunderstanding with one of my men last night. The fault is entirely mine. Rest assured it
will not happen again. I would like to make it up to you. Perhaps dinner tonight? At my villa or in the charming little village
up the cliff?”

His big body seemed to press in on her while she thought this through. She gazed for a moment over his shoulder and saw two
of his men staring at them. One had a little smile glazed onto his mouth. He was probably the one who had seen her naked by
the pool, she thought. Male lust was as easy to read as alphabet blocks. And then there was the smaller man from the night
before. For some reason she was more leery of him than the bigger man.

“Well, that’s very nice of you, but—”

He smiled disarmingly as he interrupted her. “No, no, before you reject me, think about it. I didn’t even allow you to lock
your door before pouncing. My apologies. I will await your answer later.” He eyed her straw basket. “You are going to do
some shopping, I see?”

She nodded. “They have a wonderful market twice a week in the center of town. Everything from clothes to vegetables.”

“Well, I must investigate this market for myself. Would you mind if I walked with you? It’s a lovely morning and I would like
to stretch my legs.”

“Did you just get in?”

He slipped an arm through hers and she was forced to walk next to him. His action was gentle, seemed natural, and yet Reggie
found no viable option of resistance without ripping her limb free.

“A long flight, yes. I live in Canada, my homeland. Before that I was in Hong Kong. Another even longer flight. Have you ever
been there?”

Reggie shook her head.

“A city more full of energy than any other.” He smiled and added, “And a place where one can get anything one wants. But you
are American, correct? You’re used to getting what you want.”

“Why do you think I’m American?” she said, feigning suspicion.

“Merely a reasoned deduction based on your accent and appearance factors. Am I not correct?”

“No, I am American.”

“Then we are neighbors in that way too. Our two countries. I see providence at work here.”

“When I came home last night your men knew my name.”

Kuchin waved his free hand carelessly. “Standard security procedures, I’m afraid. You see, I am a very wealthy man. I live
a very boring life and I have no enemies of which I’m aware. But the company I head up, they insist on these precautions.”
He laughed. “I’m Canadian after all; a peaceful hardworking people.” He patted her arm. “I can assure you that there will
be no more intrusions into your privacy.”

Really
, thought Reggie.
Does that include spying on me while I’m swimming?
She hadn’t the benefit of Shaw’s night optics, but from the corner of her eye she had observed him watching her last night
from over the wall. And Dominic had confirmed this through her earbud. Alerted by Shaw’s information of the peeping guard,
they had set up an observation post barely a half kilometer from where Shaw had been watching from the cliffs. However, Dominic
and Shaw had been totally unaware of each other’s presence.

“Are you really sure about that?” asked Reggie. “Your security person seemed very persistent.”

Kuchin was beaming as he rubbed her arm. “I am quite sure. He works for me. And I can see that you are a delightful young
woman whom I feel quite safe with.”

I look forward to proving you wrong on that, Fedir,
thought Reggie.

“And I understand that you were with a man last night? Please tell me he is only a casual acquaintance so that I have some
hope of seeing you on occasion while I’m here.”

“I just met him recently.”

“Wonderful. So no husband or longtime beau then?”

“No.” She looked up at him in feigned perplexity.

He seemed to interpret her look in just the way she desired. “No, no. I am single but I could have children your age, my dear.
Just indulge an old man who desires the innocent company of a beautiful young woman and nothing more.”

She said playfully, “You don’t look that old.”

“You just made my day far happier.”

“And you’re sure nothing more?”

“You’re playing with me, is that right?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Good, that is a good first step. Have you been to Provence before?”

“Once.”

“I have been here often. If you would permit I would take it upon myself to show you some of the beautiful sites near here.
The Palais des Papes, or Popes’ Palace, in Avignon, the finest example of a Roman aqueduct in all of France at Pont du Gard,
the photo exhibition caves at Les Baux-de-Provence, the beauty of Roussillon, and the wine country to the north. In fact,
I know a café in Gigondas where the pastries alone are worth the trip.”

“My goodness, you certainly don’t waste any time, Mr. Waller.”

“And why live if one desires to waste time? For me life is precious. I go, go, go because I know one day it will be over.
And no matter how much money one has, or fine houses, or anything else, it will all be gone when you breathe your last. And
please, it is Evan. You embarrass me by using my surname.”

“Well, Evan, let’s start with the market and go from there, how does that sound?”

“Perfectly logical.” He squeezed her arm in a way that indicated his insistence on “nothing more” was a lie. “Off to market
we go.”

Reggie could now understand what the professor had meant by the charm of the man. If she didn’t know of his past, she could
find him intriguing, fascinating even. But she did know of his past and this allowed her a way around the charm. And from
there it was but a small step to ending the man’s life.

S
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.

R
EGGIE BENT LOW
to snap a picture of a bee on a stalk of lavender. She rose, slipped the camera in the back pocket of her white jeans, and
walked toward the Abbaye de Sénanque. Founded by Cistercian monks in the twelfth century, it was located about thirty kilometers
from Gordes along a winding drive through the mountains on roads that were ostensibly two lanes but practically only had
room for one car.

She walked toward the ancient building where for centuries men had come to learn the intricacies of their faith. Now it housed
a chapel, a bookstore and gift shop, and other event space. Monks still lived there and produced a variety of items for sale,
including honey and liqueurs. The grounds were covered in the lavender fields for which Provence was known, although Reggie
had passed equally impressive swaths of sunflowers on her way here. However, she had not come for the horticultural aspects
of the abbey. She was here for a meeting. She’d chosen this rendezvous spot chiefly because it would have been impossible
for anyone to follow her here. One-lane death traps did that for you.

She strolled along with a tour group, breaking off toward the gift shop when they veered into the chapel. The room was warm
and a single fan puttered overhead, managing only to move pockets of warm, stale air from one place to another. A machine
in the small foyer sold both Cokes and cappuccino. She headed to the section of the shop housing large picture books on Provence,
many of which of course had lavender fields on the cover.

As she stood browsing a book on the abbey’s history, her cell phone buzzed. She checked the text message. It read, “six o’clock.”
She put the book down, picked up another, and turned casually around.

Whit was standing behind her checking out a small wooden carving of the abbey building you could purchase for fifteen euros.
He wore a baseball cap, shades, raggedy jeans, a week’s worth of beard, and had his iPod earbuds in. He put the book back
and strolled outside. She waited a minute and then followed after buying the book she’d been looking at.

She saw him standing over by a low stone wall that stretched in front of the building. He was holding his camera and looking
through the lens. He glanced up and saw her.

“Would you mind taking my picture in front of the abbey?” he asked.

She smiled. “Only if you’ll do the same for me.”

They alternated taking shots of the other and then strolled along together.

“Any results on my friend Bill?” she said in a low voice.

“Negative. No hits on prints. And we scored a zero on his picture too. He must be a good little boy. His full name, by the
way, is William A. Young.”

“What does the A stand for?”

“We could never find that out.”

“Do you think he’ll realize you two went through his room?”

“We were very thorough in putting everything back exactly. His passport is American, the address checked out. There are lots
of lobbyists named William Young registered in America. We can’t crank through them all in the time we have. Probably a waste
anyway. I don’t see any dirt there.”

“Or his back cover could be as good as mine.”

“
Or
the bloke could be who he says he is, Reg.”

“He scaled a wall and then disarmed me. A lobbyist?”

Whit looked troubled by this. “Well, he is a big guy. But I guess I see your point. So what do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure. What does the professor think?”

“The brilliant one has deferred to your expertise in the field.”

“Great. So what do
you
think?”

“I reckon we have to nail Kuchin and changing plans willy-nilly now based on flimsy intelligence could screw everything up.
So we go with the original plan and if something solid does come up, we work around it.”

“How’s Dom?”

“Fired up and ready to go. So what’re your first impressions of old Fedir?”

“The same as my original ones. He fills up every bit of space he’s in and then some.”

He glanced at her skeptically. “Not getting swept off your feet, are you?”

“With the monster? Hardly.”

“Actually I’m not talking about Kuchin.”

She gave him a hard stare.

Whit grinned maliciously. “Tall, mysterious, and the scaler of walls?”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” she answered coldly.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do—”

“Then
don’t
, Whit.”

“Just watch yourself.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Did you really paint a swastika on a target’s forehead using his blood after shooting him
in the balls?”

“What can I say? I’m an artiste.”

“Right. I’m heading back.”

“So dinner with our Ukrainian friend tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if Tall and Mysterious will be hovering.”

“It’s a small village.”

“Well, just don’t get yourself in the middle of a ménage à trois. They can be messy. And before you ask, yes, I speak from
experience.”

“Whit, I don’t know how I tolerate you some days.”

“It’s bound to be my charm.”

“How do you know you even have any?”

He looked offended by the question. “Jesus, woman, I’m Irish. It’s in our DNA.”