“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.