Deliver Us From Evil (A. Shaw 2)

She hurried to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and ran some water over her face. She had to stop thinking about such things. She had to focus.

She was playing Bill against Kuchin for the benefit of the mission. All the time she spent with either man was because of the mission, she told herself. Bill Young was merely a convenient piece on the game board, nothing more or less.

There was a momentary disconnect in her mind, like a flash of lightning’s effect on a TV. When her synapses started operating again, the revelation almost made her sick.

If Kuchin thinks I’m really interested in Bill, he might…

A part of Reggie was cold and calculating. That part said collateral damage happened, but if the mission was successful the sacrifice was justified. Another part of her was repulsed by an innocent person’s possibly dying just so she could claim her target. That, for her, was the epitome of the very evil she professed to be fighting against.

Reconcile that, Reggie.

Yet she had already set everything in motion. How could she possibly stop it now?

CHAPTER

44

REGGIE STRIPPED OFF her clothes and showered, scrubbing so hard it felt like her skin was peeling off her bones. Afterwards she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, drifted downstairs, found her market basket, and headed up the hill to town. She left through a rear door that opened onto the cobblestone path so she would not have to deal with her neighbor.

An hour later she returned, her basket full of the ingredients for the meal. She prepped the kitchen, freshened up in the bathroom, and put on a white skirt and a light blue tank top. She remained barefoot, as she liked the coolness of the tile floor against her soles. She took time with her hair and face in the bathroom mirror, taking five whole minutes to decide on a bracelet and earrings.

She froze in the middle of this, staring at her made-up face and wide eyes made wider by the magic of eyeliner and mascara.

It’s jealousy. Playing one against the other. That’s all it is.

Whit’s voice sparked across her brain. “So this is all tied to the mission?”

She kept staring at her image in the mirror. “It’s always about the mission.” One more monster ticked off the list. That was all she wanted. And however she got there it didn’t matter.

The sound of the front doorbell almost made her collapse. She looked at her watch. Eight o’clock on the dot. She finished with her primping and rushed down the corkscrew stairs. When she opened the front door Shaw held up two bottles of wine. “The vintner in town swore these were the two best reds he had if my goal was to shamelessly impress a remarkably sophisticated lady of means.”

Reggie took one of the bottles and glanced at the label. “He was right. I am impressed. These must have cost you a small fortune, even in Provence.”

“I’ve never let money get in the way of fun. And as a lobbyist I’m used to negotiating folks down on things.”

She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He followed her into the kitchen, his gaze running over the twitch of her hips.

“Do you miss the work?” she asked.

“Not really. I basically was paid an extravagant amount of money to make even more money for people who already had too much of it.”

“I’ve got all the prep work assembled. Your instruments await you.” She pointed to a serrated knife and a wooden chopping board set next to a pile of vegetables and tomatoes.

“Okay, but first a thirst quencher.” He grabbed the corkscrew off the counter, worked the cork out, poured two glasses, and handed her one. They clinked and sipped. He put down the glass and picked up the knife. “So what are we having?” he asked as he started slicing.

“The main course is a stew with chicken, tomatoes, and vegetables and a few closely guarded secret spices. I’ve got a cheese platter and crackers with some stuffed olives to munch on beforehand. Then there’s salad, some bread and olive oil, and a little creamy dessert that I bought at the bakery because I can’t bake. The coffee of course will be from a French press.”

“Sounds terrific.”

“You know, as depressing as Goya can be, I really did enjoy today.”

He glanced over at her as she was stirring the stew. “Me too. Must have been the company.”

Reggie frowned. “Okay, in the interests of full disclosure, Evan asked me to go with him to Roussillon tomorrow.”

Shaw finished dicing a tomato and started on the celery. “Are you going?”

“I told him I would, but I think I’ll drive separately.”