I didn’t say anything. I admired Nazari walking towards the house.

The voice said, “I can never understand why people put themselves into situations that have nothing to do with them. Why would someone do that? Can you explain that to me?”

Nazari disappeared: I guessed she was going up to the terrace. I hoped she was looking for me.

I said, “Nobody lives forever,” and hung up the phone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

By the time I got to the bottom of the cliff I was hot and scratched all over from the prickly bushes. As I came around to the front I ran into Daniel. The gardener was on his knees weeding a bed of flowers. I wanted to ask him about the overgrown tunnel entrance, but also wanted to pre-empt any possible dinner plans at Brumaire. So I said a curt bonjour in passing. “Bonjour Monsieur,” Daniel responded stiffly.

Nazari was on the terrace. Her eyes flicked over me, took in the scratches and the swim shorts. “Better get changed, I’m rescuing you.”

“Yup. I’ll be two minutes.”

Ran up the stairs. Changed back into my clothes. Hung the towel to dry. Got back down in two minutes. She was still on the terrace. I said, “Where’s Madame?”

“In the kitchen. You’re safe. I told her.”

“Excellent. Let’s go.”

We got in the 206. Nazari put it in gear, reversed back down the drive. The car whined. She put it into first and did a K-Turn out of there. I put my head out the window and whooped at the setting sun. She smiled real wide. Her ponytail was blowing around with the wind. Her arms were tanned and strong. I couldn’t help noticing the way her legs moved when she switched up the gears. She looked great. I said, “Where are we going?”

“My place. I’m putting you under house arrest.”

I was okay with that.

We made it through the door to Nazari’s little house with our clothes intact. After that things got wild. We were like two energized magnets bouncing between the walls. Her body was long and lean and full and round in all the places where I hoped it would be. At one point she rose above me. Her arms were up and she was pulling her hair loose from the ponytail. We were locked together otherwise and all that mattered was contact and texture. Our nervous systems were synchronized and compatible. She was generous and willing and adventurous in equal measure. After a couple of bouts we lay on her living room floor, temporarily emptied. I traced a line of sweat at the hollow of Nazari’s throat. She turned on her side to face me. Her hazel and green eyes were sated and gleaming, like a satisfied puma.

She ran a finger over a pattern of scarring on my shoulder. “How’d you get that?”