“I’m a big guy, I can take care of myself.” Mike smiled at him. “I’m not going to let them spoil Paris for me.” Guy smiled at his new friend. Nothing seemed to deter him on any front, and his enthusiasm was contagious. Guy felt revitalized about the Pasquier case after talking to him for three hours and showing him some of the files. Mike’s heart nearly broke at some of the photographs, and he hoped Theo had never seen them. Guy assured him she hadn’t. It made it all the more real to Mike, and made his sympathy for her even deeper.

He called Theo after he left the DGSE offices on the Boulevard Mortier in the twentieth arrondissement. He was going to suggest a last-minute invitation to dinner, that night or on the weekend. He was going to tell her he was on a brief business trip that had come up suddenly, not that he had come to Paris to see her or Guy Thomas on her behalf. He wondered if she’d be out to lunch, but the receptionist put him through to her immediately and she answered her direct line herself.

“Mike Andrews?” she said when he spoke. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t sound unhappy about it, and her heart took a leap as soon as she heard his voice, in spite of all her recriminations since they’d had dinner.

“I came to see my client here,” he said, sounding pleased too, more than he wanted to. The chemistry between them seemed to work even over the phone, much to his dismay. He could feel his good resolutions sliding away, like Jell-O down the drain. “I’m here for the weekend,” he told her. “Any chance you’re free for lunch or dinner while I’m here?” He was braced for a refusal and told himself it would be all right if she declined.

“That sounds good to me,” she said, smiling at her end. “What’s good for you?” she asked him.

“Tonight?”

“Perfect.”

“Your choice this time. Your city. Same rules. Simple dinner. I left my tux at home.”

“How disappointing,” she teased him. “Do you like French food? Like bistro food?”

“That sounds terrific. We’ll have to find a substitute for the banana split.”

“Profiteroles.”

“Excellent.”

“Why don’t you come to the apartment for a drink first?” She gave him the address and told him where it was.

“I’ll take a cab or an Uber.”

“Casual. You don’t need to wear a suit.”

“I usually do,” he said. It wasn’t entirely true, but he liked dressing for her. She was always well dressed, or at least on the two occasions he’d seen her, and she had great style.

“Come at seven-thirty. I’ll make an eight-thirty reservation.”