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his hands.
    But she hadn’t.   And
neither had Tessa Parker.
    Drake seemed to relax, his hand still stroking hers.   “Doubtless he’ll show up again
eventually, living off some other rich woman.   Did he know who you are?   How much money you have?”
    She pulled her hand away.   The implication was clear – he had chosen her as a new meal
ticket.   There would be no other
reason he had come to her.   “I have
no idea.   We didn’t talk much.”
    Drake flushed.   It has
been a cruel blow, but she didn’t care.   “I deserved that,”   he said,
scrupulously fair.   “Are you going
to see him again?”
    “No.   He couldn’t have
known Tessa was dead when he left, but we were both very clear that last night
was a moment of temporary insanity.” She took another, careful sip of her
coffee.   “He’s out of my life.   Forever.”
    “And you have a book to write,”   Drake added.   “We never had
much of a chance to discuss your interview yesterday.   How was it?   You
told me you taped it – I’d love to hear it.”
    It had been gone, of course.   He hadn’t come just for her.    She shrugged.   “It wasn’t
terribly useful.   I’ve already
erased it.”
    “But you said Renard was helpful,”   Drake protested.
    “He was.   The man he found
was not.   If I decide to continue
with the investigation I’ll take another tack.”
    “And we’ll go on as before?”
    Not likely, she thought, smiling at him.   It was as if the first sharp wind of winter had blown in,
destroying the bright flowers.   Things were never going to be like before.
    By the time he left Drake had convinced himself that everything was
the same.   He would come by and
take her to dinner this evening, they would talk about work, and sooner or
later he’d talk her into bed again.   And she’d probably give in, just to try to wipe the man from her mind,
from her body.  
    She’d told Drake the truth.   Last night had been temporary insanity.   There was just one problem.   It hadn’t been temporary with her.
    She dressed in black jeans, a shirt and over-sized sweater, then put
on her boots.   It wasn’t Parisian
attire, but she didn’t give a damn.   She managed to tame her hair into one thick braid, then grabbed her
fourth cup of coffee and moved toward the small balcony.   Her stomach was in an uproar, her hands
were shaking, her heart hurt.   Pushing open the doors, she stepped onto the narrow platform and looked
out over the skyline of Paris.   It
was beautiful, and she loved it with all her heart.
    It was time to leave.
    She wouldn’t say good-bye to Drake – he’d only argue.   Her mother could have someone pack up
the apartment – that, or leave it for her if she ever wanted to come back
to it.   She wouldn’t.   Everything had changed, whether she
liked it or not.   She was a new
person, and the old Maddy was gone.
    For some reason she looked down into the streets.   The icy mist was rising, and there was
an old Citroen parked illegally in the alley behind her building.   She stared at the car in bemusement
– she’d always loved old, classic Citroens.   This one looked fairly battered, and she watched as the door
opened.
    A stranger got out.   He
had short, sun-streaked blond hair, faded jeans and a flannel shirt beneath a
down vest.   He was tall, lean, and
moved with an economy of motion, reaching up and removing his sunglasses as he
turned to look up at her balcony.
    They stared at each other, and Maddy felt her breath catch, her heart
slamming against her rib cage.   In
the distance Notre Dame chimed eleven – he’d been gone five hours.   It had been enough time for him to
completely change his appearance.   Why had he come back?
    But she knew the answer.   He made no effort to come to her – he merely leaned against the
car, folding his arms across his chest as he stared up at her.   Waiting.
    Clearly this kind of insanity had a lingering effect on all