THE RIDE INTO PARIS WAS uneventful, and again Annja kept a keen eye for a tail. She parked again near Notre-Dame, since the tight streets in the Fifth Arrondiss.e.m.e.nt rarely offered parking s.p.a.ces, and some were even marked only for pedestrians. Ascher's hotel was tucked in a cozy little corner above a touristy restaurant that featured, as scrawled in chalk on a board sitting on the sidewalk, Les Cuisses De Grenouilles.

Smirking, Annja recalled her first adventure with frog legs. No, they did not taste like chicken. And even the French were averse to eating them. It was strictly a tourist spectacle.

Ascher greeted her at the door with a kiss to both cheeks. "You're late."

"Had a matter to take care of at a friend's house," Annja said.

"You look a mess, Annja. That is your normal look, eh?"

"And here I thought you were all about the flirtation," Annja bantered back. "Is that how you pick up women? Comment on their disarray?"

"A disheveled woman is a gorgeous thing."

He tried to be light, but he shook his head and apologized, offering the end of the bed to sit.

The room was not much larger than the bed. A narrow aisle between the bed and the window led to an even narrower door, which she presumed was the bathroom. Probably no larger than a shower, toilet and sink. What was it about the Europeans that they didn't attach their showerheads to the wall? It was so difficult to wash one's hair when having to struggle with that.

"Did you get food?" she asked. Important things first. Annja sat on the bed, then stretched out an arm and lay on her side. "I'm starving."

Ascher set a bag on the bed. Grease stained the brown paper. It smelled wonderful.

"It's an hour old, so probably not hot."

"Doesn't matter, as long as it's not frog legs."

"No, not those awful things. From the Greek restaurant down the alley," he said. "There are more Greek restaurants in the fifth than French, you know that?"

"I don't care, so long as it's edible." Annja pulled out a heavy-paper-wrapped gyro and bit into the tepid concoction. Marinated pork and a mild, creamy garlic sauce. Delicious. A stack of thick pommes frites pommes frites marinated in grease sat at the bottom of the bag. "You're not going to eat?" she asked. marinated in grease sat at the bottom of the bag. "You're not going to eat?" she asked.

"I did already. Thirsty?"

He offered a chilled bottle, but there were no gla.s.ses.

"D'Artagnan's favorite," Annja said, studying the label. "I'm game."

Armagnac was a single distilled malt brandy that, besides being the famous musketeer's drink of choice, had also been used by apothecaries as a disinfectant in the seventeenth century.

She took a swig. Annja wasn't a big drinker, and had nothing to compare this to. It burned the roof of her mouth, as any good disinfectant should, but not for long.

"You like?"

She nodded. The burn rose in her throat and she managed a hoa.r.s.e "Sure."

"If I had the proper goblets, then you could truly appreciate the fullness of this exquisite brandy. Smell the pepper and the apricots." He wavered his fingers over the narrow bottle neck, then slugged back a swallow. "But this is how d'Artagnan would have indulged-straight from the bottle!"

His enthusiasm warmed her. Certainly he was a man of gusto and extreme fascinations. She could picture Ascher Vallois striding the cobbled roads of the seventeenth century, gentleman's rapier at his hip and a musketeer's tabard swinging, the silver lace catching the eyes of pa.s.sing ladies.

He would most definitely seduce them with his charm and impressive dueling skills. And once within the privacy of her boudoir? The man would have been a lady-killer.

A gray sweater fit tight across Ascher's abs, and dark trousers showed off the incredible quads that he'd obviously earned jumping over obstacles as a traceur. traceur. Of course, mountain biking and rock climbing didn't hurt to enhance the overall package, she felt sure. Of course, mountain biking and rock climbing didn't hurt to enhance the overall package, she felt sure.

Yeah, he offered a complete package. Handsome, talented and athletic. What woman wouldn't swoon to his charms?

Even after he'd committed a small betrayal in the interest of keeping his life?

She noted he took her in from head to toe, and the smirk that curved his lips. "What's up, Vallois?"

"You should eat more before you drink too much," he said.

"I can handle my drink. Just like I can handle my men," she said.

Okay, so that last part wasn't entirely true. She could handle a man wielding a pistol, coming at her with death in his eyes, but a s.e.xy Frenchman set on seduction? She was out of her league.

But when had such a position of lacking skill ever scared her off?

She took another swallow. The Armagnac had ceased to burn. Now it warmed her belly and relaxed her. No wonder d'Artagnan had liked this stuff. "Not bad."

"Ah, the American way of summarizing a truly exquisite find. If I could say the same about you, Annja, it would be a pitiful reflection upon the French male. Not bad? Non, Non, you are exquisite this evening." you are exquisite this evening."

"Thank you, but I know I look as though I've been through the wringer, because I have."

"Tell me everything that happened after we parted on the Seine."

She twisted to face him. "Are you here on official business for BHDC, or are you here acting for yourself?"

"Annja, I work for no one but myself," he said.

"I don't believe it."

"But you must. Why else would I have called you, Annja? I was worried about you, that you may not have fared well with those men chasing us."

"I didn't do so well. In fact, as you were floating away down the Seine, I was being knocked out and carried to BHDC."

"You were captured?" He slid a hand over hers, which startled her, so she pulled away and nearly knocked over the bottle in the process.

Chill, Annja. Have another drink.

"How did you get away?" Ascher asked. "Did they let you go?"

"Not exactly. I made a run for it. And they followed me to the home of a trusted ally. Much gunfire ensued. And a bit of nasty eye gouging."

Annja inspected her fingernails. They were lined with half moons of dirt and blood.

She took another swig of brandy.

"Annja, I had no idea the star of Chasing History's Monsters Chasing History's Monsters lived such an adventurous life. Do you get paid for risking your life?" lived such an adventurous life. Do you get paid for risking your life?"

Not when she should be on vacation. Nor did she receive financial reward for any of the situations she had found herself in that involved fighting off thugs and saving the world. But she was occasionally able to use the experience as work related and write off the flight and hotel room. She doubted her producer, Doug Morrell, would approve of this adventure as fodder for one of the shows.

"Ascher, just...I'm not sure if I'm ready to tell you everything right now."

"I understand. There is a loss of trust between us. I must earn it back. But you believe that I have been truthful with you now? About the danger BHDC presents?"

"Yes, they are dangerous, but in a creepy, twisted scientific way. This has become much more than a simple pleasure dig."

"Oui. I'm so sorry, Annja. I did not mean for you to become involved in something so strange." I'm so sorry, Annja. I did not mean for you to become involved in something so strange."

He lay on the bed and stretched his arms up and behind his head. The stretch revealed his abs. Annja lingered for a moment on the sight. A man had to be disciplined to develop a body like his. She liked that about him. For every fault, he matched it with a surprising positive.

"I cannot, for the life of me, have imagined it would result in your being kidnapped. How can I make this up to you?"

"Hand over the map," she said. And then she shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, too. This was your dig. You are as much a victim of BHDC, if not more so."

Her eyes strayed higher on his torso. The rucked-up sweater revealed the scar where his kidney had once been. It was small, about an inch. It must be where the blade exited, because she'd seen the long scar on his back. d.a.m.n, that must have hurt.

"I have no right to waltz in and walk off with something that means as much to you as it does to me," she offered. "But can I trust that we both want to keep the map from Lambert's hands?"

Ascher nodded. "We are in accord."

"Not that it matters anymore." She finished the gyro and dug to the bottom of the bag for a few remaining fries. "I know what it is about the rapier that Lambert wants."

"Of course, the map. Did you bring along the rapier?"

"Part of it," she said.

Ascher choked on a swig of Armagnac.

"The map is not what Lambert wants. Because he's got a copy," Annja said.

"He does?" Ascher sat up, jostling the paper bag and Annja.

She slid off the bed and stepped into the little bathroom to wash her hands.

"Scanned and saved on his laptop," she called out. "It's a match to the one we have. Seems Nicolas Fouquet made copies of all Queen Anne's correspondence. Lambert has been researching the same archives we have, only he discovered the original map. Or an original copy."

Studying her face in the mirror, she decided she had seen herself looking much worse. Was that a bruise at the edge of her jaw? Must be from Lambert's slap. Heh. She'd battled thugs and avoided grenade and gunfire, and yet a simple slap succeeded in marking her.

"That makes sense," Ascher said as she returned to the confines of the bedroom. "I read about Fouquet's fastidious records in my studies. So the copy, is it missing-?"

"The same as ours. The lower left corner where a navigational key might normally be found. And after viewing the scan, which was much clearer than your black-and-white copy, I began to wonder if it was designed that way, with the piece missing. Which led me to the Bibliotheque Nationale, on Francois Mansart's trail."

"Mansart? The seventeenth-century architect? Annja?"

She stopped, midwobble, and caught herself against the door frame. "What?"

"You should sit down. You don't look well."

"Was that stuff old?" She eyed the almost empty bottle. Empty? "Christ, Ascher, I think you really did get me drunk."

"Nonsense, Annja, you drank but half the bottle."

"Half? Yikes," she said as she sat in the only chair in the room.

"You do not indulge often?"

"Diet c.o.ke is more my speed. So what was I saying?" The room had begun to spin. The movement challenged her. She did not like to be out of control of her senses. "Mansart," she whispered. "The library. Hand me my backpack, will you?"

She tugged out the laptop and attempted to power up. No WiFi. And did it matter? All she really wanted to do was sleep.

Ascher finished the Armagnac and set the bottle on the floor. "Do you ever take a moment, Annja? You are always on the go, focused on the adventure. You are welcome to shower here. Perhaps I could ma.s.sage your shoulders for you."

"Ascher, let the dog loose, okay?"

"I do not understand."

"The cad," she explained further. "He doesn't have a chance with me, so take off the leash and let him roam elsewhere."

"My flirtations did not scare you off from meeting me, so you must have appreciated them," he said.

She shrugged, not willing to agree, but knowing he was right. Their online conversations had served to fill a missing part of her that she didn't have the time to pursue in the real world, at least not in real time. The missing part? A relationship.

Sure, a boyfriend might understand her job required much world travel. But how many men would understand when she couldn't talk about the extracurricular activities that saw her fighting evil? Hey, honey, I'm home. I killed a bunch of bad guys and saved the world today. Supper ready?

The idea of such a relationship made her smirk. She wondered what it would be like married to a superhero. Not that she considered herself super or a hero.

"Annja, if I were trying to seduce you right now, I'd be over there, whispering into your ear and touching your brandy-stained lips," Ascher said.

Annja drew a tongue along her lower lip. Despite the huge sandwich she had consumed-rather, devoured-she could still taste the Armagnac glazing her lips. Wasn't a full stomach conducive to warding off a good drunk? Why did she feel so woozy?

"Yes, that plump, chewable lip," Ascher said.

So watching her gobble down food hadn't put him off? The man was either blind or desperate. She sensed he had moved to the end of the bed, and glanced away from the laptop screen to find he offered another bottle of the wicked brew.

"Ascher, I'm the one who should be getting you you drunk so I can steal the map from you." drunk so I can steal the map from you."

"You wouldn't steal a thing, Annja. I know you better than you do yourself."

He was right. It wasn't fair, but he was right. At least on the matter of stealing. Not her scene.

"You can have it." He slid off the bed to stand, yet still they were about half a foot apart. "I want to see how adventurous a woman you are."

Warmth spread all over her body, making her loose, relaxed and open. It was time to start drinking ice water.

"Do you know what BHDC is involved in?"

Ascher shrugged. "Cloning human body parts. Did you see my kidney while you were there?"