Page 48 of Shadow of Doubt

After receiving his cryptic text and agreeing to meet, she had given him an address. The moment Harvath arrived, he knew why she had selected it. It was the one place her husband wouldn’t want her bodyguards to accompany her.

Secreted away in the Old Town neighborhood of Nice, the address was for a lingerie boutique called Trésor Caché. While Eva shopped inside, her two-man security detail sat on the terrace of the café across the street, keeping an eye on the shop’s front door.

With no one watching the back, Harvath had arrived ten minutes early via a small courtyard whose gate had been left unlocked. The owner of the boutique, a friend of Eva’s, had shown him to her upstairs office, where she opened a bottle of champagne and set it on the table, along with two glasses and a pack of cigarettes. After searching, she found a lighter and handed it to him.

Politely, Harvath put up his hand and said, “Thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

“It’s not for you,” the owner replied, as she turned to go back downstairs. “I’ll send Eva up when she gets here.”

The room was dimly lit, with a hand-carved wooden desk, low-slung, pillow-strewn couches, and multiple brass lanterns. With its Moroccan mirrors and other Arabesque details, it looked like something straight out of Bousbir, the historic red-light district of Casablanca.

He made himself as comfortable as he could. Despite the dose of ibuprofen Staelin had given him back at the villa, his body was still quite sore. It was going to take time until he was one hundred percent. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on pushing through it.

Moments later, he heard someone on the stairs. Opening his eyes, he stood just as Eva walked in.

The last time he had seen her had been at the Centre Antoine Lacassagne, Nice’s premier cancer institute. Since then, her face had been hollowed out and there were dark circles under her eyes. Even though she tried to hide it in a billowy kaftan, she had lost way too much weight.

Nevertheless, there was still an elegance to the way she carried herself. He met her at the door and she kissed him on both cheeks—a greeting as much French as it was Russian.

“I didn’t think we’d ever be seeing each other again,” she said, holding him out at arm’s length and inspecting him. “You look like you’ve been through it just as bad as I have.”

“My work has definitely been on the upswing,” he responded with a smile.

He led her to one of the couches and immediately offered assistance when he saw how much pain it caused her to sit.

“I’m all right,” she said softly. Then, eyeballing the bottle of champagne, she asked, “How about a drink?”

Harvath didn’t have the heart to say no. Filling both glasses, he handed her one and then sat down next to her.

“What should we toast to?” he asked.

“It’s very Russian,” Eva said, raising her glass and leaning into her Russian accent, “but let’s toast to health.”

“Perfect,” Harvath replied. “To health.”

The pair clinked glasses and took a long sip of champagne.

“So,” she began, “what’s your interest in Inessa Surkova? Please God, tell me it’s not romantic.”

Harvath laughed. “No. It’s definitely not romantic.”

“Then it must have to do with that shit, Arkady Tsybulsky.”

“I take it you’re not a fan?”

“My husband loves him. The rest of us think he’s an asshole. His wife, Polina, is even worse.”

“I read his file.”

“Then you should know you want nothing to do with him. Trust me.”

Harvath appreciated the warning. “Where is Polina?” he asked, digging for more details. “Why isn’t she here with him?”

“Polina is a Russian nationalist. She believes all Peshkov’s lies about Ukraine. She thinks it’s unpatriotic to spend money in France while the French are backing the Ukrainians.”

“And what do you think?”

Eva pondered her answer for a moment. “I think if she wants to stay behind in Moscow, that’s her choice. But choices have consequences.”

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