![]() ![]() “Computer security’s my business,” she said, glancing at her Tintin watch. She wished her knees would stop shaking under the table. “Cutting-edge technology not even patented yet,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “You copied the entire court file to that?” The thick eyebrows rose above his sallow face. ![]() “Insert this in your USB port to download the file,” she said, combing her red wig forward with her fingers. “No one’s complained.” She unclipped the thumb drive from her hoop earring and slid it across the table to him. He sized up her mini and three-inch leopard-print heels. She crossed her legs, noting the stubble on his chin and the half-filled glass of limonade. Gathering her courage, she entered the smoke-filled café and sat down across from him. Her kohl-rimmed eyes zeroed in on the man hunched at the window table in the café. Daffodil scents drifted from the corner flower shop. Monday, Late February 1998, Paris, 5:58 p.m.Īimée Leduc bit her lip as she scanned the indigo dusk, the shoppers teeming along rain-slicked Boulevard du Montparnasse. ![]()
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