The south of France, a beautiful woman, obsession, murder. What more could a man want from a quick jaunt across the Channel?

He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip of the rich coffee. He held the cup there a moment and looked at her over the rim, like a spy looking over the top of a newspaper. She sat a few tables along, half hidden in the shade of the parasol. Where the sun hit her it lit her up like dynamite. He lowered the cup. That’s right, she was dynamite. He looked over again, trying to only move his eyes, not his head too.… Read the rest