If Billy Schultz was telling the truth about recognizing Minerva Hunt, why had she been to Tina Barr’s apartment on other occasions? Was it weird, or was it just natural curiosity that led him to pick up the mask that the perpetrator had worn-if he had not in fact been the masked intruder?

I turned the key in the lock and went inside, flipping on the foyer light. I left the bag with the orange juice and English muffins next to the credenza and started down the hallway toward the linen closet with the cosmetics I’d bought at the drugstore.

The bedroom door ahead of me was closed. In a split second I reminded myself that it was Thursday and that my housekeeper had not been in today. I was sure I had left the door open, as always, and I slowed my pace.

I heard noise from within-a sound like the closing of a dresser drawer. I began to back up, wondering for how long the building’s entrance had been unsecured this afternoon, and whether someone who didn’t belong here had gotten inside. My thoughts flashed to members of the Latin Princes gang, whose leader I had successfully prosecuted, and who had stalked me relentlessly during the summer.

I scrambled to retrace my steps to the front door, and as I turned, the long strap of my tote caught on the door handle of the guest bedroom. The contents dumped out as I bent to unhook it, and the drugstore purchases scattered onto the floor.

I let go of everything and dashed to the foyer. I could hear the bedroom door opening and my adrenaline kicked in as I ran faster. In that short sprint, I was breathing as rapidly as if I’d completed a 5K race. I pulled on the doorknob just as I heard the man’s voice.

“Alexandra? C’est toi?”

I exhaled and steadied myself against the door, throwing my head back, thinking how unnerved I’d been by the thought of an intruder.

“Have I upset you, mon ange? This was meant to be such a great surprise,” Luc Rouget said as he stepped over the packages to make his way toward me, wearing only the towel that was draped around his waist. “Are you all right, Alex?”

I nodded and smiled. He wrapped me in an embrace and I held on to him with all my strength.

We were still in bed together nearly an hour later, Luc cradling me in his long, slender arms, laughing about the fact that Joan Stafford’s wonderful plan to help him surprise me had almost back-fired.

“I’m telling you, we both thought it was foolproof,” Luc said. “I had to be in Washington last night to meet with some investors, so we took the shuttle up together today and had lunch around the corner at Swifty’s. So perfectly American, that place. Then Joan brought me up here to settle me in. Faites comme chez vous, she told me, and so I did.”

Joan and I had always had keys to each other’s apartments, and the doormen knew her as well as they knew my parents and brothers.

“I’m delighted you made yourself at home,” I said, kissing the tip of his nose.

“We did all the shopping at Grace’s Marketplace so that I could fix you a delicious dinner by the time you got here from the office. But Joanie said you never, never get out before seven, eight o’clock. Jamais, jamais.”

“I rarely do. But we were working on an investigation uptown, not far from here. I’ve had a few late nights this week, so it was a treat to be early. I don’t know why I was so jumpy.”

Luc brushed back the curls from around my forehead and kissed me on the mouth, long and tenderly. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Like a different person.”

“I don’t want you to be someone else, Alexandra. I made love to you, not to any other woman.”

“I’m not the least bit confused about that,” I said, rolling onto my side to sit up.

“Because if you are, then I’m happy to try to remind you.” Luc reached up and playfully pulled me down beside him. He ran his finger slowly down my spine, then along the back of my leg, kissing the crook of my knee. “Looks exactly like you, feels exactly like you, and tastes deliciously the same as you did last time.”

“I might taste even better after I clean up.”

“Take one of your luxurious bubble baths, darling. I’m going to start preparing dinner.”

“Will I be the guinea pig for any new tastings?”

Luc’s father, Andre Rouget, was a great French restaurateur who’d changed the culinary scene in New York City when he founded Lutèce in a townhouse on the East Side. Luc had followed in his father’s footsteps in a French village called Mougins, where his elegant four-star restaurant was a destination for locals and travelers in the south of France. He’d been courted by several backers to reopen Lutèce and restore the reputation of the famous eatery, and was making frequent trips to America to move the plan forward.

“No, no. I’ve had my nose in so many French menus these last few weeks that I decided to cook Italian tonight. Ça va?”

“Ça va bien. Anything I can do to help?”

“In the kitchen?” Luc asked. “Then I would really be concerned I was with an imposter. You just relax, Alexandra. I don’t need a sous-chef; I need a hungry woman.”

I went into the bathroom and ran the hot water, sprinkling in bath salts that I’d brought back from Paris.

The relationship with Luc had no emotional complications. He was mature at forty-eight and quite direct. Divorced after fifteen years of marriage to an unfaithful woman, Luc was devoted to the two children whose custody he shared with his ex. I liked that about him, and looked forward to meeting the boys he so adored.

The only issue that nagged at me as I found myself falling in love was what Nina teasingly referred to as his “GU”-the geographic undesirability of his faraway home. Luc’s spending so much time in the States as he explored his new business venture made it easy for me to stay focused between his visits, but the reality was that most of the time we were separated by an ocean and the craggy foothills of the Maritime Alps.

When I finished bathing, I pulled on a pair of leggings and a five-year-old navy blue sweatshirt with Jeter’s name and number 2 on the back. If I couldn’t be at the Yankee game, at least I could carry the colors. I swept my hair into a ponytail and dabbed Luc’s favorite perfume behind my ears and on my throat.

The telephone rang as I was about to leave my bedroom. Luc came toward me from the kitchen. “You want me to answer?”

“I’m just screening,” I said. “I’m hoping it’s not business.”

It took most of the guys I dated a while to understand that whenever senior prosecutors were working investigations, phones and beepers went beyond the boundaries of eight-hour workdays.

“I’m at the stadium, Coop.” Mike’s voice talking to my answering machine jolted me as though he had just stepped into the bedroom between Luc and me. “Can’t find a frigging television anywhere. If you haven’t left for Joan’s yet, be sure you catch Jeopardy! for us. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

I took Luc’s glasses off the bridge of his nose and kissed his forehead.

“Ah, that’s one of your detective friends, non? You and Joan have talked about him. He calls about this trivia game, too?”

I continued down the hallway toward the kitchen, changing the subject. “The sauce smells fabulous. What is it?”

“He’s the one Joanie told me-how do you say?-has a crush on you.”

“We’ve been friends since my rookie year in the office. I think he’d laugh out loud at that suggestion.”

“I’d like to meet these guys who get to spend so much time with you,” Luc said, reaching around me, as he kissed the nape of my neck, to put out the wineglasses.

“Next time you’re here we can do that,” I said, dreading the thought of my favorite alpha-dog detective going head-to-head with my very confident French lover. “That way maybe I can get an actual arrival date from you.”