Fournier was a stunning woman. She was in her late forties, stood almost six feet tall, and had been a print and runway model until the business had finished chewing her up and had spit her out. She had long red hair drawn back in a ponytail and green eyes, and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her extremely athletic body, which Harvath had a more than ample view of as she was wearing one of the skimpiest jogging outfits he had ever seen.

Her bodyguard looked hard as nails. He was about the same age, but stood two inches shorter. He wore a fanny pack, which is where Harvath assumed he carried his weapon. He was clean-cut and intelligent looking. This guy wasn’t just hired muscle. He was experienced and professional. Harvath noticed his demeanor change the minute he spotted him. He stiffened up and gave his protectee a subtle signal to drop back.

As they drew closer, Harvath stood up straighter and waved. The bodyguard was in front of Fournier by several feet and cautiously approached.

In addition to jogging the same road every day with only one bodyguard, Dominique Fournier had another weak spot, her vanity. “If this is what roadside assistance looks like in France, I’m going to have to make sure I break down more often.”

Though Harvath spoke very good French, he wanted to put the pair at ease with him as quickly as possible. He figured the best way was to play the role of American tourist. He wasn’t ready for what came next.

“What’s wrong with your car?” said the bodyguard in perfect English. His accent sounded like he came from somewhere around Baltimore.

“Are you American?” asked Harvath, his smile growing even broader.

“Yes,” replied the bodyguard, who continued to remain professional. “What’s wrong with your car?”

“I don’t know. I think Citroën is French for piece of shit.”

The bodyguard cracked a smile. “When we get to a phone, we’ll call a wrecker for you.”

“Why don’t you see if you can help him, Richard,” said Fournier as she stepped up and introduced herself. “My name is Dominique.”

“Bonjour, Dominique,” said Harvath. “My name’s Russ.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Russ. Are you here for the summer, or just passing through?”

She had an incredibly sexy accent and Harvath could have stood there all day and listened to her speak. “I’m here for the summer actually.”

“Really? How nice. Did you bring your wife, or maybe your girlfriend?”

“Nope. Just me.”

“That’s even nicer.” The sex appeal just oozed from this woman. It was obvious that she was interested in Harvath.

He turned his attention to the bodyguard. “I appreciate your help. I’m not really a car guy.”

“Richard is very good with all things mechanical,” said Fournier.

“I’ll see what I can do. Why don’t you hop in and try to start it?”

While the man was being polite, Harvath could see that he hadn’t let his guard down one bit. He really was a professional. The only reason he was helping a stranded motorist was that his employer had asked him to. He knew better than most how often this kind of ploy was used to facilitate an attack.

“Okay,” said Harvath as he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. “Here goes.”

He turned the key. “Anything?”

The bodyguard looked under the hood and laughed. “Turn it off for a second and try it again.”

Harvath did and the engine roared to life. “That’s fantastic. Thank you. What did you do?”

“The ignition control module was loose. I tightened it up, but you should get it checked out.”

“I will. Thank you,” said Harvath, who then looked at Fournier and added, “And thank you.”

“Do you have a pen?” she asked.

Harvath fished around in the glove box until he found one and then handed it to her.

“Give me your hand,” she said.

He obeyed, sticking his left hand out the window, palm up. Fournier leaned into it and allowed it to rub against her upper thigh for a moment. Harvath felt a jolt of electricity rush through him.

She then cupped his hand and wrote her cell phone number on his palm. “I suggest you call me before it rubs off.”

Before Harvath could respond, Fournier tilted her head and she and the bodyguard began jogging once again.

Harvath took a breath and noted that his heart was actually beating faster. Fournier had gotten to him.

Tossing the pen on the floor he shook it off and put the car in gear.

He drove slowly, allowing them to pull a bit ahead of him. It was a tactical decision meant to disarm the bodyguard. That said, it also provided an excellent opportunity to check out Dominique Fournier from behind. She was gorgeous.

Not only that, she had been very charming. He couldn’t tell why Nicholas thought she was such a bitch.

Harvath began to increase his speed until he pulled right up alongside the runners. “Thanks again for the help,” he said.

The bodyguard smiled back. “Anytime,” he replied.

That was when Harvath lifted the Taser and fired.

Harvath slammed on the brakes as the bodyguard’s muscles seized up and he fell over into the road. He had to act fast.

He threw the Taser on the dash, its long wires running through the window to the two barbed probes embedded in the bodyguard’s chest.

He had figured that Dominique Fournier would take off on her long legs like a gazelle, but he had figured wrong. He wasn’t even halfway out of the car when she was on top of him. Immediately, his original opinion of her shifted as she kicked him in the groin harder than he could ever remember being kicked.

His vision dimmed, the wind whooshed from his lungs, and his knees buckled. He fell to the ground and realized how badly he had misjudged this woman.

He looked up just in time to see her considerably sized fist come sailing through the air at his head. He was on his knees between the car and its open door, powerless to do anything to stop her. He had no choice but to absorb the blow.

The problem was that it wasn’t just one blow; it was several, a combination. Two punches followed, and Harvath’s ear began to ring as a trickle of blood started to run from his nose. Whether this woman had taken martial arts training or had just attended one too many Tae Bo classes made no difference. He was getting his ass kicked and if she kept this up, he was going to end up being knocked unconscious.

And to make matters worse, it was only a matter of seconds before the bodyguard would be up and around. Once that happened, the game would be over.

Even though the woman had kicked his eggs so far up into the henhouse he thought his beak was going to snap off, he needed to do something. He needed to push aside the pain and get control of the situation, now.

Before he could do anything, though, Fournier grabbed the open car door and slammed it into his side. Harvath had a rule about striking women, but was about ready to tear that page from his book.

The whole right-hand side of his body was on fire and five feet away, the bodyguard was struggling to stand.

Planting his left foot, Harvath exploded into the door with his shoulder and knocked Fournier backward with it. She lost her footing as she tripped over the bodyguard, and fell on top of him.

Harvath lunged for the Taser atop the dash and pulled the trigger. Because Fournier’s skin was in physical contact with her bodyguard’s, the electricity was transmitted to both of them and they got to “ride the bull,” as it was known, together.

The minute Fournier was incapacitated, Harvath removed a handful of Tuff Ties from his pocket and trussed her up tight. He did the same thing to the bodyguard. After removing the man’s fanny pack, he slapped pieces of duct tape over each of their mouths and placed hoods over each of their heads. Then he had to get them into the car.