On her last day in Europe, American tourist Megan Chandler is in a Paris museum to meet a Facebook friend, when she stumbles in front of an early twentieth century portrait of a woman who looks exactly like her. Ten minutes later, she’s mugged in a bathroom, and robbed. With no passport, no ticket home, no money, and no cell phone, Megan can’t imagine things could get any worse. Until she discovers she’s the main suspect in a terrorist bombing.
Computer geek Paul Bernard isn’t having a good day. On his way to his job at the British Embassy, the building explodes before his eyes. The security photo of the perpetrator looks exactly like his hot French girlfriend. Who seems to have disappeared, along with his security badge. And when he finally catches up with her, she claims she’s someone else.
Did his girlfriend bomb the embassy? Or is this woman who looks like her the terrorist? And what about this portrait Megan keeps talking about? Paul isn’t sure if he’s the biggest dupe in Europe or the hero Megan seems to think he is. All he knows for certain is that he can’t let this deceptively innocent look-alike out of his sight. Or into his heart.
Late! Paul Bernard dashed out of the Metro station and bolted up rue de Faubourg de St Honore toward the British Embassy, holding his jacket over his head to ward off the light morning mist.
Just as he got to the corner the traffic light changed. Bloody hell! Paul shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other as Smart cars, bicycles and the occasional luxury sedan swooshed past him, dodging potholes and pedestrians. He was way past due at work, thanks to an unexpected but very pleasurable morning romp in the sack.
He’d woken when it was still dark to Colette’s arousing hand on his pecker, and half-dreamed her riding astride his responding erection. After the brief but immensely satisfying encounter, she’d rolled out of bed to shower and dress before hurrying off to an early call for an important audition. “You don’t have to get up yet,” she’d said in her bedroom voice, kissing his ear. “Go back to sleep.”
And he had. So blissfully knackered that he’d slept past his alarm, so dead to the world he didn’t even remember hearing it ring. He smiled, thanking whatever beneficent force had seen fit to bestow upon a mild-mannered computer geek the favors of that incredibly sexy French coquette.
The crowd of pedestrians shoved at him from behind and Paul stepped off the curb. Blinding light flashed and a deafening boom sent shockwaves strong enough to knock him backwards. Debris flew past, burning chunks of plasterboard and metal. The dark, billowing smoke twined around his neck, thick and choking.
Paul blinked and wiped the soot from his eyes. He stared at the British Embassy, half destroyed, in flames.
Someone had bombed his bloody offices. And if he’d gotten to work just five minutes earlier...he could be dead.