She had woken early and sat at her computer, eagerly transcribing her notes. She didn’t stop until the maids knocked on the door and replaced the platters of scrambled eggs and whole wheat toast with grilled vegetables and cold consommé. She bent down to tie her shoelace and suddenly a camera flashed in her face. She stood up and saw a man with a black Nikon. He snapped another photo and raced down the dock, his camera bouncing against his thigh. “What do you think you’re doing?” Serena demanded, running after him. She tripped on a plank and fell hard against the wood. She heard yelling and saw a tall man with wavy dark hair holding the camera over the water. The photographer shouted in French and the dark-haired man shoved the camera against his chest. “Are you all right?” Nick bent down. “He took my picture.” Serena tried to sit up. Her hands were scraped and her knee was bleeding. “It’s not going to do him much good if I have the memory card.” Nick grinned, opening his palm to display a small red card.
