And she didn't speak when they took Rainier III Boulevard through Fontvielle, the tiny principality's industrial district.But while they drove, her brow held deep grooves, her eyes narrowed, as she tried to solve the puzzle that nagged at her. She mumbled occasionally, arguing with herself, her Index finger held aloft each time she reached a point of importance in her silent debate.Then as they pulled onto the superhighway that ran from Monaco to Nice and the Mercedes shot forward with a sudden burst of speed, she turned to study the man behind the steering wheel. Panic, bewilderment, and self-flagellation had all been thoroughly explored and discarded by the time she began to speak slowly."I'm doing it again, aren't I? For the third time since I've met you—Lord, was it only yesterday?—I'm following you around like a goose." She tapped the knuckle of her forefinger against her teeth for a moment, then added quizzically under her breath, "Maybe it's because I don't get enough lecithin."His quick grin didn't anger her.
