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know her. She’s my fiancée.”
    â€œYour fiancée!”
    Ignoring Maggie’s surprised gasp, he pinned her with a hard look. “What I don’t know is why she came to Cannes before I called her, and why you involved her in this operation.”
    She debated which issue to address first—the fact that David apparently no longer had a fiancée, at least according to Paige Lawrence, or the fact that Maggie hadn’t involved the younger woman in this operation. After another quick glance at Doc’s tight jaw, she decided to take the easy one first.
    â€œI don’t know why she’s here a week early, and I didn’t involve her in the mission. It was a mistake. A mix-up. My contact evidently mistook her for me.”
    Doc ran an eye down her bright gold-and-red-clad form. “Unless your contact is completely blind, there’s no way he could mistake Paige for you. She wears dresses, not spangles. And sensible shoes, not elevators.”
    â€œPlatforms,” Maggie said, trying to find a way to break the news that the last time she’d seen Paige Lawrence, she was wearing spangles and three-inch platforms and not much else.
    â€œLook, Doc, I don’t understand this any more than you do. It’s incredible that she’s here and we just happened to bump into each other. Just a crazy coincidence.” She paused, her brows drawing together. “Or is it?”
    â€œWhat the hell is that supposed to mean? What else could it be?”
    Still frowning, Maggie folded her arms across her chest. “Just what do you know about Paige Lawrence? Who is she, Doc?”
    He stared at her for a long, incredulous moment. “I know all there is to know about her,” he stated with savage intensity.“I’ve been engaged to her for over a year, and we dated for almost that long before deciding to marry.”
    â€œYou don’t know what she’s doing in Cannes,” Maggie pointed out.
    He drew in a sharp breath, obviously struggling to contain himself.
    â€œNo doubt she got the dates confused. She does that occasionally. Well, regularly. Last month, she took me to her parents’ home for their fortieth anniversary party. She got the date right. Even the day of the week. Just the wrong month.”
    The tenderness Maggie had glimpsed in his eyes when he told her of his wedding plans a few days ago flickered in their depths once again.
    â€œPaige has a mild form of dyslexia. One that causes her to transpose numbers. It’s what drew me to her in the first place,” he added wryly. “That, and the two-hundred-dollar fee she mistakenly charged my department for a two-dollar technical publication. She’s smart and generous, and far too trusting for her own good, but she gets a bit muddled at times. She needs someone to look after her.”
    The tenderness vanished, to be replaced by a fierce, flaring protectiveness. “Which is why I intend to find her, and quickly. However she got involved in this operation, she’s out of her depth here. Way out of her depth. Tell me exactly what happened,” he ordered.
    Maggie did, although she found herself glossing over Paige’s hesitant confession that she and Doc wouldn’t be making a down payment on a house together. When they located the young woman and extracted her from the situation she’d inadvertently been drawn into, Paige could tell Doc about that herself, Maggie decided.
    He listened to her brief account without interruption, absorbing every detail. When she finished, he began to pace the spacious suite.
    â€œAll right. We know the problem. This driver appears to have mistaken Paige for you. Now let’s break it down into small pieces and find the solution.”
    Maggie felt a surge of admiration at the way Doc deliberately, ruthlessly controlled his emotions and engaged his mind. She tended to operate more on instinct, yet she knew firsthand how many potentially