Just as I retrieved our duo from Paris I sent them back. Paris, you can't get enough of this wonderful tangle that straddles the bank's of the Seine. But Sharon has to come face to face, or as in our heroine's case, fist to face, with the arch-enemy of our story somewhere; so, why not here?
They have found the prize but before it comes back to the States, the enemy must be evaded, if only for the moment, before they can be vanquished,. The Chunnel to London awaits, then a confusing series of plane connections, then home. But for the minute our two are racing toward the Gard du Nord, on bikes, chased by evil in the form of a Teutonic-Argentine blond with piercing blue eyes (Don't they always pierce? Got to remember to find a new way for eyes to pierce, any suggestions?), pedaling like Brunhilde of the Valkyries, breastplate and all. Her goal, to cut them off at the Opera House.
Story is moving along well, 33,000 words and counting. On schedule.
More later . . . .