Читать книгу Left To Run - Блейк Пирс - Страница 7

Adele frowned at her laptop, leaning back in the first-class seat provided to her by Interpol. The plane shuddered as it cut through the sky, but Adele had closed the adjacent blind, allowing the glow from the computer screen to illuminate the cramped portion of airplane cabin.

She found herself twisting the strap to her laptop bag nervously where it rested in the empty seat next to her, surveying the information on the screen again. Once she read a case file, she rarely forgot the details.

She settled in, leaning against the curving white wall of plastic, her eyes flicking from paragraph to photo.

Two dead so far. Three days apart. A rapid pace, even for a serial killer. No physical evidence of any sort. A missing kidney in the first victim and a pending coroner’s report for the second. Would she also be missing a kidney?

Young women, both. Expats—Americans now living in France. Recent arrivals, too. Both killed so quickly they hadn’t even reacted. That was the only explanation for the clean nature of the cuts. No jagged slices, no signs of a struggle. One moment, the young women had been alive, in their own apartments, the next, seemingly as if by a ghost, they had been snuffed out.

Adele doubted the women had even seen it coming. Not much to go on—not yet anyway. Still, she kept the window blind low, listening to the churn of the engines as they hurtled through the air. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the case file again and again… and again.

***

She’d been able to connect to the Charles De Gaulle Airport Wi-Fi, and her eyebrows twisted down as she looked at the most recent message from Robert Henry, her old mentor and friend. It said: Sorry, dear, I won’t be picking you up. They sent another agent. Then he’d included a series of emojis and smiley faces.

She paused, then typed: No problem. I’ll see you at the office. Who did they send?

No response. Adele shook her head as she exited the walkway and entered the main terminal, greeted by the odor of overpriced coffee and stale pastries from the airport restaurants. Her eyes flicked along a series of shops; one for curio items, and another a bookstore. Adele pushed her phone back into her pocket, moving quickly through the airport toward baggage claim. Last time, she’d been paired with John—likely it would happen again. But they’d left things awkward after the last visit. While she and Robert had messaged each other every few days in the month since she’d been in France, John hadn’t reached out once.

Neither did you, a small voice reminded her.

But she pushed it away with a slight shrug. She reached the baggage claim and watched as the luggage circled the metal slatted conveyor belt; she waited patiently, but still never fully managed to shake the anticipation clotting her chest.

At last, she managed to retrieve her bag, waiting for a space to clear around the claim.

She found herself brushing her hair behind her ears and straightening her outfit even while she approached customs and waited for the border agent to survey her special detail passport and papers. Get a grip, she thought scathingly. Why was she so concerned about her appearance all of a sudden? John or not, why did it matter? Adele was taller than most woman, but not unusually so—her long, dirty-blonde hair framed features that hinted of her French-American heritage. Exotic, some said. A single mole stippled the top of her lip, a source of insecurity as a teenager, but no longer.

Adele thought of the last night she’d seen John, swimming in Robert’s private pool on his estate. The way John had been at the start of the evening, followed by how he’d behaved toward the end. He had tried to kiss her, hadn’t he? Had she misinterpreted the gesture? Whatever the case, when she’d pulled back, he’d been offended. He’d left shortly after.

In defiance to her burbling emotions, Adele messed her hair, intentionally disheveling her bangs. Then, setting her jaw, she wheeled her suitcase through customs and out into the receiving area of the airport.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the tall, lanky form of her previous French partner. But as her gaze looked over the waiting crowd, there was no sign of John. Her smile—which she hadn’t realized was displayed—became rather fixed as her gaze settled on a suited woman standing against the tinted glass of the window facing the streets outside the airport.

Her smile faded completely as she recognized the woman’s pursed lips and her silver hair pulled into a bun. The woman resembled a no-nonsense supply teacher, or perhaps a nun out of smock. Not a single strand of hair was out of place, and even the wrinkles along the edge of her eyes seemed to stretch as if attempting to stand to attention.

An agent she’d worked with before… But not John.

This particular agent had been Adele’s supervisor back when she’d worked for the DGSI. She also had been demoted, an unfortunate scenario whose blame had been placed solely on Adele’s shoulders. Every ounce of scorn and impatience displayed itself in every crease and glint in Agent Sophie Paige’s eyes, but at last, she raised a hand and gave a quick jerking gesture in Adele’s direction.

Not a wave, but more a beckoning call like a master calling their pet hound. Adele stood frozen for a moment, feeling people jostle past her as they moved to greet waiting family or friends. The still air swelled with laughter, the sound of bodies embracing, the quiet murmurings of exhausted travelers retreating from the airport and hurrying with relief toward waiting cabs or cars on the curb.

For the briefest moment, Adele had to resist the urge to turn right around and march back onto the plane, leaving Sophie Paige and her scowl standing by the window.

But at last, she mustered up the residue of her courage, quickly brushed her hair back into place with furtive motions, and moved toward the waiting form of her past supervisor and new partner.