Bloody furrows and cuts laced the bodies. So much blood. Too much, suggesting the victims had been alive for a good portion of the carnage.
Luka simply stared, arm extended, braced against Jerome as he listened to Sasha. “Yes… yes, is the agent still there? The one with BKA? No, Franz, no time—now. We—we think we found them.” A pause. A staticky voice on the other end. Sasha swallowed. “Dead,” she said. “Definitely dead.”
CHAPTER TWO
Another vibration on her desk. Adele glanced down and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Angus. Again. He’d been texting her for three days now.
She pushed her phone out of sight beneath a stack of papers balanced on a metal tray. Late. She’d pushed off the paperwork for too long already. Agent Grant, her supervising officer in San Francisco, was a patient sort, but even she was getting tired of Adele’s procrastination.
In fact, her last comment had gone something like, “Stay the hell in your office. Lock the door, and don’t leave until you get the forms on my desk. Understand? Christ, Adele, I have bureaucrats breathing down my neck as it is.”
Not the most comforting of words to have echoing in her head as she filled out the overdue forms. Adele wrinkled her nose and glanced at her empty mug. The faint odor of coffee hung on the air of her small office. Really, it was little more than a walk-in closet with an opaque glass door. Windowless, with a single desk and chair and an overhead yellowish light, it served well enough.
She lifted another file, dropped it in front of her, and began flipping through the pages. Her eyes glazed as she did, and the hand holding the pen went limp, pressed against the desk. Only fifty more documents to go.
The joys of corresponding between multiple agencies couldn’t be overstated.
At last, she found the portion of the document requiring her attention and moved to fill it out.
More vibrating.
“Damn it!” she shouted, launching her pen at the stack of papers now shielding her phone.
She grabbed the phone, lifted it, and read, “4 New Messages.” All of them from Angus. The handsome, curly-haired coder had broken up with her a few months ago. At the time, she’d thought they were on the verge of getting engaged.
She glanced at the pile of folders, then at her phone. Then, quietly muttering to herself, she unlocked the screen and scrolled through Angus’s messages.
Hey Adele, have a sec?
A sec? Quaint. Cute. To the point.
Don’t know if you got my last message. Can we talk?
She scanned the times the messages were sent. Only two hours in between. Was it just her imagination, or was Angus getting desperate? What could he possibly want anyway?
Adele, look—I’m sorry for how things ended. I’ve been thinking a lot. Do you think we could hash things out this week?
Adele’s eyebrows inched up and she tapped her pen against her whitened teeth. Interesting. Was… was it possible Angus wanted to get back together?
She read the last message, which simply said:
Please.
She sighed and pushed her phone back beneath the pile of papers in the metal tray. No sense sorting it out now. She was swamped. Hurting Angus’s feelings a little was nothing in comparison to what Agent Grant would do to her if she postponed filling out the forms another day. Besides, Angus had done his share of hurting last time they’d interacted.
Adele squared her shoulders and tried to return her attention to her paperwork.
No use.
She leaned back, emitting a quiet sigh that extended toward the ceiling as if encapsulating the yellow light and blending with the illumination. Though he’d hurt her, she wasn’t interested in hurting Angus. He’d been a good boyfriend—a solid boyfriend. Predictable? Maybe a little. Reliable, though? Certainly. Honest, too—though sometimes too nice, too hesitant.
Safe. Perhaps the best word to describe him. Rich now, too, if what she was hearing about his last tech company was anything to go by.
Her left hand inched toward the phone again, but she paused, allowing it to linger on the soft surface of the paper beneath her fingertips. All this paperwork could have been avoided, at least—mostly—if she wasn’t forced to spend so much time in airplanes, or moving between agencies. When she’d agreed to work with Interpol as a correspondent between BKA, DGSI, and the FBI, she’d thought she’d known what she was getting into. But now…
She wrinkled her nose again at the pile of folders in front of her.
Perhaps it was time to set down roots. Moving, constantly moving… It wasn’t conducive to a happy life, was it? Recently, Adele had read an article in Psychology Meritus, a journal that the FBI Behavioral Unit swore by, which said that people who constantly moved in their youth, and continued to do so as an adult, often found it difficult to connect to others. The threat of uprooting and leaving could sometimes even have a traumatic effect on a child.
Adele frowned at the memory. Could it be true? It wasn’t like she had many friends.
She thought of Robert, and a small smile played across her lips. Even Agent Grant, despite being her boss, was someone she could confide in.
Her smile faded a bit as she thought of John Renee. Crack-shot, wisecracking asshole extraordinaire. Nothing safe about John. The anti-Angus in many ways.
Frowning now, she reached for her phone, intent on calling Angus. A call couldn’t hurt, could it? Especially if he wanted her back. What would she say? Would she even know before hearing his voice?
As she picked up her phone and felt the smooth weight, it began to ring. Not vibrating this time, but a shrill chirp. The only number in her phone set to make a sound came from upstairs.
Adele’s frown deepened and she could feel the furrowed lines gouged into her forehead as she pressed the phone to her ear. “Agent Grant, I’m working on the files. Not done yet, but I should—”
“Adele, forget the files,” said the voice on the other end. “We need you upstairs.”
“Are you sure? If you give me a few more hours, I’m sure I could—”
“Forget the files, Adele,” said Agent Grant’s voice. It sounded strained, reluctant, but certain. “Hurry. Something came up.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Adele waited for the silence on the other end before lowering her device and staring at her desk for a moment. Something came up. The way Grant had said it sent a tingle along the back of Adele’s arms.
Well, roots—at least for now—could wait.
Adele pushed from her chair, pocketed her phone, and—trying not to smile too widely—distanced herself from the pile of paperwork, pushing out the door and heading upstairs to Agent Grant’s office.
CHAPTER THREE
As she stepped into Agent Grant’s office, Adele was surprised to see Ms. Jayne sitting in front of the desk, her hands clasped over her knees in a prim, patient posture. Adele hesitated and tried not to frown in confusion. She surveyed the room, half expecting to see Executive Foucault show up as well, but—this time—there was no sign of the French head of DGSI.
Ms. Jayne, on the other hand, worked for Interpol. She was an older woman, with bright, intelligent eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. She had silver hair and was a bit heavier than most field agents. Adele knew from experience that Ms. Jayne spoke without an accent, suggesting she’d mastered the English language, but it didn’t seem as if it were her native tongue.