Left To Die

The bastard wouldn’t get away. Not this time.

A smile stretched her lips as she rejoined John on the other side of the underpass, facing a ramp with a long metal rail.

“What are you so chipper over?” John said, frowning. He had a phone raised, pressed against his cheek, and he seemed more grumpy than usual.

“I—” Adele cut herself off. “Who is that?” she said, nodding toward the phone.

John lowered the device and clicked a button on the side, sliding the phone back into his pocket, still frowning. “Marion’s friends. Some boots were able to track them down. They’re waiting for us at the bar.”

“Why do you look pissed off? That’s good news.”

“Oh, yes? It is good? Hmm—well Michael and Sophie are going to be there. You remember Agent Paige, yes?” His tone was now high-pitched and would-be innocent, carrying the malicious undercurrent of bad humor. “She refused to work with you. I cannot emphasize this enough, eh. Refused. Called you a chienne—do you remember this word, hmm? It is why I am saddled with our American princess—because Paige would not play nice.”

Adele felt the smile fade from her face with each subsequent word. She swallowed, slowly, a prickle of anxiety spreading through her, tingling down her spine. “Sophie Paige? She’s an agent now?”

“No longer supervising, hmm?” said John, still in his would-be innocent voice. His mood seemed markedly improved all of a sudden. “I wonder why that is? She wouldn’t—no, god forbid—she wouldn’t blame you for her demotion, would she?” His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise.

“Christ, you’re such an ass,” Adele snapped. She began stomping up the ramp, rubbing her hand against the cool metal of the guard rail. “Are you coming? Or do you want me to interview all our witnesses on my own?”

John didn’t reply, but she could hear him chuckling behind her as he followed.

Inwardly, Adele was a tangle of emotions. Sophie Paige had been her supervisor back when she’d worked for the DGSI. And what a mess that had been. Surely, after all these years, she wouldn’t still hold a grudge…

“Who am I kidding,” Adele muttered out loud, picking up the pace as she reached the sidewalk and stomped toward the waiting vehicle.

Sophie Paige was exactly the sort to hold a grudge. Interviewing a bunch of Marion’s friends with that gargoyle leering over her shoulder sounded about as much fun as pulling teeth.

Two steps forward, one step back.

But Agent Paige or not…

The killer had red hair.

Twenty-five. Twenty-four. No more.