to Paris gave him the impetus he needed to strike again.”
“If that’s his mindset, then he’ll only get worse,” said Adele.
Foucault had been sitting quietly, listening for the last couple of minutes. But at this last comment, he broke his peace. “Exactly. And this is the topic of the day, Agent Sharp.”
This time, it was Adele’s turn to tilt an eyebrow in the direction of her supervisor. Agent Lee sighed. “I wanted to tell you in person. I know you had three days off—I know what the last month must have been like. I’m sure it’s been hard on you and Angus.” Her lips curved in a sympathetic way. “But you know everything about this bastard, Adele. He’s going to kill again. You know it, and so do I.”
“What are you asking?”
“They need you in Paris,” said Grant. “I’ve already discussed it with the department supervisors.”
Adele was already shaking her head though, and turned her back on the screen, pacing the room before rounding on Foucault once more. Except now, she was watching Lee, framing her friend against the backdrop of the glowing screen.
“No one knows this guy better than you, Adele,” said Grant. “The DGSI wants you on the ground. You have ties to both agencies, and with your dual citizenship—”
“Triple,” Adele said, softly.
“Come again?”
“Triple citizenship. I’m German, too.”
Grant nodded quickly. “Yes, of course. Triple citizenship. You’re uniquely positioned, Adele.”
“Are you telling me?”
Agent Lee immediately shook her head, causing her chestnut hair, which she always wore in a simple ponytail, to swish back and forth. “No. It’s your call. But if you agree, you’ll have to go now. There’s no time to wait. You’ll have to take your vacation some other time.”
As static crackled the room, coming from the direction of the TV, Foucault’s lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
“Christ, Sam,” snapped Adele. “We’re the goddamn FBI. Think we could have a clean call?”
The tall tech—who’d remained seated throughout all of this, quiet and watching—was already hurrying over, fiddling with buttons on the TV.
After a moment, the static faded. Foucault tested the mic and then, peering across the room, his eyes slightly off-center—though Adele suspected on his screen, he was staring straight at her—he said, “Well, Agent Sharp? France will have you back. Will you come to Paris?”
“No,” said Adele. Immediately, she felt a jolt of worry. The words had come unbidden to her lips, summoned from deep within her, the residue of past decisions bubbling to the surface.
She couldn’t go to France. Not now. Not so soon after…
She glanced around the room, realizing all eyes were on her. The lights above felt bright all of a sudden, her own breathing sounded loud to her ears. She reached up one hand, rubbing at an elbow but refusing to stare at the ground, though everything in her wanted to avert her gaze.
Christ, Sharp, you’d really throw away a career just to avoid… Avoid what, exactly? Lee Grant said nothing, studying her subordinate with a compassionate expression. Foucault and the diplomat were frowning, but Adele glanced away, locking eyes with Lee.
Of everyone in the room, Agent Lee had her back. But still, refusing a request like this from the higher-ups didn’t come without consequences.
Adele set her jaw and straightened her posture. “I—I can’t go back. Not yet…” Why not, Cara? Come home.
Adele shivered and shook her head even more adamantly. “No. I just can’t…I…” She trailed off, images from her dreams flashing through her mind. Memories of a childhood, of a life once lived, played like shadow puppets across her mind. She thought of Doug in security. Perhaps that was to be her fate: relegated to a metal detector with her own sign, Beware of Sharp: refuses to play nice.
Career was one thing… But this… This was too close to home. She inhaled slowly, trying to clear her mind. It didn’t have to be like last time, did it? Her mother’s case was cold. She wouldn’t absorb herself in it. Not again. This was about the Benjamin Killer. This was about this girl, Marion, and whoever the next victim would be.
Could she really say no? What was she staying for anyway? It wasn’t like Angus had stayed. Why should she?
“Think about it,” said Foucault, studying her. “I’ll send the case file and the doctor’s report. Perhaps you’ll have insight we missed, hmm?”
Adele nodded. She could read a report. Where was the harm in that? Just one lousy report.
“Fine,” said Adele. “Sam, can you forward it to me?”
One small, measly little case file. Perhaps there’d be a clue, after all. Adele puffed her cheeks, then blew softly, exhaling in an effort to steady her nerves.
Why was he killing based on age alone? What did it all mean? Bleeding, bleeding, ever bleeding…
Another crime scene, another killer, another murder. All of it flashed through Adele’s mind, leaving cold prickles across her skin as she stared resolutely out the tall glass windows. When would the Benjamin Killer stop? It was like a countdown—a challenge.
He wouldn’t stop on his own. It was the wrong question. The real question echoed, unvoiced in Adele’s brain: when would someone catch him?
She could feel the eyes in the room staring at her, watching, accusing, waiting…
CHAPTER FIVE
The airplane’s cabin echoed with the sound of the churning engines. Adele leaned back in her seat, savoring the comfort of first class. She stretched, arching her back as she clasped the armrests with her hands. She reached up and adjusted the small knob that turned on the air conditioning, and then brushed her hair aside as airflow wafted through the cabin. No sleazy lawyers this time.
It had taken Lee all of five minutes to convince Adele to go to Paris.
Her supervisor always knew what to say. And, in this particular case, she hadn’t said anything. At least, for the most part.
Adele could still feel her supervisor’s gaze boring holes into the side of her skull. Her own mind had done the persuading. Far too many people were given a pass for the sake of someone else’s comfort. Killers escaped because of lazy law enforcement. These murderers, these monsters, didn’t deserve Adele’s complacency. She wouldn’t permit them her exhaustion. Nor would she allow them, ever, her fear of her past.
It had been a while since she’d been in France. And, if she was perfectly honest, she missed it.
She blended in well enough, and could speak the language to a degree few people suspected her of being a tourist.
Adele shifted, readjusting her position against the headrest. She steadied herself, breathing softly, inhaling for seven seconds, then exhaling for eight. A small breathing exercise her psychologist boyfriend had once taught her. The same boyfriend she’d
