Left To Run

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.

CHAPTER SIX

Removed from the center of Paris, in the northwestern suburbs of the Ile-de-France region of the capital, Adele kept her eyes forward as the car pulled up to the fourth floor of the DGSI parking structure. The afternoon drive had proceeded in complete silence; now, Agent Paige brusquely exited the vehicle, calling something over her shoulder about meeting with Foucault. She left Adele alone to meander her way through security to her old mentor’s office.

Stepping into Robert’s office was a relief.

Adele could feel her shoulders sagging as if a weight were lifted as she stepped through the door with a quiet knock on the frame. The day’s travel weighed heavy, but her spirits lifted as she scanned the familiar room. The walls still carried the same framed pictures of old race cars and beneath them shelves of dusty books with cracked leather covers. Two desks now sat in the room. The second desk had been placed by the window with an upright leather swivel chair behind it. On the desk a small, golden nameplate read, Adele Sharp.

Hearing a man clear his throat, she redirected her attention to the first desk and its occupant.

Robert Henry was already standing. He often stood when a woman entered the room. The short man was straight-backed with a long, curling mustache oiled and dyed black. He wore a fine-fitting suit, which Adele guessed had been tailored specifically for him. Robert came from wealth; he didn’t need the job at the DGSI, but he enjoyed it. Perhaps this was the reason he had one of the best records at the department. Robert had once played soccer for a semi-professional team in Italy, but had returned to France when he’d been recruited by the French government long before DGSI existed.

The small French man examined Adele for a moment, but his eyes twinkled, betraying the smile which hid behind his lips.

“Hello,” said Adele, unable to resist a smile of her own.

Robert Henry smirked now, flashing a row of pearly whites missing two teeth. Adele had heard many stories to how he’d lost the teeth, each of them more far-fetched than the other.

They held eye contact across the room, watching each other for a moment.

Then Adele said, “You use too many emojis.” Some of her bad temper from earlier began to fade in the face of her old mentor and friend.

Robert sniffed. “I consider it an art form.”

“Mhmm,” said Adele. “Weren’t you the one who told me the advent of cartoons was the death of culture?”

Robert set his shoulders and with a prim wiggle of his chin replied, “A genteel man knows how to admit when he’s wrong.”

Adele’s smirk turned to a good-natured grin. Robert Henry had been like a father to her for many years. Her own father wasn’t a fan of affection, but Robert was the sort who went out of his way to make sure Adele felt welcomed and comforted. Robert owned a mansion, but he lived in it alone, and often welcomed the opportunity to have guests. Adele would be staying at his house for her time in France.

“Took you a while,” said Robert, glancing at his watch. The glistening silver timepiece looked like the sort of item that might’ve belonged on a banker’s wrist. Robert adjusted his cuff links and nestled the watch beneath the edge of his perfectly pressed sleeve.

Adele leaned her suitcase against the doorframe, placing her laptop bag on the floor. “Whoever scheduled my flight gave me a three-hour layover in London,” she said. “Then it took some time getting the car—we had to walk to the other side of the airport. Someone more petty might think she did it on purpose just to frustrate me.”

Robert frowned. “She? Who did Foucault pair you with?”

Instead of answering, Adele strode across the room and extended her hands, embracing the smaller man. She wasn’t particularly tall, but Robert was still three inches shorter. She hugged her old mentor, and felt a warmth through her chest. He was smaller than she remembered, though. Almost… frail. Though Robert dyed his hair and his mustache, Adele couldn’t shake the notion he was aging. She separated from her old friend and smiled again. “We’ll be working out of your office, I hear,” she said.

Robert patted her on the shoulder in a comforting way. “Yes—that’s yours.” He nodded to the desk with the name plate.

“You put it by the window. I appreciate that.”

“I remember how you liked the view last time you were here,” said Robert with a shrug. He lowered his hand and moved back to his own desk chair, emitting a quiet groan as he lowered himself, settling with a soft sigh.

“You all right?” asked Adele.

Robert nodded, waving away any further questions with a dismissive gesture. “Yes, of course. The old bones just don’t move like they used to. I’m afraid I won’t be in the field with you.”

Adele gave a noncommittal nod. “Figured you wouldn’t be. We just need someone to keep track of things back here, anyhow.”

Robert was no longer smiling. His gaze seemed heavy all of a sudden.

“You’re not sick, are you?” Adele blurted out. She wasn’t sure where the question came from, but it ushered forth before she could stop it.

Robert smiled and shook his head. “No, not that I’m aware of. But,” he tapped his fingers against his desk, and then glanced at the computer screen across from him, “I’m learning how to use it better. Email is hard. But I figured, well, for your sake…” He trailed off, glancing at her.

Adele felt a flush of gratitude. She knew how much Robert despised technology. Despite the number of emojis he used in his texting, he’d been stubborn on the advent of computers. Still, she had demanded Interpol allow Robert to be a part of her team. That was the deal she’d made with Ms. Jayne when hashing out the contract.

At the time, she’d heard whispers and rumors that the DGSI was trying to edge Robert out of his position—a mandatory retirement. She felt a flash of frustration. The thought of anyone taking Robert’s job was unconscionable. They’d built DGSI’s homicide division, in part, with his efforts. He had made a name at other agencies long before the DGSI had even formed, which had attracted many new recruits. Adele respected most of the agents who worked for France’s intelligence agencies, but there were none she respected more than Robert. He was clever in an intuitive sort of way, and he was rarely wrong. The last case in Paris, he’d insisted the killer had natural red hair, and he’d noted the vanity of it. She hadn’t been sure, but in the end, it had proven an accurate deduction.

Still, she remembered her interactions with Executive Foucault. The frown on his face when she requested Robert’s help. The agency was trying to whittle back personnel. Now, though, with his help on the Interpol attaché, she’d tied Foucault’s hands.

“I need you,” she said, simply. “You’re the best at what you do.”

Robert shook his head, sighing as he did. “I don’t know if that’s true, dear,” he said, his voice creaking all of a sudden.

“It is. Don’t worry about the computers; you’ll figure it out. I’m sure. We just need someone to touch base with, to coordinate from back here. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Robert nodded again, his expression still glum. “I’m old, Adele. I know I might not look it.” He ran his hand through his clearly dyed hair. “But this agency, this place, I think it’s for the younger folk now.”

Adele’s brow dipped. “Why are you saying these things?”

Robert waved a hand. “It’s not important. I’m grateful. Likely, if you hadn’t asked for me, I would’ve been out of the agency within the week.”

Now Adele’s frown turned to a scowl. “You heard that? Did someone say they were trying to get rid of you?”

Robert just shook his head. “I am an investigator. I’m not meant to be stuck behind a desk. Sometimes you just know these things.”

“You’re thinking too much. You’re invaluable—trust me. And besides, if you go, then I go.”

Robert smiled at this comment and tapped his fingers together. “Fair enough. Computers aren’t my forte, but I’ll try my best. But you still haven’t said, who did the executive pair you with? John?” His eyebrows flicked up ever so slightly. A small glimmer of a smile edged the corner of his lips, but Adele shook her head, quieting his expression.

“Agent Paige,” she said with the gravity of a judge’s gavel.

Robert stared at her.

She shrugged.

He continued to stare.

“I didn’t ask for it,” she said.