Adele’s browbunched in the stream of water as she clutched her fists and her knucklespressed against the cold, slick white plastic pretending to be porcelain.
John had killedthe serial killer before he’d ended Adele, but that had only left her with morequestions. Part of her wished he’d been allowed to live.
Why was it funnyshe’d left Paris? That phrase haunted her now. She kept running it through hermind. Funny you left Paris… especially given where you worked… Almostlike he was teasing her. They had been talking about her mother’s killer.
Paris. She wasnearly certain now. Her mother’s murderer had lived in Paris. Perhaps hestill did. He would be what, fifty? Adele shook her head, sending waterdroplets scattering across the shower onto the slick floor.
She gritted herteeth as more lukewarm liquid pulsed in uneven jets from the nozzles.
In a surge offrustration, she twisted the knob the full way, but the water didn’t warm.Adele blinked, her eyes stinging against the trails of liquid inside the slopeof her cheeks. She stared in anger at the shower knob, the arrow pointing at theculmination of a red slash.
“Fine then,” shemuttered.
She grabbed thehandle and twisted it the other way. Small disciplines compounded over time.The cold water began to arc on her head and sent goosebumps rising on her arms.Adele’s teeth began chattering within moments, and the pain in her side fadedto a numb chill as the cold water turned frigid.
Still, shestayed in the shower.
The killer hadtaunted her. As if he’d known something. Something she’d missed. Something theauthorities had missed. What was relevant about her workplace? That partbothered her the most. It was almost as if… She shook her head again, pushingback the thought.
But… what if itwas true?
What if hermother’s killer was somehow connected to the DGSI? Maybe not the agency itself,but the building. Perhaps there was a proximity. What else would make sense ofhis words?
Especially givenwhere you worked…
The man John hadshot had known something about her mother’s killer. But he’d taken it to hisgrave. And the Spade Killer, the man he had worshipped, the man who had killedher mother, was still out there.
The cold watercontinued to seep down the angled slope of her shoulders, and she drew insmall, quick breaths against the sensation, but still refused to move.
She would besharp next time. They had asked her to join a task force with Interpol on anas-needed basis. But Adele was itching to return to Europe. She likedCalifornia, and she liked working with the FBI, especially with her friendAgent Grant as supervisor. But her desire to solve her mother’s murder requireda level of proximity.
Finally, pushingone forearm against the glass door, gasping, Adele twisted the shower knob.
Mercifully, thefreezing water stopped. She stood trembling in the glass and plastic partitionfor a moment as the water dripped off in quiet taps.
Whoever designedthe bathroom had placed the towel rack on the back of the door on the oppositeside of the room. It took a few steps to reach it, and though she had a bathmaton the floor to absorb water, she preferred to wait in the shower a bit to dryoff before stepping out.
And so shewaited, thinking, contemplating, shivering. She thought of another time, soakedin water, also shivering…
A flash ofwarmth crested her cheeks. She thought of swimming in Robert’s pool—John hadcome over for an evening…
He wasinsufferable. Rude, obnoxious, annoying, unprofessional.
But alsohandsome,said a small part of her. Dependable. Dangerous.
She shook herhead and stepped from the shower, causing the glass and metal door to squeakopen and slam into the yellow wall; a few flecks of paint chips fell from theceiling. Adele sighed, glancing up. Already patches of mold had formed beneaththe coating. The previous tenant had painted over it, which had only served todisguise the issue.
Perhaps sheshould text John.
No, that wouldbe too familiar. An email then? Too impersonal. A call?
Adele hesitatedfor a moment and reached for her towel, pulling it off and drying her hair. Acall might be nice. She reached down to her side with the scrape and wincedagainst the minor injury.
Some woundshealed slowly. But other times, it was best to avoid a wound altogether.Perhaps it was better she didn’t call John at all.
Exhaustionweighed heavily on her shoulders as she moved through the house to the bedroom.Her eyelids were already beginning to droop. Three hours of overtime, fillingout paperwork and justifying the shooting, had taken their toll.
It was ahorrible thought, but Adele was starting to wish for a case in Europe.
Perhapssomething that didn’t hurt anyone too badly. Just something to get her out ofCalifornia. Out of the small, cramped apartment. It was too quiet. For somepeople, the sounds of other human beings moving around, enjoying their lives,assuaged them. It staved off bouts of loneliness.
Adele sighedagain, and she moved into her room, donning bedclothes. She reaffixed a bandageon her scrape and tried to push back any further thoughts of animosity towardher new young partner. She flopped into bed and lay there for a few minutes.
In the past, sheand Angus would watch TV as they drifted off. Sometimes he would read a book,narrating it line by line out loud so she could enjoy it too. Other times theywould just snuggle and talk for a few hours before they drifted off.
Now, though, shelay in her bed. No TV. No books. Just quiet.
CHAPTER THREE
Melissa Robinsonmoved up the apartment steps, humming quietly to herself. In the distance, sheheard the bells from the city. She paused to listen, her smile only widening.She’d been living in Paris for seven years now, yet the sounds never grewstale.
She turned upthe next set of steps. No elevators in this apartment. The buildings were tooold. Cultured, she thought to herself.
She smiled againand took the stairs one at a time. There was no rush. The new arrival she wasgoing to meet had said two o’clock. It was 1:58. Melissa paused at the top ofthe landing, glancing out the wide window into the city beyond. She hadn’tgrown up in Paris, but the place was beautiful. She glimpsed the old, yellowedstone structures of buildings older than some countries. She noted the angledpattern of apartments and cafes and
