She consideredthe case for a moment. This had to have something to do with organ trafficking.She was nearly certain of it. But she’d been wrong before. Foucault had strucka nerve. If he withdrew support for her connection with Interpol, the wholeoperation would likely collapse. This was a trial run. Ms. Jayne had hired heras a liaison between the three agencies and the three countries. A shared assetbetween the FBI, the BKA ,and the DGSI. But if Executive Foucault thought shewasn’t up to the task, or decided to take Agent Paige’s side over hers, thewhole operation could end before it even started.
Adele shiftedagain, throwing her legs up on the couch now and taking her shoes off, knockingthem with her right foot onto the floor, listening to the dull thumps as theylanded on the ground. She stretched, exhaling as she lay against the couch, andthen took another sip from the glass, her head elevated against the cushion ofthe armrest.
She needed to bein France. Her mother’s killer was somewhere in France. Maybe in Paris, maybe not.Wherever he was, he had gotten away with it.
Adele tookanother long sip, wincing against the strong flavor. She found she couldbreathe clearly through her nostrils now.
Adele tried toconsider her father’s aversion to her mother’s case. Why did he care so muchwhat she investigated? It wasn’t like he even cared about her mother before shehad died. Had he?
She thought ofher father’s house. He kept the home they’d lived in when she’d been a childback in Germany. Adele had left at the age of twelve to move in with her motherin France. But her father still kept the family pictures. He kept her room thesame way, and the last time she’d been there, she had even seen her stuffedanimals on the old bed.
Those weren’tthe actions of a man who didn’t care. So why did he want her to ignore hermother’s case? Didn’t he want justice realized? Surely they had loved eachother once upon a time.
Adele breatheddeeply, pushing the thoughts from her mind. It wouldn’t do to bescatterbrained, to split her focus. Robert was currently looking into otherorgan harvesting cases in France. She wondered what he would come up with. Theyneeded a lead. A solid one. But where would that come from?
As Adelethought, her mind began to slow. She lowered her glass and placed it on thefloor, half empty. She listened to the sound of the quiet bubbling from thedistillery; beyond that, there was no other noise. Even the vents down herewere quiet.
No footsteps, noquiet mumble of voices, no buzz of electricity or clack from a keyboard. Insilence, Adele slowly drifted off to sleep.
She awoke to aquiet creaking sound.
Slowly, Adeleopened her eyes—her training kicking in—keeping them half slits, surveying theroom before announcing her consciousness. She still lay on the couch in John’sbachelor pad.
The door,however, was open.
She spotted atall silhouette in the door, staring at her; then, just as quickly, the figureturned and exited the room, easing the door shut behind him, quietly. As thedoor clicked, Adele’s eyes shot open, and she bolted upright.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Hang on!” shecalled, her voice quieter than anticipated as the sleep slowly left her and sheregained her motor skills. She heard the sound of footsteps in the hall, andher frown deepened.
She swung off thecouch and surged forward, rushing to the door and flinging it open. Adelestepped into the hall and peered down it, her eyes fixating on John Renee wherehe headed for the stairs with long strides.
“John!” shecalled out.
The agent froze,one hand on the banister, a long leg extending up four steps, his foot pressedinto the marble. The other, though, remained at the bottom of the stairs as heseemed to have momentarily frozen. She heard a vague swallowing sound.
Adele clearedher throat. “John,” she repeated.
“Oh,” said John,with a would-be nonchalant shrug. Hesitantly, he began to turn, and his darkeyes surveyed her across the hall. “How are you doing, American Princess?”
He still carriedan air of indecisiveness as he twisted on the stairs. His lopsided smilestretched his face, and Adele noticed the burn mark along his neck and up theunderside of his chin. He wore a loose, unbuttoned black shirt, and hisforearms were more defined than she remembered. He had a handsome face, whichin the past she’d likened to that of a James Bond villain. Now, he seemedcaught on the stairs, half turned to leave, and half stuck in place like achild with his hand caught in a cookie jar. He looked uncomfortably at Adele,studying her like the same child determining how much trouble they were in. Hislanky form and broad shoulders did little to offset the discomfort writtenacross his face.
Adele strodeacross the hall, a feeling welling inside her that she couldn’t quite place:part frustration, part happiness, and part rejection.
“What was that?”she demanded, jutting a thumb over her shoulder toward the doorway. Johnglanced at her thumb, then toward the door, a stupid look on his face.
“Oh, what was… Idon’t…” He trailed off, jumbling his words, and ending with another shrug ofhis large shoulders.
Adele’s eyesnarrowed. She came to a halt in front of him, her chin angled so she waslooking into his eyes. He was a head taller than her, well over six feet, andyet it was him, not her, quailing in that moment. “You saw me, and you left!”she exclaimed.
John paused. Heseemed to be considering his words and frowned slightly, his dark eyebrows likegashes in granite, angling over his brooding gaze.
“I,” hehesitated, “I saw a pretty figure sleeping on the couch,” he said, pivotingquickly, now adopting a wry grin. He gave a nonchalant shrug, seeminglyrelaxing. “You know you snore when you sleep.”
Adele scowled. “Ido not. And don’t bullshit me; pretty figure indeed. Why didn’t you stay totalk?”
John gave anemphatic role of his eyes. The uneasiness from before seemed to melt beneathhis returning confidence, his posture now one of relaxed indifference, like atomcat slinking through an alley. He smirked and
