Left To Run. Блейк Пирс

Чтение книги онлайн.

      No response. Adele shook her head as she exited the walkway and entered the main terminal, greeted by the odor of overpriced coffee and stale pastries from the airport restaurants. Her eyes flicked along a series of shops; one for curio items, and another a bookstore. Adele pushed her phone back into her pocket, moving quickly through the airport toward baggage claim. Last time, she’d been paired with John—likely it would happen again. But they’d left things awkward after the last visit. While she and Robert had messaged each other every few days in the month since she’d been in France, John hadn’t reached out once.

      Neither did you, a small voice reminded her.

      But she pushed it away with a slight shrug. She reached the baggage claim and watched as the luggage circled the metal slatted conveyor belt; she waited patiently, but still never fully managed to shake the anticipation clotting her chest.

      At last, she managed to retrieve her bag, waiting for a space to clear around the claim.

      She found herself brushing her hair behind her ears and straightening her outfit even while she approached customs and waited for the border agent to survey her special detail passport and papers. Get a grip, she thought scathingly. Why was she so concerned about her appearance all of a sudden? John or not, why did it matter? Adele was taller than most woman, but not unusually so—her long, dirty-blonde hair framed features that hinted of her French-American heritage. Exotic, some said. A single mole stippled the top of her lip, a source of insecurity as a teenager, but no longer.

      Adele thought of the last night she’d seen John, swimming in Robert’s private pool on his estate. The way John had been at the start of the evening, followed by how he’d behaved toward the end. He had tried to kiss her, hadn’t he? Had she misinterpreted the gesture? Whatever the case, when she’d pulled back, he’d been offended. He’d left shortly after.

      In defiance to her burbling emotions, Adele messed her hair, intentionally disheveling her bangs. Then, setting her jaw, she wheeled her suitcase through customs and out into the receiving area of the airport.

      Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the tall, lanky form of her previous French partner. But as her gaze looked over the waiting crowd, there was no sign of John. Her smile—which she hadn’t realized was displayed—became rather fixed as her gaze settled on a suited woman standing against the tinted glass of the window facing the streets outside the airport.

      Her smile faded completely as she recognized the woman’s pursed lips and her silver hair pulled into a bun. The woman resembled a no-nonsense supply teacher, or perhaps a nun out of smock. Not a single strand of hair was out of place, and even the wrinkles along the edge of her eyes seemed to stretch as if attempting to stand to attention.

      An agent she’d worked with before… But not John.

      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. СКАЧАТЬ