Left To Die

Even as the thought crossed Adele’s mind, Agent Paige frowned at Adele, her eyebrows narrowing over her watchful gaze. She turned to her partner and muttered something beneath her breath, which sent the short, round man into a fit of giggling, his dark cheeks wobbling with mirth.

Then again, perhaps time’s ministrations were overstated.

“What’s the history between you two?” John said, quietly.

Adele had paused, one foot on the single step that led to the raised back portion of the room.

The barkeep leaned against the counter, a bored expression on her face. She’d been unlucky enough to draw the short straw to tend bar during early hours. Adele felt for the girl, and nodded sympathetically in greeting. The girl nodded back and then turned to start adjusting some ornately styled bottles on the lowest shelf above the sink, causing auburn liquid to slosh around.

“It’s none of your business,” said Adele, growling, still hesitating on the step.

“Ah, so there is history,” said John. He clicked his tongue. “I thought so.”

Adele ducked her head, hiding her mouth. She lowered her voice even further, practically whispering. “Don’t give me that. You knew we had history.”

John smiled lazily and leaned against a metal railing as if waiting for Adele to continue leading the way. “I had an idea. You just confirmed it. Tell me; did you take credit for a collar? Steal glory on a case that you both worked together?”

Adele’s brow furrowed at this, and she quickly shook her head. “Nothing like that.”

She wasn’t sure why this particular accusation bothered her so much. The idea that John would think she was the type to take credit for someone else’s success particularly burned. She had made her way on her own merit. No one else had given her a leg up.

“Then what?” said John, still leaning against the railing. He glanced toward where the other agents were waiting and flicked up a finger as if to say, one moment. He’d been speaking quietly at first, but the more attention they seemed to draw from the customers, the louder he seemed to speak.

“Keep it down,” Adele snapped. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Unimportant matters often breed grudges over half a decade, hmm? Which, I might add, can be seen written across both your faces.”

“Well, at least you can read; I wasn’t sure. Now, could we get on with it? We’re here to solve the case.”

Adele shoved roughly past John, stepping up onto the raised portion of the room which led into a railed off corner where Marion’s friends were waiting with their federal babysitters.

“Hello,” said Adele, quickly, formally, nodding at each of the four seated men and women in turn.

They looked up, questions burdening their eyes.

She cleared her throat, trying not to glance toward Agent Paige. The woman didn’t intimidate her, but she did make it uncomfortable. “My name is Adele Sharp. I’m working with the DGSI on Marion’s case. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“You are DGSI?” said the blond, square-jawed fellow. “Was this a terrorist?”

The other man in the group, a dark-skinned young man with high cheekbones, shook his head. “I knew it was terrorists. Didn’t I say; I told you, no one would want to hurt her. She was too kind. It had to have been some sort of—”

“Quiet, Antoni,” snapped the dark-haired girl who was clutching her hands as if she were praying. “She didn’t say it was a terrorist. Why do you always think—”

“—it was, though, wasn’t it?” said Antoni, glancing up toward Adele. “It’s okay. You can tell us.”

Adele sighed and placed one hand on the cold metal table, leaning in toward the four friends who were now all watching her.

Instead of answering them, though, Adele resigned herself to the unpleasant task at hand, and glanced over the friends’ heads. “Sophie,” Adele said, nodding to her old supervisor with a curt jerk of her head.

At the reluctant greeting, Agent Paige’s expression only further soured. “We’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour,” she said, frowning. Agent Paige spoke in a quick, clipped way, the sort of voice oft-burdened by impatience.

The unmet greeting hung in the air between them, stretching the atmosphere and breeding an uncomfortable tension which descended on the group in the daytime bar.

Adele kept her back stiff, her shoulders squared, as she nodded a greeting to Sophie’s round, balding partner, which he returned with an equally stiff, uncomfortable motion.

She could feel John behind her, watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a glance back.

“Apologies for the delay,” said Adele. “We came as quickly as we were called.”

“I’m sure you did,” said Agent Paige. She pushed off from the wall and Adele noticed a slight limp to her step as she maneuvered closer to the table. “Jet lag takes its toll on even the best of us, I imagine.”