Left To Die

But the first voice retorted, “I don’t believe you! You have a knife in your hand. Look—it’s a knife! We’re calling the police!”

At this, the magician gave up all pretenses. He cursed and shoved roughly off the young man, pressing hard against his chest for leverage, and then he bolted in the opposite direction of the voices, fleeing into the trees.

“Sir, help is coming. Are you hurt?”

Two faces, then a third crowded above him. Enes spotted phones pressed against each of the teenagers’ cheeks, but though he tried to react, tried to speak, he found he still couldn’t move a muscle. Still, tears of sheer gratitude traced the inside of his face and tickled the underside of his chin.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The gated mansion loomed over Adele, its shadows sweeping the well-maintained streets of the cul-de-sac. Her breath plumed into the night, twisting toward the sky in foggy ribbons. Adele paused for a moment, checking her watch. Exactly one hundred. The small symbol of a heart on the smartwatch pulsed next to the steady number.

The skies were still of dark countenance, and sheets of still quiet draped the streets—especially in the upper end of the Parisian suburbs.

Adele pushed a few strands of hair back behind her headband, clearing her vision. Normally, she never broke routine. But sleep had played coy with her, and Adele had needed to clear her head. Running along the empty sidewalks at night had been refreshing. She needed those lab results; but it would take time…

Time she didn’t have to waste.

A light switched on in the white-bricked mansion, beaming out through a multifaceted atrium window and swaddling vanity pillars stretching the yard.

Another flood of memories bubbled up. She smiled through the gate, toward the light, sourced by the only other person she knew in France who kept horrible hours. When she’d been younger, many of her nighttime runs had ended up outside this place.

Adele winced against the glare of the light, and then flinched as the gate suddenly opened, splitting in the middle and swinging inward with the quiet, churning sound of an electric motor. Adele glanced up the long driveway toward the house.

Again, she was filled with memories of her time in France when she’d first joined the DGSI. Smiling to herself and attempting to push aside thoughts of the case, of the tox report, of the ticking time, she broke into a jog up the trail and toward the mansion.

The door swung open as she ascended the patio steps.

Robert stood in the doorway, wearing fuzzy pink slippers and a luxurious silk robe.

“Were you up?” she asked, breathing heavily between her words.

Robert lifted his right hand, his thumb pressed between the pages of a book. “Just doing some reading. Come in.”

Adele hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. She had lived at Robert’s mansion for a year last time she’d been in France. She didn’t know why a man who’d inherited so much worked for a government agency, especially as it wasn’t the kindest of jobs, nor did it facilitate interactions with the most pleasant of people. If Robert had wanted to, he didn’t have to work a day in his life.

Then again, perhaps that’s what he feared.

She shut the door behind her as she entered the pristine marble and tile atrium. In her estimation there were far too many statues and paintings adorning the area, not to mention the overly resplendent chandelier dangling from the ceiling. But taste was a matter of preference, and Robert’s tastes were more high-minded than most.

The small man stepped quietly across the tile floors in his fuzzy slippers, leading her through a side door and into a study, entirely unperturbed by her unannounced visit. In the study, a slow fire crackled behind a grate, and a couple of red chairs faced the flames. Robert plopped down in the seat on the left.

In one corner of the room, a dusty billiards table lodged between a bookcase and a wall. The pool cues were also covered in dust and stood unused in a rack by the table.

The house was large, and though there were two chairs, Robert lived alone. He’d never been married, and had never had kids of his own. He’d been brought up in a generation where his preferences in a romantic partner had not been smiled upon.

Adele’s breathing quieted and her heart rate calmed as she approached the fireplace, feeling the warm pulse of the flames as they crackled in the hearth. Robert propped his feet onto a footstool and leaned back, melting into his red chair with a look of contentment on his features.

“Sit, please,” he said, waving a small hand toward the empty chair. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Adele collapsed in the chair, as she’d done so many times before. She couldn’t count the number of nights she’d fallen asleep like this with Robert reading a book next to her. For some reason, this memory filled her with a flood of guilt.