by Blake Pierce
She stood on the sidewalk, beneath the moonlight in the nighttime streets of the beautiful city. The air hummed with the distant sound of traffic and the swish of a wind funneled by the buildings on either side of the wide streets. She passed a row of bus stop advertisement space and approached the glass doors to her lobby.
In the night, as she moved, she felt an odd sense of nostalgia, approaching the old building she had once lived in with her mother all those years ago. For a moment she paused on the steps, not quite smiling, but allowing something akin to a contented look to cross her face as she peered up at the large building.
Another gust of wind swept through the street, causing the scraping of a wrapper discarded behind the bus stop to dislodge with the breeze.
Her shadow stretched and spun as the headlights of a passing car turned up the opposite road and moved on its merry way.
Back home.
Was it home?
Now wasn’t the night to decide.
With Robert’s passing it was certainly less home than it had been.
Still, part of her had missed this place. As she stood outside her apartment, turning toward the buzzers, she paused, frowning briefly as she did.
For a moment, she glanced one way and then the other up the street, looking for any pedestrians. No sign of anyone. Night was complete, Paris slept save in the clubs and river walks throughout the city.
And yet still…
Adele shivered, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze.
For the briefest moment, it felt like she was being watched.
She turned, surveying the opposite street, her eyes darting across a couple of businesses and office spaces lining the structures facing her old home.
No sign of anyone in the windows. No sign of anyone at all.
She shivered again, feeling another tremor at the sensation of being watched.
Maybe she was just being paranoid.
Adele shook her head, turning back and quickly punching in her building code, waiting a second for the doors to buzz before stepping out of the wind and back into the apartment lobby.
Home.
She glanced toward the mailboxes lining the entryway and paused. A single brown parcel was left below her mailbox. She leaned in, peering at the parcel.
Robert’s niece had sent it…
The items her uncle had left Adele in his will, no doubt.
Her fingers traced the tape, the rough cardboard, and for a moment she shivered and shook her head. Did she even want to know what was in the will?
She sighed, picking up the box and hefting it beneath one arm. She supposed she didn’t much want to know. At least not tonight.
She took the parcel, and feeling far more burdened now than when she’d been standing out in the night, she approached the stairs, taking them slowly, one at a time, moving back up the building.
As she reached her floor, for a moment, Adele thought she heard the sound of the buzzer again below, followed by the noise of footsteps. Quick, confident steps. She paused, glancing over the railing and watching a neighbor’s hand trail the rail below. She looked away, turning back to her apartment door and, finagling the box, pushed into her small space.
She stowed the box of items from Robert’s niece in the closet where she normally kept winter jackets. She pushed the box deep into the darkest corner, folding one of the jackets over the top and then closing the closet with a quick jerk of her hand.
She turned away from the closet, despite herself, feeling a bit better for it.
She faced her old home, faced the large windows across from the small kitchen. The drapes were open, allowing the moonlight to reflect through and off the glass.
Tomorrow, she would go for a jog.
She nodded. Maybe an hour, maybe two… She shivered in delight at the thought. Maybe even a three-hour run. She felt a flash of gratitude that Agent Paige had been willing to report back to Foucault on their behalf.
A small, nastier part of her wondered if perhaps Paige would use the opportunity to slander Adele’s name… But a more reasonable part of her chimed in. Paige wasn’t a friend… hardly. But, following the case, perhaps there was at least some sort of mutual respect earned over the course of the investigation.
At least, Adele liked to think so.
She was jarred from further consideration by a sudden knock on the door.
Adele jolted, spinning to face the door as another knock resounded.
“Hello?” she said, tentatively, her hand moving slowly to where her service weapon still rested on her hip beneath her suit jacket.
“Adele?” a low, gruff voice called.
She froze, her tongue ever so slightly wetting her suddenly dry bottom lip.
“Adele?” the voice said, louder now. “I know you’re in there. Look—we need to talk!”
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back and staring sightless at the ceiling in defeat. She held back a groan of frustration if only to avoid letting him hear it.
“John?” she said, her eyes still closed, her voice coming strained with exhaustion.
“Adele, we need to talk. Please. Open up.”
“I…” She trailed off. What could she say? She was tired? Go away? Both might work. But knowing John, he wouldn’t leave. As if to emphasize the point, the tall Frenchman’s hand slammed against the door again, louder now.
“Adele?”
She sighed, her eyes fully open again and she reached out, shaking her head in defeat. He was incorrigible and relentless. Perhaps it was simply best to get this over with.
Whatever this was.
“One second,” she said.
She unlocked the door and pulled it open, stepping back and facing her old DGSI partner standing in the doorway.
Agent John Renee looked like a James Bond villain. He was traditionally handsome, with slicked back hair and a burn mark stretching up his neck and to the base of his chin. He was taller than most men, with a straight-postured bearing that collapsed only in the need for violence. He was also the single best shot she knew. He’d saved her life on more than one occasion. Though she’d managed to return the favor as well.
“John,” she said, softly.
“Adele,” he replied, jerking his head in a stiff nod.
“I’m tired,” she said, softly, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Hmm,” he grunted.
“No, really. Can’t this wait?”
“You mean like all my calls you’ve been ignoring? I even threw in a text or two, just for you,” he said, sarcastically.
Adele’s gaze rotated about his feet, crossing over his chest, making an effort for eye contact, but failing just as quickly.
“Look, really, I’m tired. If you knew the day I had,” she said, trailing off.
“Yeah, you look rough.”
“What every woman wants to hear,” she said, softly.
“Wouldn’t know. You haven’t been giving me much in the way of feedback recently.”
“John… look… This doesn’t have to—I don’t want to…”
He stood looming in the frame of the door, his large form stretched now, his arms over the top of the doorway as if he were embracing the exit, or perhaps blocking it.
Adele frowned at this, swallowing and shaking her head. “I’m serious. I’ve had a long day.”
“Not entirely sure I give a damn.”
“What do you want, Renee?” she said, her eyes flashing up now, fixating on him.
Didn’t the idiot understand? He was putting himself in danger by being seen with her. Didn’t he get it? She was trying to keep him safe. Everyone safe. If they got near, they would die. Simple. She huffed a breath, shaking her head and swallowing back a retort.
“You can’t ghost me,” he said, simply. “You can’t come in, make nice, then ghost me. It doesn’t work like that.” Shadows played across his handsome features, and his burn mark along his neck to his chin seemed brighter now, caught by moonlight through the la
nding window.
Adele looked away again. “I’m not,” she said.
“Damn lie.”
“Look… I’m grieving.”
“Bullshit. You’re cutting yourself off. There’s a difference.”
She turned on him, eyes wide. For a moment, she just looked at him, stunned as if he’d slapped her.
But John had never been one to mince words. He lowered his arms now, sliding them from the top of the door and crossing them over his muscled chest. “I know Robert’s dead,” he said, softly, his tone gentler now.
“Don’t.”
“I know he’s dead,” John repeated, louder, overriding her objection. “But that doesn’t mean you can just vanish. You’re not acting like yourself, Adele. Look at you, you look like a ghost. Have you been eating? Sleeping?”
“You’re one to talk about diet,” Adele muttered.
Instead of responding harshly, though, John just shrugged. “I guess I am. That’s why I’m here. I know what self-destructive grief looks like. Hell, I’m the king of it. Just here to warn you—the further down the rabbit hole you go, the less pretty it gets.”
Adele watched her old partner. John spoke with nonchalant language, shrugging as he did. But she detected something else behind the words… Something in his eyes. A hidden pain… A hurt. The hurt only seemed to intensify when he looked at her and held her gaze.
She glanced off once more. Part of her wanted to react in anger.
An easy choice, especially given John’s ability to push her buttons.
But she was just too tired… What would anger help with? Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he understand how much danger he was in?
“I… I don’t know what to tell you,” she said, softly.
John shook his head, sighing now, the sound like a creaking door. He looked like he’d weathered a storm, his countenance cloudy and dark as he murmured, “Remember who you are, Sharp. Remember what you do. You gotta take care of yourself. That grief, it comes with friends. I know it too. Best you can do is draw your own friends close. That way at least it’s a fair fight. And it’s a fight.”
“I know,” she said, softly. “This isn’t my first time either.”
“Well… You can’t ghost me.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said, still soft.
She wanted to get angry still, but now another emotion was rising in her… Perhaps more a sense than an emotion.
Inevitability.
Part of her knew John was right. She needed to remember who she was…
Was she really able to keep everyone safe? John, Paige, Leoni, Foucault, her father, her friends… Could she do it all?
She’d barely managed to stop the killer this time. And he hadn’t been targeting her loved ones. Already, she’d lost two of her own to the Spade Killer. Two people she loved.
She swallowed, her voice rasping.
“I, I think I need a break,” she murmured, softly. “I still have some bereavement leave…” Her voice was quiet as she spoke, but her will was hardening even now beneath the words. She could feel it forming, going rigid, could feel it strengthening. She nodded once, frowning even more deeply. “Yes… I think I need to take a break.”
“A break? From work? Good call,” John said. “You deserve a vacation.”
Adele stood in the doorway, facing her old partner, not quite asking him to leave, but not inviting him in either. Maybe they would talk for another few minutes, maybe hours. Either way, he’d already put himself in harm’s way by coming here. The more people drew close, the worse it would get.
She knew that.
Inevitability.
She could feel her resolve hardening even now, half-listening as John continued to prattle on, encouraged by her seeming willingness to be persuaded.
But he didn’t get it.
Even as she pretended to listen, her own mind was elsewhere, whirring, planning, plotting.
She would take bereavement leave. Take a break from work. Not for vacation though.
Her eyes narrowed and she felt that same chill she’d had entering her building. As if she were being watched. Adele glanced toward the open windows, still hearing John’s voice as if it were coming down a dark well. She couldn’t make out now what he was actually saying.
But what he’d said earlier was right.
She needed to focus. To remember herself. Not only for her mother, not only for Robert, but also for anyone else the Spade Killer might want to hunt.
Yes, she would take some time off.
Inevitability.
She would use the bereavement leave gifted her by the murderer so she could hunt him. Foucault wouldn’t bring her on the task force—she was too close to it all. She didn’t blame him. If she was in charge, she might have made the same decision. But the task force in charge of finding the Spade Killer wouldn’t turn up anything. No one ever did.
She would have to solve this herself.
She nodded to herself, no longer paying any attention at all to the handsome man in her doorway. She could feel the determination settle full and complete now, like an iron anchor dropped off the prow of a ship.
She was going to hunt the hunter. She couldn’t keep anyone safe.
But she wouldn’t need to. Not if she found him first.
***
The Painter smiled, leaning forward in the desk chair at his computer, watching the entrance of his favorite friend’s building. She’d been followed inside not long ago by the lanky Frenchman.
The Painter flicked his fingers absentmindedly over the ticket he’d printed. It rested beneath his small hand, the date and destination just visible past his frail knuckles.
Next stop, Germany. The ticket booked, the hotel as well. Under a different name, of course. Goodness, he hadn’t used his real name in quite a spell.
He continued watching the closed circuit camera he’d installed across the street from Adele’s, watching the grainy footage like a soap opera.
On a spare sheet of paper, next to the ticket, the Painter traced loops and swirls, around and around. He paused for a moment, holding his pencil firmly and focusing. Then, in a quick motion, he created a spiral in the center of the page.
He stared at the thing, glanced at the ticket, and frowned.
The Painter sighed, then shook his head. “No, no, no,” he murmured. “That won’t do.”
He reached down, crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the corner of the small, bare apartment he’d rented.
The crumpled paper landed amidst a pile of other discarded attempts.
Not just any old pattern would do. Not for this one. This one had to be… special. Adele’s father was special. The ticket booked, the hotel booked, now all that remained was a finalization of the design he’d use.
When he’d first started, he had cut and gouged into his canvas without practicing. But he was no longer an amateur. Practice made perfect. Perhaps a swirl by Joseph Sharp’s cheek… then maybe down to his chest, over his arm… Yes… yes, perhaps that would do.
The Painter leaned in, his brow scrunched in concentration, but his lips still twisted in joyful delight. He pulled another piece of paper and, once more, the booked ticket still just within sight, he began to trace another pattern.
This time, the design would have to be perfect.
NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!
LEFT TO HUNT
(An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book 9)
“When you think that life cannot get better, Blake Pierce comes up with another masterpiece of thriller and mystery! This book is full of twists and the end brings a surprising revelation. I strongly recommend this book to the permanent library of any reader that enjoys a very well written thriller.”
--Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos (re Almost Gone)
LEFT TO HUNT is book #9 in a new FBI thriller series featuring Adele Sharp (the series begins with LEFT TO DIE, book #1) by USA Today bestselling author Blake Pierce, whose #1 bestseller Once Gone (a free do
wnload) has received over 1,000 five star reviews.
When masked victims turn up dead at midnight balls in Venice, FBI Special Agent Adele Sharp—triple agent of the U.S., France and Germany—is summoned to find the killer before he can strike again.
As Adele navigates the historic canals of Venice in her hunt for a killer, she wonders if there is an unseen pattern to the murders. Is it a nod to history? Or merely the work of a deranged mind?
An action-packed mystery series of international intrigue and riveting suspense, LEFT TO HUNT will leave you turning pages late into the night.
Book #10 in the series—LEFT TO FEAR—is now also available!
LEFT TO HUNT
(An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book 9)
Did you know that I've written multiple novels in the mystery genre? If you haven't read all my series, click the image below to download a series starter!
Blake Pierce
Blake Pierce is the USA Today bestselling author of the RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes seventeen books. Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising fourteen books; of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising six books; of the KERI LOCKE mystery series, comprising five books; of the MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE mystery series, comprising six books; of the KATE WISE mystery series, comprising seven books; of the CHLOE FINE psychological suspense mystery, comprising six books; of the JESSE HUNT psychological suspense thriller series, comprising nineteen books; of the AU PAIR psychological suspense thriller series, comprising three books; of the ZOE PRIME mystery series, comprising six books; of the ADELE SHARP mystery series, comprising thirteen books; of the EUROPEAN VOYAGE cozy mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the new LAURA FROST FBI suspense thriller, comprising three books (and counting); of the new ELLA DARK FBI suspense thriller, comprising six books (and counting); of the A YEAR IN EUROPE cozy mystery series, comprising nine books); of the AVA GOLD mystery series, comprising three books (and counting); and of the RACHEL GIFT mystery series, comprising three books (and counting).