Left to Hunt (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Nine)

by Blake Pierce

  As she pushed off the couch, she glanced towards the clock over her microwave and groaned softly to herself.

  Three hours of recovery time. Now nearly nine AM. She was almost late for work.

  Adele rubbed at the back of her head again, pulling her fingers away and glancing down to make sure there was no blood. Given how things had gone, falling through the floor and getting assaulted with the skillet, she had come out relatively unscathed. She was especially thankful the tea hadn't been hot enough to scar, though her eyes were somewhat ringed in red; she was lucky she didn't look like a raccoon version of Renee...

  But the Spade killer had gotten away.

  Her mood darkened further, and she glared through the windows. She nibbled on the corner of her lip, considering what she might have done differently earlier that morning.

  She should have called in backup sooner...

  “Agent Sharp?” A voice said.

  Adele jolted, glancing towards her front door. It was ajar. She swallowed, staring. “He—hello?”

  A uniformed police officer poked his head through the door, giving a nervous little wave. “Umm, sorry, hello,” he said, quickly.

  She stared, blinking. “Do I know you?”

  He winced and shook his head. “No, so sorry, Agent Sharp. Just, only,” he swallowed, “the Executive of the DGSI told us to bring you here after...” he winced delicately, “after we found you tied up in an old lady's nylons across the street.” He flashed a would-be comforting smile.

  His words, though, only caused Adele's stomach to sink even lower. She glanced sharply at her wrists, then towards the door. Her hand moved to her pocket, where she normally kept her apartment key. It was missing.

  She felt a jolt of worry, but then spotted the key placed delicately on the kitchen counter. So that explained how she'd woken back in her apartment...

  She glanced back towards the officer. “Foucault told you to bring me here?”

  “After the EMTs, checked you, yes!” he said, quickly. “They said you needed rest.”

  “What did Foucault say?” she asked, still staring uncertainly towards the officer who'd been assigned to babysit her.

  “He said you should come into the office the moment you wake up. How are you feeling?” The officer added.

  Adele ignored him though, growling, getting to her feet, striding towards the door and slamming it shut with her foot, in the face of the peeping officer. She paused for a moment, feeling a flash of guilt, then calling through the door. “Thank you, officer,” she said. “Have you cordoned off the apartment upstairs yet? It belonged to a person of interest.”

  “Yes, agent!” called the voice through the door. “We have! Still sweeping it for bugs right now! Your boss—er, the Executive mentioned we should keep the unit under wraps.”

  “Find anything?” Adele said, her heart skipping a beat.

  “A camera in the shower,” the officer said, hesitantly. “Another facing the front door. Say, do you have a moment to give your statement?”

  Adele groaned, closing her eyes, but then popping one open. “Classified,” she said, speaking the first word that came to mind. “Sorry! Just photograph the unit. Send me anything you find! Fingerprint it too!” A long shot, but all she had left at this point.

  She turned away from the shut door now, frowning and shivering at the thought of being dragged into her apartment, unconscious, at the Executive's orders.

  Still, Foucault wanted to see her first thing? Was she in trouble? She winced... wondering how she might explain this morning's escapade to the hawk-nosed DGSI boss...

  Bludgeoned by skillets, assaulted with tea, then dragged across the street by unfamiliar officers, though, was the least of her worries.

  Far worse by a country mile...

  The killer had gotten away.

  She'd been so close. So very close. And now, she'd seen his face. He hadn't spoken a word to her. He'd simply winked. That had been enough. Clearly the killer had been using the rental as a stakeout alone. There were no signs of it having been lived in. No fridge she'd seen, no bedding or sheets. The strange paintings on the wall would be photographed, the apartment swept for bugs.

  Still, Adele was determined, now more than ever, to return to the small apartment, and go through it once more with a fine-toothed comb herself after the locals had processed every inch.

  "I'm coming for you," she muttered out loud. If only to make herself feel better.

  The killer had winked. Taunted her. He'd set up a camera and had rented the apartment across from hers. He had killed Robert.

  But now, she'd looked beneath the mask. She had kicked over the stone and revealed the creepy crawlies beneath.

  She had seen his face.

  And she had to believe that he was now feeling some of the pressure she'd been living under for the last decade.

  She wasn't the only one being watched. Now he had a target as well.

  She closed her eyes again, picturing the face she'd glimpsed as it had darted through the doorway before she'd fallen through the floor.

  A dull, dead eye. Every hair shaved free. Cold, pallid skin. Some sort of growth or hormonal deficiency, no doubt, given the frail, bony nature of the fellow. He had even moved, it seemed briefly, with a mild limp.

  A strange looking man and Adele felt certain she would find him again. What had once seemed such an elusive goal was, once more, close at hand.

  But for now, the trail had gone cold.

  She groaned as she pushed away from the door, massaging her neck, forcing herself not to probe at her head again.

  No sense making the Executive wait... She grabbed her apartment keys, then double checked she had her wallet, her firearm still, and then stepped out into the hall, locking the door twice behind her, with a significant look towards the babysitter posted outside her door.

  The man stared ahead, his hat tilted back, looking awkwardly across the hall.

  “Agent Sharp,” the officer said. “Is there anything else you could tell us about—”

  “Classified!” she insisted, sweeping past the policeman. She ignored the babysitter and paused at the end of the stairs for a moment, glancing up and down the hall, looking into the shadowy corners and behind the fire alarm, just in case. She paused beneath one of the sprinkler heads. No cameras.

  A new habit, perhaps, but she couldn't afford to stick to her old habits. Not now that the killer knew she was coming for him. He was on his game, so she would have to be twice as careful.

  Still, he was in the wind again, and Adele's leave of absence had come to an end.

  She needed to talk to the Executive anyway. For the first time in the last two weeks, she was looking forward to going back to work. She could convince the Executive to give her manpower on this case. Now that she'd closed in, he certainly would see it her way. He would want to help find the killer just as much as she did, wouldn't he?

  She picked up her pace, circling the banister, looking towards the local policeman and pointing a finger. “Don't enter my apartment again,” she snapped. Then, feeling bad, she added, “Thanks for looking out for me.” She took the stairs two at a time as she moved down towards the lobby once more.

  Once she was out of earshot, she tried to rehearse in her mind how the conversation would go.

  "Yes, Executive, I totally understand, sir. I know you don't pay me to chase cold cases. But this one... is so close. I was able to see him, sir."

  She scowled, mimicking the Executive's usual expression, and lowering her voice, she muttered as she took the stairs, "Now, Adele, we both know we don't have the resources."

  "But sir," she said, voicing the scene in her imagination. "I know I can find him. I just need some more time. Some resources."

  "Now, Agent Sharp, don't get ahead of yourself," she continued muttering. She reached the bottom floor, strolling past the mailboxes, smiling, despite herself, at her own play-acting.

  She felt a bit of a weight had lifted from her shoulders
.

  She would convince the Executive. It was the only way. And so, she pushed out of the front doors, and took the final steps down to the sidewalk with a skip in her step, excited to return to the office, and make her case.

  "What's got you so cheerful?" a voice called from the curb.

  Adele looked sharply over, and spotted the tall, handsome form of her old partner, John Renee, leaning against the hood of a Jaguar.

  She stared at the sport sedan and inched an eyebrow up. "No more Cadillac?"

  "Totaled it."

  "Ouch."

  John shrugged his large, muscular shoulders. "Not as ouch as the guys I rammed into."

  Adele hid a smile, taking the final step in approaching her old partner, with tentative motions.

  It was good to see John again. He reached up, beneath the collar of his untucked shirt, and scratched at the burn mark stretching over his neck up to the underside of his chin. He reached the same hand and pressed back his slick hair, pushing it over and out of his eyes.

  Those same, dark eyes now fixed on her, unblinking, as if trying to take in every motion and movement.

  "I'm okay," she said, almost reflexively.

  "I didn't say anything."

  "What are you doing here?"

  He shrugged and patted the hood of his Jaguar. "Was in the neighborhood. Heading to work. Figured you might need a ride."

  She frowned. “Did they radio it in?”

  John grinned now, wagging his head giddily up and down. “Hit with a skillet, right?” he said, still grinning. “Tied up in nylons? I hear you were knocked out by a little old granny.”

  Adele glared ahead. “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “What were you doing beating up old women, Sharp?”

  “I don't want to talk about it.” Adele crossed her arms for a moment, and shook her head briefly, but then winced from the gesture.

  John glanced at her. "Still hurts?"

  Almost in synchronization, the two of them glanced across the street, towards the apartment building. Adele spotted a police officer stationed out front, and caution tape crisscrossing over the alley. She shrugged. "It was a close thing."

  John whistled beneath his breath. "Working a case? I didn't get the details."

  She glanced at John and cleared her throat. For a moment, she considered telling him what had happened. John was the only other agent who had ever gotten close enough to see the Spade killer. He'd gotten away then too. But at the same time, Adele wasn't sure she wanted to live through the questions. And questions would be inevitable. How? What? Why? How do you feel?

  If she had to weather another storm of questions about her feelings, she was certain she'd explode. Adele briefly thought back to the previous month. They had buried Robert Henry. They had said their goodbyes. Adele had gone to the funeral, and then she'd been given a case chasing a mentally unstable serial killer.

  And in all of it, people had questioned her feelings, her emotional state.

  If she was honest, she had questioned much the same.

  In her mind's eyes she pictured the small raincoat closet next to her front door. The package that had been sent by Robert's niece. The items he had left her in the will. She still hadn't opened it. For two weeks the box had sat in the darkest corner of the closet, collecting dust. Whatever Robert had given her, she knew she didn't deserve. Some things were best left taped and hidden, though perhaps other things had to be shown the light of day.

  She glanced towards John again, looking him up and down, and muttering, "You're looking good," she said.

  "I've taken up running," he replied.

  She raised her eyebrows. "Really? You? Running?"

  "That's a lot of question marks for three words."

  "It's all in the inflection my friend."

  John quirked a smile, his lips rising slowly. "Are we?" He said softly. "Friends again?"

  Adele winced, hesitating, trying not to think of how she had treated John. She had thought by keeping her distance she would keep him safe. But now...

  Now what? Had anything changed?

  She had seen the killer. Seen his face. That lumpy, misshapen, shaved face with the missing eye.

  He hadn't seemed a threat so close.

  She shivered at the thought. But she had found him. That counted for something. Something, at the very least, had changed. She had found him.

  She swallowed and gave a sheepish smile and a single shoulder shrug. "I mean, your sense of fashion is hard to be seen with."

  He watched her, but then smirked and shook his head, rolling his eyes. "And you? Those suits you wear scream middle-aged businessman."

  "Sexist pig."

  “Feminist harpy," he replied, with a good-natured nod.

  "One of these days, I'm going to report you to HR."

  "They already have a cabinet filled with files on me, my dear." He tapped his nose. "It's all about the connections. Anyway, do you want a ride or not? I'm having half a mind to leave you here."

  Adele sighed, considering where she had parked the rental she was using. But then, she looked at John. They'd left things strange. Well, more accurately, she had. Which meant, perhaps, it was up to her to endure a bit of awkwardness to restore what they had.

  Which was what exactly?

  Her eyes traced John's handsome features, landed on the scar over his chin, and then moved up to meet his eyes.

  She'd missed him. She hadn't realized how much until this moment. She shrugged again, and then moved around the side of the car. "I won't challenge your fragile masculinity by asking to drive."

  John grunted. "The only fragility here is going to be your tolerance for high speeds when I hit the highway. Buckle up Sharp."

  Adele had half a mind to take the warning and take her own car, but then, trying not to smile, she slid into the passenger side and buckled as John slid into the front of the leased vehicle.

  He revved the sport sedan, and then peeled away from the curb before she had even settled, his fingers gripping the steering wheel, tearing down the Parisian roads, and heading to the highway which took them to the headquarters.

  "Don't get us killed," she muttered, as John picked up pace.

  "I wouldn't be able to see the look of horror on your face if I did that."

  "You never were the most perceptive sort."

  John snickered. "Nice to see someone back on their game."

  Adele didn't give him the satisfaction of a smile, but instead just crossed her arms, refusing to wince as her bruised head pressed back against the headrest, and she settled in for the drive back to the headquarters. It was nice to be back with John.

  Back with?

  Whatever that meant. At the very least, nice to be next to him. She'd missed it.

  She'd nearly caught the killer. Now, by bringing others close, she wasn't putting them in danger. She couldn't think that way anymore. No, she was the hunter, and he was the prey.

  He was the one who should fear her; he was the one who should be terrified of ever going after one of her friends again. She would have to double her attention, think like the killer. Maybe even set up surveillance of her own. But now, for the first time, she felt like she had a head start.

  John continued to rev the engine, flooring the pedal and testing all manner of speed limits as he zoomed away from the city.

  Adele leaned back in her chair, quite relaxed, trusting herself next to the old military helicopter pilot.

  It would be her first day back at work in nearly two weeks. She wondered how Executive Foucault would react. Would he immediately grant her the leeway to start an investigation again into the Spade killer? Or would he have something else entirely?

  She would just have to convince him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Absolutely not," the Executive snapped, glaring at her across his desk. “You're lucky I'm not firing you!”

  Adele leaned in, feeling her stomach twist in frustration, her eyes fixed on the hook-nosed leader of th
e DGSI. His dark, deep, bushy eyebrows were low over his piercing gaze. The window in the back of his office was open. The space smelled less like cigarette smoke than it ever had. But the packs of nicotine gum were piling up in the wastepaper basket.

  Already, the Executive was chewing on his seventh stick, judging by the evidence of the remnants in the basket. In between chomping on the gum, he was shaking his head firmly side to side. "No new cases. What do you think you were even doing at that apartment Agent Sharp? You were on leave, might I remind you! You broke into the apartment of an innocent family!”

  “I fell in,” she said, primly. “It was an accident.”

  Foucault massaged the bridge of his nose, shaking his head and inhaling softly. When he spoke again, he seemed to have calmed a bit. “You already had two weeks off, Agent Sharp. Be reasonable. We have something else."

  "Sir," she said, insistently. "Look, I understand. But the Spade killer, I saw him."

  The Executive pointed at her and then pointed at John who was sitting quietly in the chair next to her. "Did you see anything different than he did?"

  Adele winced. She glanced at John, who was staring at the back of his knuckles. His eyebrows had gone up when she'd revealed to the Executive exactly what had transpired back at the apartment. But he hadn't said a word since.

  At the Executive's redirection, Adele tried to shake her head firmly. But her heart wasn't in it. She knew John had already worked with a composite artist. He had spent hours giving detailed descriptions. Some of the same things she'd seen. Small, weak. No larger than a child. A bit of a limp. A pallid, ghoulish face. One dead eye.

  What was there to add?

  "He was bald," she said, quickly. "That's new. That wasn't something we had written before!”

  "I'll be sure to pass it on," Foucault said. "But Adele, as you know, there's no trace of him. Nothing. He didn't leave any evidence in that apartment."

  Adele growled. "Those security cameras. They're expensive. Military grade. There's got to be a way to figure out where he got those."