She paused, then winced. “The job is going to take a while. It’s in Europe. I’ll let you know when I’m back. Really. I will.”
And with that, she gunned the engine and eased away from the spot, waving at Angus as she pulled out and turned down the row of parked cars. As she crawled out of the parking complex, she refused to look over her shoulder, and her eyes fixed on the trail ahead, avoiding any efforts to glance in the rearview mirror.
There was a killer in the Alps. Perhaps a serial killer. Two couples missing—two hundred miles apart. Priorities. She had to focus. Adele gripped the steering wheel, pushing thoughts of Angus from her mind and cataloging every item she would need to pack for the trip. As she drove, pulling out of the lot, she began to pick up speed, a smile stretching her cheeks.
The hunt was on.
***
First class, no layovers. This was the life. Or, at least, it would have been if not for the bloody pictures of carnage splayed across her upright tray. Adele studied the crime scene photos, listening to the hum of the jet engines and—every so often—glancing up to make sure flight attendants weren’t passing by. She’d learned the hard way, a few years ago, the impact some of these photos had on the general public.
Causing another flight attendant to faint over the Atlantic? Not ideal.
Adele shifted, sliding along the cushioned backrest to shield some of the photos from view. Mr. and Mrs. Beneveti had been found two days ago, pieces scattered around a grove of trees. Mr. and Mrs. Hanes, the Swiss couple, had disappeared nearly a week before that, and had yet to be discovered.
Hundreds of miles separated the two missing couples. Their only connection: wealth, influence, and the Alps.
Adele’s brow wrinkled and she reached out, taking a sip from her ice water, then returning it to the cup holder. She issued a long breath, the sound lost in the whir from the overhead air conditioning nozzle. She tapped her fingers on the edge of her tray, bending one of the photos that refused to sit flat.
“A bear attack?” she murmured to herself, allowing the question to permeate her atmosphere.
It didn’t seem so. Not according to the prelim report—though they were still waiting on the medical examiner. And yet, a quick online search made it abundantly clear that the public was still convinced brown bears had returned in force to the Alps. But there were no bite marks, and a few portions that looked like they’d been caused by raking claws could easily have been caused by a hatchet or an axe as well. Some of the cuts were jagged—true… a rusted axe, perhaps. A blunt machete?
Adele winced at the thought of the couple huddled together in the frigid woods, out for a daytime ski trip, only to be set upon by…
By what? By whom?
Adele scanned the photos again, cataloging the information. There were FBI agents much smarter than her, others who were more connected, and still others with a greater natural talent. But there were very few who worked harder than she did; who paid attention to the details.
The devil was in the details. And, by the looks of things, also in the Alps.
CHAPTER FIVE
The vehicle they’d sent for her pulled up to the Wolfsschluct Resort, and, thanking her driver, Adele stepped out of the car, grateful for the opportunity to stretch her legs and take in the fresh air. From within, the driver called out. “Need directions?”
Adele glanced back and gave a faint shake of her head. “No, thank you—I have someone coming to meet me.”
The driver waved, already turning back to face the road. Adele retrieved her own luggage; she’d never liked making her driver do it, though some agents thought of it as a perk.
With her rolling suitcase gripped in one hand, she stood in the roundabout at the heart of the resort. When she’d first heard of the Wolfsschluct Resort, she’d initially pictured a hotel with a couple of ski slopes, maybe an indoor pool or two. But what confronted her now seemed more like an entire village peppered with snow and surrounded on all sides by the most pristine scenery she’d ever laid eyes on.
As she stood at the edge of the roundabout, just below the curb of the largest hotel, she took in the array of blue glass windows and quaint buildings lining the street, leading up to the mountain pass where cottages and hotel wings and outbuildings were cradled by the snow-tipped mountains and spattering of greenery. There was even a chapel made of stone, and an insulated water tower proudly displaying the resort’s name.
Her father would’ve called it a God moment. The beauty alone was mesmerizing—the perfect blend of human endeavor and natural art.
Adele glanced down at her suitcase, realigning her thoughts, trying to focus on why she was here.
“Hello!” a voice called from within the heart of the hotel before her. The building seemed to be made more of glass than walls, as if the architects hadn’t wanted to waste any opportunity to display the beauty of the Alps.
Adele turned toward the sliding doors which had opened to reveal a young woman—no older than twenty-one—standing in the doorway and waving cheerfully at Adele.
Adele smiled, recognizing the woman. Her hair was much shorter than the last time they’d met—almost shaved, in fact. Everything about the young woman suggested cleanliness and order. She wore a black suit and boots that seemed to glint from the sheer amount of polish. Her eyes were bright and eager and she waved at Adele, but then stopped the gesture halfway through the motion and nodded in greeting, as if worried her eagerness might be perceived as unprofessional.
“Hello,” the woman said again as Adele approached, stepping onto the sidewalk and trundling her suitcase in one hand while hefting her laptop bag in the other. “I’m Agent Beatrice Marshall,” she said with a dip of her shaved head. She spoke nearly perfect English, with only the faintest hint of an accent.
Adele nodded in return. “I know,” she replied, also in English. “We’ve worked together before.”
Agent Marshall’s smile returned at this. “I remember! I just wasn’t sure if you did, Agent Sharp. It’s a pleasure to be working with you again.”
“Likewise. So…” Adele’s tone turned somber and she paused in the glass doorway of the impressive hotel. The atrium was a combination of lacquered wooden beams and natural stone. A small waterfall spilled with gentle ripples into a pond by the counter. A man in a gold and maroon uniform nodded politely at the two women in greeting, but then returned his attention to a computer behind the check-in counter.
“So…?” Agent Marshall echoed. “I can show you to your room if you like.”
Adele paused. “That would be ideal. This is the resort where the couple went missing, yes?”
The BKA agent’s nose wrinkled and she nodded once. “They were found only a couple miles from here by one of the mountain rescue teams. They’re on standby if you wish to speak with them.”
Adele considered this, gnawing on her lip, but then decided against it. “Not yet,” she said, carefully. “Soon, perhaps. But I’d like to touch base with DGSI and make some calls, if that’s all right.”
“Agent Renee!” exclaimed the young agent. “I remember!”
Adele frowned. “Not just John, er, Agent Renee. I have others I need to speak with as well.”
“Of course, yes, of course. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
Adele’s frown deepened, and Agent Marshall seemed to realize she was treading on thin ice. “It’s good to see you came packed for the weather,” she said, nodding at Adele’s overcoat. “Obviously, the hotel is kept comfortable. I’ll show you to the room, shall I? Hotel staff have been advised not to bother you and to avoid your room. We have a temporary lock on the keycard readers to prevent any snooping.”
Adele followed the younger agent as she led them past the small waterfall and toward a staircase of stone and curving, polished wood.
Her room was also an affair of glass and wood, with magnificent views of the valleys and precipices beyond. Her eyes trailed the snow-tipped mountains and whitened forests as she placed her sui
tcase by the bed and withdrew her phone.
She cycled to John’s number, frowned a bit, and instead dialed Robert.
No answer.
She huffed impatiently and returned to John’s number, shielding her phone with her body from Agent Marshall, who stood by the door, waiting patiently. Muttering to herself, Adele lifted her phone, waiting for John to pick up.
A few rings later, she heard static, then Agent Renee’s voice, speaking loud and angry French. “I told you to stop calling me. I swear, I’m going to hunt you down and burn your world down—do you hear me? I don’t want your shitty moisturizer, and whoever put my name on your call list is going to have hell to pay!”
Then before Adele could say a word, John hung up and she stood listening to dead air. Adele inhaled through her nose and out through her mouth, counting slowly in her head.
Then she dialed again and waited, her impatience growing. Agent Marshall watched her curiously from the doorway.
“Holy shit!” John started with a vengeance. “Do you think I’m joking, because—”
“John, it’s me,” Adele snapped in English. “Adele. Shut up for a minute.”
A pause. Then a gently cleared throat, another pause of embarrassed silence. Then, in a clipped, forcibly calm voice, now also speaking English, John said, “Adele? How nice to hear from you.”
“The one and the same.” A small smile began to twist the corners of her lips, but then faded just as quickly, and she frowned. “Hang on—why isn’t my number in your phone?”
John grunted on the other line. “I only have two numbers in this phone. Work and my mother.”
Adele rolled her eyes, but out loud, she said, “Figures. And moisturizer, huh? What sort of subscriptions do you have?”
“Funny. So I hear you caught a case on this side of the pond again.”
Adele nodded, then realized John couldn’t see her and sidled closer to the floor-to-ceiling window, her breath fogging the glass as she stared into the wonderland of the Alps. “In the mountains, yes,” she said. “Actually, it’s why I’m calling. There was a second couple—Swiss. They also went missing.”
“The Haneses, yes,” said John. “Disappeared in France. Also in the mountains.”
Adele cleared her throat, tilting her head slightly. “Ah, so you’re aware already.”
“Not just aware,” said John, speaking slower now that they were in English. “I’m working it, with Robert.”
“You are? Perfect—I was wanting to coordinate with DGSI anyway. Do you think—”
“Well, actually, Adele, the executive wants the cases separate. Doesn’t want to get mixed in the German situation. Right now, we’re treating the cases as unconnected.” There was a slight pause and an apologetic tone to his voice.
Adele felt herself shaking her head. “We can’t know whether or not they’re connected yet,” she said. “Surely Foucault knows that.”
Renee sighed on the other end, blowing into the speaker so loudly it hurt Adele’s ear. She winced, but waited as the Frenchman continued. “I know that. You know that. But there are politics involved.” He said “politics” like uttering a dirty word.
“Oh? What politics?”
“Let me put it this way. Who is your babysitter?”
Adele glanced surreptitiously toward the young German agent in the doorway. She cleared her throat and delicately said, “An old acquaintance.”
“Right. But BKA though, hmm?”
“Affirmative.”
“So that’s the politics. You’ve got BKA boots on the ground, along with the locals, and—because of our case—the French are sniffing around, and Interpol too. The Italians, I’m told, also want a hand in the investigation due to the nationality of the victims.”
Adele scratched at her chin. “Ah. So what are the odds of getting DGSI involved?” she said with fading hope.
Another grunt on John’s end. “No dice. DGSI is steering clear. Foucault said something about too many cooks spoiling something or other. Didn’t understand. Basically, I think he gave me a metaphor for being chicken.”
Adele sighed, passing her free hand over her eyes and slowly moving away from the large window toward the small kitchenette at the start of the hall. She grabbed a glass from the lowest cupboard and began pouring some water, though turning the knob only partially to avoid making much noise.
“Okay,” she said once John was finished. “But the Swiss couple—you’re looking into it?”
“Right. Robert and I are paired up on this one. Gotta say, your old boss is what the boys back in the unit would’ve called a sleeper.”
“Sleeper?”
“Not much impression up front, but got a hell of a kick once you start riding around. Smart fellow. Weird. I like him.”
Adele smirked at this description of her old mentor. She pictured Robert in her mind; a short, prim, proper man with hair plugs and two missing teeth. He’d been a father to her, and the best detective she knew.
“Hey, ah, shit, I’ve gotta go, American Princess. I’ll shoot you a message if I have anything. Actually, scratch that—Robert will.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still not going to save my number,” Adele said playfully.
John chuckled. “Maybe one day, eh? One other thing… Hang on.” John’s voice grew quieter, suggesting he’d pulled the phone from his cheek. Adele heard him call out, distant, “Be right there—don’t get your cufflinks in a knot! Hang on!” Then, louder again, he said, “Gotta go. But Adele, be careful.”
Adele held her glass of water, staring at the expensive wooden cupboards in the kitchenette. “Always am. Why in particular?”
“Not talking about the murdering grizzly bears, or whatever it’s supposed to be. I mean your babysitter—the media. The politics.” He doubled down on the word, filling it with venom.
“I’ll be careful there too.” Adele took a sip from her glass, her eyes refusing to travel toward where Agent Marshall waited patiently in the doorway.
“Yeah, but I’m serious. Higher-ups want to avoid any connection between the missing couples leaking at all costs. Understand? We’re talking career-enders here if you let it out. Now, normally, I don’t give two pigeon shits what their splintered asses want, but you’re more the career sort, yeah?”
“I’ll be careful. Thanks, John.”
Without so much as a goodbye, John clicked off, and Adele once again listened to dead air. She wrinkled her nose and pocketed her phone, taking another long sip from her glass of water and trying to process what she’d been told.
“Ah, excuse me?” Marshall called from the door, jarring Adele back into English. The young agent waved a hand.
Adele glanced over.
“Excuse me,” Marshall repeated in English, “but, ah,” she cleared her throat. “Who was that?”
Adele raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
Marshall winced in embarrassment, but pressed on, pointing at Adele’s pocket. “Who were you talking too—just, it’s important that we keep a lid on some of the case details. Actually, very important. More important than…” She frowned and trailed off, but shook her head and winced again, waiting expectantly for Adele to reply.
She’d been about to say more important than solving the case. Adele was sure of it. She gave a weary little shake of her head. “Just law enforcement. It’s fine.” Frowning, she stowed the glass and turned back toward Agent Marshall. “Anything I should know about the context of the case?”
Looking relieved, Marshall smiled politely but quizzically from the door. “Context?”
Adele nodded. “Right—everyone seems to have a bit of a bug on this one. Mind telling me why?”
Agent Marshall gnawed her lip, and Adele’s eyes narrowed. The younger agent gave off the “innocent and inexperienced” vibe, but one didn’t become a BKA agent without a level of shrewdness and discipline. Whether it was an act, or simply a personality trait, she couldn’t tell, but she’d be silly to let her guard down around an operative
from another agency.
“Okay,” said Marshall, clearing her throat. “This isn’t common knowledge, but one reason the locals are intent on having this a bear attack is to keep eyeballs off the papers. A bear attack? Forgettable. Two missing couples, though? Possibly murdered—less so.”
Adele kept her gaze fixed on Marshall, unblinking. “Why?” she said, simply.
“I don’t know the extent of it myself. But from what I’m told, I suppose you might need to know.” This time it was Marshall’s turn to lower her voice and glance over her shoulder. She stepped further into the room, closing the door behind her as she did. “There’s another resort—in the Wettersteinspitzen region. The resort is called Wetter Retreat.”
“So?”
“So,” she replied, extending the word past its usual due. “The resort is opening tomorrow. Understand?”
Adele blinked. “A resort like this?” She glanced toward the window again, at the many buildings surrounding the main hotel.
“Actually, even bigger. And more expensive,” said Marshall. “We’re talking hundreds of millions invested, see. And if it were to get out before the opening that a murder took place on their back porch… you can imagine the press and the economic disaster, yes? Thousands of jobs, tourism, infrastructure. Lost.” She shook her head.
Adele stared at Marshall. She felt a cold chill along the back of her hands as she eyed the younger agent. Was Marshall there to help solve the case? Or to prevent Adele from stirring up trouble?
She whistled beneath her breath. “Multimillion-dollar project opening tomorrow… Let me guess, all sorts of politicians and celebrities etc.… The whole nine yards?”
“I’m not familiar with the nine yards,” said Marshall. “But yes, there are going to be important people there. Understand? We have to be quiet on this one.”
Understand? Yes, Adele thought to herself. She was beginning to understand all too well. They didn’t want Adele to solve the case, they wanted her to brush it under the rug; to keep a lid on things. Or to solve it quietly, behind the scenes.
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