by Blake Pierce
Adele glanced at the number, exhaling slowly. “Sir, everything is going to be okay. Please, just remain calm.”
“This isn’t a joke?”
“No, I’m sorry. Look, you have an apartment in France?”
“It’s just outside of Bordeaux.”
Adele shivered. “Outside of Bordeaux? How far?”
“We have a summer home in Aquitaine too. It’s about an hour drive.”
Adele gritted her teeth. An hour was a long time. “Please, sir, can you give me the address. Text it to me as well.”
“Hang on, wait. Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine, sir. Please don’t call her. We’re going to have someone with the police do that, to make sure she’s safe.”
“Safe? She works in finance. What couldn’t be safe?”
“We have reason to believe she’s in danger. But it’s all going to be okay.” As she said it, Adele felt a jolt of guilt. Would it all be okay? Did she dare promise something she didn’t have control over?
She could feel the fear emanating on the other line. And so she doubled down, staving off her own sense of guilt. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. Just calm down. Your wife is going to be fine. I’m sorry for scaring you, sir. But we need to reach her. Text me that address. Now.”
The man cursed some more, but then another buzz suggested he’d sent the message.
“Look, can you just tell me—”
“I have to go, sir. Sorry. Everything is going to work out.” She hung up, feeling another jolt of unease and frustration. No time for emotions now, though—now she had to act.
Ahead, she spotted the small precinct through the windshield. Agent Paige had brought them back to the station. The silver-haired agent was holding her own phone, staring at it and muttering to herself.
“Is everything okay in Spain?” Adele said, switching her attention and trying to calm her rising sense of nerves. She’d made a promise, one she couldn’t keep if she didn’t play this perfectly. There was no time for wasted energy on doubt or fear now. All that remained was action.
“The Spanish are on their way. Jackie Eymard should be safe,” Paige said, firmly. “What about you?”
Adele glanced at the address that had been sent, clicked it, and it displayed a location outside Bordeaux. She shook her head slowly, plotting the route on her phone. “Far. Two locations. About an hour separating them. The summer home is one, and another apartment near Bordeaux.”
Paige huffed in frustration, shaking her head. “We have to split up. I’ll take the summer home.”
“Her husband seems to think she’s at the apartment, but is going to be meeting him here. So she might be in transit right now.”
Paige shook her head, pushing out of the car and swinging the door open all the way, steadying herself against the frame. “All right, then you go to the apartment. I’ll take a couple of police to stake out the house on the coast. You call if you need anything. I’ll arrange a police presence at the apartment.”
Adele felt a flicker of anxiety. Would the police be able to stop this killer? He’d already avoided three security systems, traveled past port authorities, and made a fool of the locals… Adele felt a shiver of fear at the thought. Police presence or not, she had to be there herself. “Can you get a ride?” she said, urgently.
Agent Paige nodded, turning to glance toward the precinct and then back at Adele, “You better hurry. He’s been out there for a while, and it’s getting late. He likes to kill at night.”
Adele glanced at her phone, realizing it was now reaching evening. She had time, didn’t she? She had to have time.
As she thought it, though, she considered the third murder. He hadn’t attacked at night then. He’d been lying in wait during the day, attacking Elke Schmidt outside her barn while she had been walking with her coffee. No guarantee he’d wait to strike again.
Muttering darkly, she slid across the car into the driver’s seat Paige had abandoned, slamming the door shut and nodding quickly. “Stake the summer home, bring backup. I’ll contact you if I need anything.”
Paige gave a single, severe nod. “Hurry,” she said.
Adele was already putting the car in gear, tearing out of the parking lot, the tires screeching as she pulled onto the street, glancing at the GPS on her lap and placing her phone in the seat next to her, turning the volume hastily to maximum.
She felt her heart hammering, feeling her own words catching up with her. How dare she promise everything was going to be okay? What if it wasn’t? What if she had just given false hope?
What if they were already too late?
Would Mrs. Danis be in the city? In their apartment? Would she already be on the move? Or worse, had she already reached the summer home? And had the killer been lying in wait?
This flurry of thoughts roused an indignant snarl, and she floored the pedal, ripping through the streets and breezing through a red light, ignoring the horns behind her.
She sped onto the highway, pushing the speedometer and moving through traffic even faster than Agent Paige had when pursuing Mr. Lavigne.
Adele could feel that same sense of premonition she had back in that creepy basement. The same sense of fear cycling through her veins.
They were out of time. Already, she could feel it, like a dark presence clouding her mind. Already, the forces of evil had closed in…
They were too late. Too late by far. Just like with her mother… like with Robert…
But there was nothing else to do but try. Now pushing nearly a hundred, Adele ripped through traffic, ignoring horns, ignoring flashing lights. She tore through the highway, heading toward Bordeaux, following the GPS chirping on her phone.
As she did, hastily, she reached for her device, realizing she’d forgotten to text the phone number to Agent Paige. Someone had to warn Mrs. Danis.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Her keys clinked in the porcelain dish by the front door, and Candace sighed softly, shutting the door and locking it behind her. She pressed her shoulders against the wood, staring at the ceiling and breathing slowly. She had left the fan on earlier. Already, the heat was growing oppressive. The air-conditioning had been broken for nearly two weeks in the spacious apartment. She wasn’t sure what the point of having another home in the city was if it only made her sweat like a pig. The meetings she took couldn’t be entered without preparation. And now, as she stood, glancing up at the rotating fan above, she wished she had prepared a bit more for this last venture in capitalism.
She adjusted her sleeves and pushed away from the door and the porcelain dish.
It was a large apartment, on the higher end, just outside Bordeaux.
She massaged the back of her neck, wincing. Two days ago, she had taken a flight from Italy, their other home in the area. Sometimes, vaguely, she wondered if all this hopping around was worth it.
She was due to meet her husband at their home in Aquitaine in the next couple of hours. Then she hoped there would be some relaxing.
There was nothing like the French countryside, especially near the coast, to help put effort in perspective.
“Go to business school,” she muttered to herself, “it will all be worth it,” she said. “Got to love golden handcuffs.” She shook her head, moving across the small space now and toward the bathroom.
A shower would be nice, some cool water in the hot apartment. Maybe a little bit of music, then, and a book. She could get a couple of chapters in before having to head out to meet Gabriel.
For a moment she closed her eyes, pausing, beneath the fan, feeling the wind across her skin. It would be nice, one day, to simply retire in the countryside. To put the rest of this away. Maybe they could even sell their home in Italy. Maybe even this apartment. They could use the money to get a boat, or a luxury mobile home. See the sights, spend some time together. They never had children. Which suited both of them just fine. They’d always been each other’s adventuring duo.
She smiled now, fe
eling the wind from the fan against her face.
It wasn’t all so bad. It wasn’t like this life they’d managed to carve out for themselves would have been possible without all the effort. Still, sometimes it was nice to dream.
She placed her phone on the small counter next to the microwave and plugged it into the charger, turning it on and pausing a second while it booted.
No sooner had the phone roused than it began to ring.
She glanced down and blinked in surprise. Three missed calls. All of them from her husband. She felt a flicker of worry. She hoped he wasn’t postponing the trip to the countryside. It would be just like him to try to get in a couple of extra days of work.
This new call, though, was from a new number.
Sighing, she lifted her phone and answered, “Yes?”
“Mrs. Danis?” Came a crisp, clear voice on the other end. “My name is Agent Paige, with the DGSI. Are you alone?”
Candace blinked, trying to track the words. As she did, a slow prickle began to creep up her spine. She shivered where she stood, shaking her head slowly. “Excuse me?”
“Are you alone?”
“Who is this?”
“Agent Sophie Paige. I’m with the police. We think you’re in danger.”
At this, Candace laughed softly. “I think you might have the wrong number, madame.”
“You’re in an apartment outside Bordeaux, yes? You’re going to meet your husband at your summer home in Aquitaine in the next hour, right?”
The smile died on her lips. She felt a chill, completely out of place in the warm apartment. “How do you know that?”
“Like I said, I’m with DGSI. You need to tell me right now, are you alone?”
Her eyes darted around the room, and she breathed softly. “Yes, yes, I’m alone. Are you sure you have the right person?” she said, shaking her head and trailing off.
“Look, I need you to stay on the line. We’re sending a police presence over now. They’ll be at your apartment soon. We have an agent coming too. She should be there within the hour. Please, stay where you are, lock your doors, and whatever you do, don’t let anyone in unless they’re police. Can you do that?”
Candace shivered at the tone in the woman’s voice. For a brief moment, she half expected the woman on the other end to break into laughter, bringing her in on the sick joke. But the expected chortle never came. Instead, the self-proclaimed agent repeated, “Understand?”
Candace shivered now, glancing around her apartment and toward the locked door.
No motion, no movement. She was alone, surely. Who would want to kill her anyway? It didn’t make any sense.
“Agent Paige, is that your name, I think you’re probably overreacting. I don’t know what this is about. I work in finance.”
“Just stay put and don’t let anyone in.”
Another set of shivers crept up her spine, and she glanced over her shoulder down the hall in the direction of the shower, and toward the shut door of her bedroom. She swallowed. “All right. Is my husband all right?”
“He’s fine. He’s been informed and we’re trying to do the best we can. Police are on their way, and my partner will get there as soon as she can. Stay put.”
***
He could hear the soft murmur of a voice outside the bedroom door.
He sat on the bed, his head bowed in silence and prayer and contemplation.
The blankets were stained in blood. His own, of course. His whip lay draped over the headboard.
He would have to clean up the bed, maybe burn it. No sense leaving DNA evidence lying around.
He closed his eyes, smiling to himself. The pain throbbed in his back from where he had scourged himself. His hands were also bloodied. He didn’t always strike his palms or fingers, but sometimes, on special occasions, it felt like the right thing to do.
He remained sitting on the bed, facing the door, head still bowed. She had arrived only a couple of minutes ago.
Candela. Oh how he’d missed her.
“Did you miss me too?” he whispered softly.
He could hear the voice now, drawing nearer. Could hear a slight edge to the tone all of a sudden, and he frowned. It was an edge he recognized. Fear.
Why was she afraid now? She shouldn’t be afraid. Not yet.
He stood slowly to his feet, blood dripping down his back, staining the comforter, and then pattering to the floor. He winced against the pain across his shoulders, and approached the door, pressing his ear to the wood.
“DGSI?” a voice was saying quickly. “I’m not sure I know exactly what you do. Who is out to kill me?”
The voice became muffled again, as if the mouth had turned away.
His own heart was hammering now. Someone was telling her. Tattletales. There had always been tattletales.
He clenched teeth, biting his tongue hard until it bled.
He remembered that time he had snuck out to watch the moon and say his prayers outside of the small, locked basement.
The others had tattled on him.
He winced, glancing down at his thumb. One of the knuckles was missing.
He growled to himself, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the rosary. His monk habit lay draped across the floor, and he dangled the rosary over his fingers, staring at the beads outlined against the brown mesh of the robes.
The mothers at the cloister had not been kind to him.
“Oh worthy Judge,” he murmured softly to himself, “as your eyes trace this world and settle on only the upright, pay mind to your servant,” he whispered. “Witness your hand in motion. Witness the retribution of the saints.”
As he spoke, tears began to form in his eyes.
He could hear the voice on the other end, still speaking. Police, most likely. Heathen gods themselves.
He had no respect for the police. None at all.
This was not their world. This was not their claim.
He tensed, murmuring a soft chant beneath his voice. “Bless my hands,” he said. “Give me victory over my enemies.”
If they were warning Mother Candela, that meant they would likely be warning others. Did they know about Spain?
No doubt. He would have to be extra careful after this, to be able to achieve his final end. To bring complete justice. And then after that, what lovely plans he had. Plans that would rock the world itself.
But first things first.
He felt a righteous indignation rising in his chest. They thought they could corner him. They thought by warning the lamb to be slaughtered they could forestall judgment. But they were always wrong.
A lesser vessel might have ran. Might have tried to save his own skin.
He smiled now, feeling the agony lancing up his back. He had never been much for preserving his own skin.
He’d come here for a reason. And he would see it through. He would be patient, though. He would stay, and once she entered the room, then he would strike. Just as he planned. He’d been meticulous before, and there was no sense allowing fear to hamper him now. Besides, by the sound of things, she had locked the door. She was going to stay put. Perfect.
A second later, the voice had stopped. He heard the sound of the shower now being run, the creak of the shower door. He closed his eyes, sitting back on the bed, still bleeding. He glanced at his missing knuckle on his thumb; slowly, he began to shift through the rosary, flicking the beads one at a time, murmuring prayers softly beneath his breath as he waited.
He would allow the sacrificial lamb to cleanse herself first…
And then the fury.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Adele made the hour trip in thirty-five minutes, breaking every speed limit there was and blowing multiple red lights. Now she hopped the curb, the tires skidding as she flung herself from the vehicle, already running as her feet hit the sidewalk.
Ahead, she spotted two uniformed police officers standing idly by the door, muttering to each other beneath their breaths, their arms crossed. As the
men spotted her, their hands darted to their weapons. One of them raised a hand, calling out, “Stop!”
But Adele was already fishing her wallet out, flashing her credentials as she hurried forward. “DGSI!” she snapped, “Get out of my way.”
But the officers blocked her entry into the apartment lobby. One of them, a muscular man with a handlebar mustache shook his head quickly, saying, “Sorry, mademoiselle. Orders are no one enters.”
“I’m DGSI!” she snapped. “My partner is the one who gave you your orders.”
She had come to a halt now, poised to try and burst between the officers, her chest pounding. Her instincts were screaming, and her eyes darted up, scanning the building, her gaze jumping from one window to the next, trying to locate… locate what? Movement? Reflections?
She breathed heavily, panting at the ground and feeling a cold numbness spread along her spine. She could feel the clock ticking in her mind, feel it pressing in around her. I’m out of time, she thought to herself.
Trust your instincts.
She closed her eyes trying to focus, allowing the officers blocking the entrance to get a longer look at her identification. One of them reached up to his radio, muttering into it, “I have an Agent Adele Sharp here. Hold for badge number.”
She glanced at the first officer with the handlebar mustache. “See anyone come by?” she demanded. “Has anyone entered the building?”
“No,” the man said. “Not since we arrived.” He glanced at her ID again and seemed to relax a bit.
Adele could feel her heartbeat pounding, and her pulse raced. “Out of my way,” she snapped. “Now!”
The officer who had radioed in gave his partner a quick nod. Both of them stepped aside, but the first one said, “No one’s gone inside. Everything’s all right.”
“I’d like to see for myself,” she muttered, shouldering past them and hastening toward the two sliding doors. Channeling her inner Agent Paige, she ran her finger down all the buzzers, waiting. The intercom crackled, and a second later, the door buzzed open. She ignored the static voice from the intercom saying, “Who is it?” And instead, she hurried into the lobby.
