Left to Vanish (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Eight) by Blake Pierce (books to read for 13 year olds .txt) 📗

of bus stopadvertisement space and approached the glass doors to her lobby.

In the night, as she moved, shefelt an odd sense of nostalgia, approaching the old building she had once livedin 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 herface as she peered up at the large building.

Another gust of wind swept throughthe street, causing the scraping of a wrapper discarded behind the bus stop todislodge with the breeze.

Her shadow stretched and spun asthe headlights of a passing car turned up the opposite road and moved on itsmerry way.

Back home.

Was it home?

Now wasn’t the night to decide.

With Robert’s passing it wascertainly less home than it had been.

Still, part of her had missed thisplace. As she stood outside her apartment, turning toward the buzzers, shepaused, frowning briefly as she did.

For a moment, she glanced one wayand then the other up the street, looking for any pedestrians. No sign ofanyone. Night was complete, Paris slept save in the clubs and river walksthroughout the city.

And yet still…

Adele shivered, feeling a chillthat had nothing to do with the breeze.

For the briefest moment, it feltlike she was being watched.

She turned, surveying the oppositestreet, her eyes darting across a couple of businesses and office spaces liningthe structures facing her old home.

No sign of anyone in the windows.No sign of anyone at all.

She shivered again, feelinganother tremor at the sensation of being watched.

Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Adele shook her head, turning backand quickly punching in her building code, waiting a second for the doors tobuzz before stepping out of the wind and back into the apartment lobby.

Home.

She glanced toward the mailboxeslining the entryway and paused. A single brown parcel was left below hermailbox. She leaned in, peering at the parcel.

Robert’s niece had sent it…

The items her uncle had left Adelein his will, no doubt.

Her fingers traced the tape, therough cardboard, and for a moment she shivered and shook her head. Did she evenwant to know what was in the will?

She sighed, picking up the box andhefting it beneath one arm. She supposed she didn’t much want to know. At leastnot tonight.

She took the parcel, and feelingfar more burdened now than when she’d been standing out in the night, sheapproached the stairs, taking them slowly, one at a time, moving back up thebuilding.

As she reached her floor, for amoment, Adele thought she heard the sound of the buzzer again below, followedby the noise of footsteps. Quick, confident steps. She paused, glancing overthe railing and watching a neighbor’s hand trail the rail below. She lookedaway, turning back to her apartment door and, finagling the box, pushed intoher small space.

She stowed the box of items fromRobert’s niece in the closet where she normally kept winter jackets. She pushedthe box deep into the darkest corner, folding one of the jackets over the topand 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 thelarge windows across from the small kitchen. The drapes were open, allowing themoonlight to reflect through and off the glass.

Tomorrow, she would go for a jog.

She nodded. Maybe an hour, maybetwo… She shivered in delight at the thought. Maybe even a three-hour run. Shefelt a flash of gratitude that Agent Paige had been willing to report back toFoucault on their behalf.

A small, nastier part of herwondered 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 respectearned over the course of the investigation.

At least, Adele liked to think so.

She was jarred from furtherconsideration by a sudden knock on the door.

Adele jolted, spinning to face thedoor as another knock resounded.

“Hello?” she said, tentatively, herhand moving slowly to where her service weapon still rested on her hip beneathher suit jacket.

“Adele?” a low, gruff voicecalled.

She froze, her tongue ever soslightly 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 headback and staring sightless at the ceiling in defeat. She held back a groan offrustration if only to avoid letting him hear it.

“John?” she said, her eyes stillclosed, her voice coming strained with exhaustion.

“Adele, we need to talk. Please.Open up.”

“I…” She trailed off. What couldshe say? She was tired? Go away? Both might work. But knowing John, he wouldn’tleave. As if to emphasize the point, the tall Frenchman’s hand slammed against thedoor again, louder now.

“Adele?”

She sighed, her eyes fully openagain and she reached out, shaking her head in defeat. He was incorrigible andrelentless. Perhaps it was simply best to get this over with.

Whatever this was.

“One second,” she said.

She unlocked the door and pulledit open, stepping back and facing her old DGSI partner standing in the doorway.

Agent John Renee looked like aJames Bond villain. He was traditionally handsome, with slicked back hair and aburn mark stretching up his neck and to the base of his chin. He was tallerthan most men, with a straight-postured bearing that collapsed only in the needfor violence. He was also the single best shot she knew. He’d saved her life onmore than one occasion. Though she’d managed to return the favor as well.

“John,” she said, softly.

“Adele,” he replied, jerking hishead in a stiff nod.

“I’m tired,” she said, softly, notquite meeting his eyes.

“Hmm,” he grunted.

“No, really. Can’t this wait?”

“You mean like all my calls you’vebeen ignoring? I even threw in a text or two, just for you,” he said,sarcastically.

Adele’s gaze rotated about hisfeet, crossing over his chest, making an effort for eye contact, but failingjust as quickly.

“Look, really, I’m tired. If youknew 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 beengiving me much in the way of feedback recently.”

“John… look… This doesn’t have to—Idon’t want to…”

He stood