Left to Lapse (An Adele Sharp Mystery—Book Seven) by Blake Pierce (a book to read .txt) 📕

bit last time we worked together.” He gave agood-natured chuckle, which she returned.

Thetwo of them had come to a halt outside an open door to one of the first-classsleepers. Adele glanced in and felt a jolt of jealousy. In a forlorn way, shesaid, “That’s like three times the size of my room.”

“Thebenefits of being an Italian,” he replied with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Hestepped in, pushing his suitcase into the spacious compartment beneath the bed.

Adelestood in the doorway, then glanced over her shoulder and watched as anothercouple began moving down the car toward another open door.

“It’llbe good to have the backup,” she said quietly, “but if you’re right, there wasno death last night… which means…”

“Amurder every day,” said Leoni. “I would’ve been surprised if they struck twiceyesterday. If they kill again, it’ll be today.”

“Maybe…I was thinking it could be a murderer in each country.”

TheItalian winced. “Either way, we’re nearing the German border. The killer willstrike again today.”

Adelecrossed her arms, leaning against the frame. “You’re certain of it?”

“Ascertain as I can be,” he said, softly, looking up at her. “Why? Have you foundsomething different?” His eyebrows rose. “Any thoughts on the killer?”

Adelejust shook her head, sighing as she did. “Afraid not. Dead ends so far. Ms.Mayfield and Joseph Dupuy had very little in common from what I’ve seen.Another murder might be the only bread crumb we have left to guide us to thekiller unless we find something now. Another death simply isn’t anoption!”

Leonislowly pursed his lips. “Let’s both of us hope, together, it doesn’t come tothat.”

“Eitherway, today will be the next attack. If we don’t find him soon, we won’t be ableto do anything about it. Someone’s going to die.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AgentJohn Renee leaned back in the soft, frayed couch down in the basement of theDGSI. He detected the faint odor of what some might mistake for cleaningsolution, but really originated from the bubbling distillery he’d set up herenearly three years ago. On the wall, two pictures were tacked to the chippedpaint, displaying images of his old military buddies.

Johnfrowned as a memory resurfaced.

Ableeding body on a bleeding table. A killer hiding in the pantry, laughing athim. A small, skeletal frame of a man. One of his eyes dead, dull, gleaming outfrom beneath an upturned hood.

Theman had said, “Gerard; he was your copilot, wasn’the? Six of you in total, wasn’t it? Does it weigh on you? You call me amonster, Agent Renee. But you’ve killed more people than I have. And you enjoyit, too, don’t you? I can always tell. You dirty dog.”

Johnclenched his teeth, glancing once more at the picture tacked to his wall. Howhad the monster known his co-pilot’s name? What else did he know? The samekiller who’d taken Adele’s mother. The same killer who’d escaped him in Paris.

Heremembered Gerard. A man of the hills, a rough man. A man after John’s ownheart. They’d flown more missions together than the rest of the team combined,both of them having signed up at a young age. John at sixteen, with forgedpapers, in between stints as a ferryman; Gerard at seventeen, the same year.

Johnswallowed, shaking his head softly. Gerard was the brother he’d never had. Moreof a father, really. Though only a single year had separated them, Gerard hadbeen John’s protector in the military. Saved his life on more than oneoccasion, and when all was said and done, John hadn’t been able to repay thefavor.

Theonly survivor of the helicopter crash. Sabotage, some said. Others hadwhispered the bird had been damaged in base. John had looked into theallegations, but why would someone in their own crew sabotage the helicopter?He’d decided it was just a rumor. Either way, it wouldn’t bring back hisbrothers. Wouldn’t bring back Gerard, or the rest of their tight-knit family.

Hehadn’t lasted long in the military following it.

Johngrunted and shook his head, trying to focus on the task at hand. In one hand heclutched the cool shell of a martini glass filled with moonshine. The othersteadied a laptop on his long legs.

Adelemight think he’d phoned it in—she might assume he wasn’t interested in solvingthe case. But nothing could be further from the truth. The fact that EliseRomei’s killer had escaped from him haunted him still. Andrew Maldonado, thesole witness to the crime scene, was still in a coma.

Johnneeded to prove himself and yet… next to Adele, trying to solve a case with heragain—it had felt different. She’d gone cold, it seemed. She hadn’t laughed athis normal humor, nor had she wanted to talk to him, it seemed.

Nowshe was back on the train and he was back at headquarters.

Hesighed, pressing even further back into the well-used couch.

“Whathave we here?” he murmured to himself, prying his gaze away from the photos onthe wall and glancing at the progress bar on his computer screen above thecompiler he’d run.

Names.Names from Italy. Names from France. Names from the train company and namesfrom ticket booths.

Notfirst class this time. John was sick of the first-class passenger list. Now, he’ddecided to go back, to check coach, to check layovers, to check everyone. Themurders—if that’s truly what they were, and he still wasn’t certain—hadoccurred in the first-class compartments. But that didn’t mean the killer wasalso there.

Hetook another chug of bitter beverage and then lowered the glass, rubbing at hiseyes. He hadn’t slept, instead combing through the names through the night,pulling them apart a piece at a time, narrowing down the passenger list. Andchecking it mostly manually.

Now,the progress bar of the final compilation, which he’d originally sorted, cameto an end. Only one name. One name from coach who’d been on LuccaRail and theNormandie Express on the given dates.

Onelead.

John’sbleary eyes narrowed and he leaned into the white and blue light emanating fromhis computer. A retired train-hopper. An arrest record. Arrested for assaultbut the charges were lowered to disturbing the peace…

Johnfollowed the cursory information, pulling up the man’s file. He paused,rereading a line, and then went still.

Theman’s name was Isaac Lafitte. Nothing stood out there. But one of the arrestingofficers in the assault had made a report… John reread the line in