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

away from her and from her giant companion and his limpingsidekick. But how? The train was still on the move, still amidst the trees. Thenearest station was a half hour away. A half hour…

Heglanced back again and now found the woman was watching him.

Ahalf hour was too long. She was getting too close. He flashed a smile, hopingto disarm. A second later, he realized his mistake—she wasn’t watching him, shewas staring out the window.

Hecursed to himself and began to move away, pushing further toward the front ofthe train. As he did, he felt some relief, abandoning the blonde agent and hersoul-searching gaze. She was onto him.

Hecould feel it. What if she hadn’t been looking out the window? Maybe shehad been watching him.

Theywere so close. Why would they have rappelled onto a moving train unless theyknew who he was? They were playing with him! Toying with him!

Hefelt a flash of anger surge through his chest.

 Theywere no different than the others. Not at all. Something about that woman’sdemeanor spooked him. And if they were just like the others… maybe they alsoneeded to be reminded of the way of things.

Henodded to himself, glancing down and noting his hand was shaking as he movedalong the final compartment leading to the engine.

Ifshe really was getting that close… there was always a solution.

Hecould kill her before she figured him out. And the next location of import wasquickly approaching. The next station, in fact—a special one. For a moment, hepaused, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He could feel the fabric of hislate father’s shirt, soft against his shoulders. He reached out a hand, rubbingat the smooth cloth, trailing his fingers across the sleeve.

Theshirt even still smelled of aftershave.

Aghost of a smile crossed his lips, and his kind eyes welled up for a moment. Hedidn’t wipe away the tears, though. His father deserved more than that.Deserved a life he’d never been given.

Theupcoming station—another one of the many stops his father had frequented as aconductor. The kind-eyed man smiled, his eyes misting even more as heremembered the trips, remembered the many stops along the way. He alsoremembered the railroad switches.

Theexchanges along the way. Each station where he’d claimed a corpse, each placehad the option for a switch. And each time the railroad chose it.

Butit never had chosen it for his father.

Hisfather had traveled the same route, again and again until the stress of eighty-hourwork weeks had killed him young. The train and its occupants had been allowedto switch tracks, but the conductor? Stuck. The same path, over and over andover.

Theman narrowed his kind eyes, feeling a welling of sheer hatred.

Heturned back, glancing in the direction of the first-class car he’d abandoned.Money had forced his father to work to the bone. Money had forced his father tostrive through all hours. Money and its friends had left a young boy withouthis only friend at too tender an age.

Andso he offered the friends of money back to the endless path. Again and againand again. First in Italy, at the initial rail switch, then in France at thesubsequent one. Now, three rail switches in Germany—the first already complete.

Thesecond rapidly approaching. The second kill would be in Germany too. Whereverthe switches were.

Theblonde agent was just like the rest of them. Hunting him down the same way they’drun his father ragged. Yes—yes, she needed to go.

Henodded to himself, then began to make his way toward where he’d stowed his bag.The toxin was there, hidden in an old thermos. He’d need that for what he wasabout to do.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

“Nothing?”Adele asked where she stood against the farthest wall from the body in themid-remodel car.

Johnand Leoni both emitted similar sighs. “Nothing,” John said.

Leonishook his head, doing a better job at concealing his disgust—as the Italian hadalways been the more understated of the two—but still hinting at hisfrustration in the tightening of his brow, and the firm press of his lips.

“Only twenty minutes left,” Adele said, looking away fromthe body beneath the tarp and staring out one of the windows next to a signthat read, “Under construction.”

The passing trees and mountain passes were flattening outnow, and the train seemed to be descending, looping down the slope and headingtoward flatter ground. Off in the distance, on the horizon, she could see theoutline of structures and buildings, and the reflection of sunlight off glasswindows.

“What do we do?” John said. “We’re nowhere. The killercould be anyone.”

Adele crossed her arms, holding her elbows and grinding herteeth as she thought desperately, looking for some way out. She turned,regarding Agent Leoni, but he just watched her back, quiet, speculative.

“Questioning doesn’t seem to be working,” Adele said. “Noone saw anything of use. One of the valets suggested he heard something breakbefore the woman screamed. But just as quickly, he was corrected by an oldergentleman, who said he’d simply heard a scream.”

“Something break?” John frowned. “Break in what way?”

As if on cue, all three of the agents began glancing aroundthe compartment, their eyes sweeping over the bare walls and the empty floors.

“The windows are all intact,” said Leoni.

Adele took a few steps toward the first-class compartment,her eyes fixed on the glass divider. At least this time no one was staring in.But they were stuck. She’d never been at such a loss. Equally frustrating wasthe knowledge the culprit was somewhere on the train with them. For all sheknew, he was watching them, tracking their movements as they went around likechickens with their heads cut off, from person to person, train car to traincar, with nothing to show for their efforts or energy.

Something about this kindled a rising sense of frustrationthat blossomed into pure anger. She hated the idea of a serial killer watching,laughing, behind placid features. Had she already spoken to the bastard? Had hebeen in the first-class car? Maybe he was laughing at them now, giggling tohimself at the thought of getting away with three murders under the noses ofthe authorities.

“We can’t give up yet,” Adele said, growling infrustration. “Twenty minutes until we reach the station. That’s still twentyminutes. We have to—”

Before she could finish,