Left To Die

In this case, a fifty-year-old downside in a cheap suit and even cheaper cologne. She would have guessed, based on his briefcase alone, that he was a lawyer, even if he hadn’t dropped his business card “accidentally” when he’d spotted her sliding past him into her seat.

“Want my nuts?” he said, smiling at her with crocodile teeth. He waved a small blue bag of almonds in her direction.

She stared him coolly in the eyes. “We’ve been in the air for an hour, and that’s what you came up with?”

The man smirked. “Is that a yes?”

“I’m flattered,” Adele said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “But I’m about to be engaged, thank you very much.”

The lawyer shrugged with his lips, turning the corners down in as noncommittal a gesture as likely to have ever graced a courtroom. “I don’t see a ring.”

“Tonight,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You’ve still got time. You want them?” He offered his almonds again.

Adele shook her head. “I don’t like that type. Too salty, small, and old—I’d check the expiration date if I were you.”

The man’s smirk became rather forced. “No need to be rude,” he muttered, beneath his breath. “Bitch,” he added as an afterthought.

“Maybe.” Adele turned away from the man, rolling her shoulders in just such a way that her suit jacket slid open, presenting the man with a perfect view of the 9mm Glock 17 strapped to her hip.

Immediately, the man turned pale, his eyes bugging in his head. He began to choke, trying to cough up an almond which had lodged in his throat.

Joining the FBI did come with its perks. Adele turned back, pressing her forehead against the window once more, trying, again, to drift off to sleep.

***

Her Uber driver pulled up outside the small apartment complex, coming to a squealing halt on the curb across from a large hub of mailboxes. Streetlights glowed on the gray sidewalk, illuminating the concrete and asphalt in the dark. Adele retrieved her suitcase and briefcase from the back seat, her arms heavy from the day of travel.

Three weeks since she’d seen Angus. Three weeks was a long time. She exhaled softly, tilting her head back so her chin practically pointed toward the night sky. She rolled her shoulders, stretching. She had managed to get a little sleep on the flight, but it had been at an odd angle and she could still feel the crick in her neck.

The Uber peeled away from the curb with another squeal and a screech as the driver rushed off in search of his next passenger. Adele watched it leave and then turned, marching beneath the tastefully placed palm trees that the landlord had planted the previous year. She peered up at the orange glow in the second window facing east.

Angus was still waiting up for her. It was only nine p.m., but Angus was a coder for a couple of start-ups in the city and he often kept strange hours. San Francisco: the hub of the gold rush of tech—or silicon rush as some were calling it.

Adele had never expected to be wealthy, but with the equity pay-offs Angus had received from his last company, things were about to change. And, judging by the words after his last phone call, Adele felt they might be changing very soon.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he’d said. “It’s important.”

And then her friend Jennifer, an old college roommate, had spotted Angus outside Preeve & Co. on Post Street. If anyone knew the jewelers in this city, it was Jennifer.

Adele approached the apartment and pressed the buzzer. Would he pop the question tonight? Of course, she’d say yes. As much as she loved travel—exploration and adventure were in her blood—she’d always wanted to find someone to travel with. Angus was perfect. He was kind, funny, rich, handsome. He checked every box Adele could think of. She had a rule about dating men at the Bureau—it had never worked out well in the past.

No, dating a civilian was much more her style.

As Adele took the elevator to the second floor, she couldn’t control the smile spreading across her face. This time, it wasn’t the lopsided, wry look of resigned amusement she’d had on the plane while trying to fall asleep. Rather, she could feel her cheeks stretching from the effort of trying to control her grin.

It was good to be back home. She passed apartments twenty-three and twenty-five on the way to hers. For a moment, her smiled faltered. She glanced back at the golden numbers etched into the metal doors of the residences. Her gaze flicked from one digit to the next, her brow furrowing over her weary eyes.

She shook her head, dislodging her troubled thoughts once more, and turned her back firmly, facing apartment twenty-seven. Home.

Lightly, she knocked on the door and waited. She had her own key, but she was too tired to fish it out of her suitcase.

Would he pop the question in the doorway? Would he give her some time to settle?