Left To Die

Adele marched toward the stairs without invitation, ignoring the calls of the assistant. She ignored the elevator, while John hesitated, his hand hovering, about to push the button. She started stomping up the stairs, heard John grumble behind her, but, reluctantly, she could hear him follow after her, leaving the elevator.

The hurried footsteps of the assistants followed also, and both of them were now calling after Adele. “Excuse me, please! Wait! Director Mueller was very express in his desire not to be disturbed!”

But Adele ignored them and continued her trek up the stairs.

While it was true that Interpol had gone to great lengths to connect her with the BKA and designate temporary jurisdiction in this country, that didn’t mean she had to play nice. Someone in this laboratory had killed at least six people, and had attempted to kill a seventh. Most likely there were bodies she didn’t know about.

Somehow, Lion Pharmaceutical’s drug had ended up in the hands of a serial killer.

They had to act quickly. Before he escaped. She reached the top of the stairs and glanced around. A long hall led toward a circular waiting area with glass windows on all sides. Various doors lined the hallway. A couple of them looked like offices, one a bathroom and another a supply closet.

Adele strode quickly past these doors and reached the waiting area. Two giant brown double doors held the opposite wall.

Adele reached for the handle, and, still ignoring the protests from the assistants behind her, she pulled the door open and stepped into the room beyond

“Director Mueller, I presume?” she asked, projecting her voice across the large office. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside and a distant glimpse of the city center.

A handsome man with features a little too fixed to be natural stared across her over a chic, slim desk. It was one of those standing desks Angus had gone on and on about back in San Francisco. In one corner of the office, a treadmill faced the window, flanked by a small rack of dumbbells.

The man standing behind his desk was on the phone, but stopped mid-sentence at Adele’s unannounced entry.

He glanced at her, then his dark eyes flicked past her, and he raised an eyebrow toward his assistants. At least, he tried to raise an eyebrow. Surgeon’s scalpels and injections had long limited the man’s ability to properly express, however, and all he managed was a generic twitch of his forehead.

Adele cleared her throat. “I apologize,” she said in English. “But it’s a matter of some urgency.”

Director Mueller eyed her up and down and slowly lowered the phone into his pocket.

“No English,” he said, quietly. Then, in German, he said, “Why did you let this American in without giving me until the end of my phone call?” His voice was clipped but patient.

The bland-featured assistant and his partner hurried past Adele, trying their best not to touch her, but moving with urgency so they brushed against her as they slipped into the room. “Sorry, sir,” said the young man in German. “But BKA is with them. You said they’d called ahead.”

Director Mueller nodded a couple of times. “They did. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still have work to do. I can’t shut everything down the moment they want, BKA or not. Which of them speaks German?”

He glanced past Adele toward the other two agents. John was scowling again and doing his best to look intimidating. Agent Marshall, though, stepped forward, raising a small hand. Before she could speak, though, Adele raised her voice. “I can speak German.”

She felt the eyes in the room dart toward her, settling on her in surprise.

“I actually grew up here.”

She glanced back and noticed the look of surprise on John’s face. For some reason, this gave her no small amount of pleasure. She smirked in his direction, and then turned back to the man at the desk. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Director Mueller. I promise to be in and out as quick as possible. I know you have business to conduct and research to complete. It is not my intention to intrude beyond a reasonable capacity.”

Director Mueller’s already high eyebrows flicked up even further. “You do speak German. And quite well. Well, darling, what can I do to help?”

Adele tried not to show her displeasure at the familiar term. His tone suggested an air of condescension.

She knew men like this. Men in positions of power and authority who didn’t take kindly to anyone intruding on their turf. Adele wasn’t some activist, and she didn’t desire to alter the way people thought; it was simply an observation. As an investigator, it was up to her to notice things. And to use them.

There were some agents, if looked down on, who might take offense. But Adele wasn’t in the business of changing hearts and minds. She was here to catch a killer.