COLONEL LAFORGE'S BLACK sedan pulled in through the gates of the Palais de Justice at seven in the morning. He was with his top aide, Cendrine. He would spend the day in Paris, indeed, he would spend every day in Paris until he found Mischa Barton.350Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkXRE5RCvWi
"They found his body last night, after he wouldn't answer his front door or his phone," Cendrine told him. "He was in his bedroom. A single bullet between his eyes. Not from close range, sir."
Not from close range. No chance of a suicide. Which meant that the warden, Delannoy, had been murdered.
Had Mischa killed the warden? Things were getting stranger by the day.
"Tell me about today," LaForge said.
"We'll have more than two hundred agents and officers on the streets," said Cendrine. "All of them in plain clothes. We have flashed a directive to every hotel, asking them to be on the lookout for her passport. Every transportation hub is covered. She won't leave Paris, sir."
LaForge nodded to a guard as he entered the building. "You're assuming she wants to leave Paris," he said.
Another car was parked down the street from the Palais de Justice. Drake sat at the wheel, watching LaForge and his associate enter the Palais. On the seat beside him was today's edition of Le Monde. The headline----MISCHA A ESPAGNE?----stared back at him. The front page story described how French authorities believed that Mischa Barton either was headed to Spain or had already made it across the border to Madrid.
He smirked at the headline. A nice plant by LaForge, no doubt. A smart move, too. LaForge obviously missed Mischa last night. But he was probably close. And why not make her feel safe while he inched ever closer?
Speaking of which----how did LaForge miss Mischa last night? Drake didn't know. He'd done all he could do, slipping that note to the French police and tipping them off about the name Audrey Becker. Somehow, she had avoided capture. Maybe she hadn't stayed in a hotel, and thus hadn't used her passport.
Or maybe Mischa wasn't even in Paris. Drake didn't know for sure. He lacked the resources to keep tabs on her. Sure, he had a friend waiting for her at Bordeaux-Merignac, a former Mafia hitman who now lived in nearby Lyon and did Drake a favor. But he didn't have anyone following her afterward. He didn't know where she went after she scurried out of the airport.350Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1t03Q0rmqH
Still, he liked Paris as the most likely option. He was pretty sure she was here.350Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtnXjZeUq9d
And he was pretty sure he knew why.350Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwfiTltccSo
He removed the .45 from under his seat and fitted the suppressor on it. He wouldn't need it for a while yet, but it never hurt to check the fitting.350Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhx1RG2QRkB
"Why didn't you just get on that goddamn plane?" he whispered.350Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGxp7e4FWXX
