The Mentor by Rita Carla Francesca Monticelli Read Free Book Online Page A

hand.” The way he said it, it almost seemed true.
     
    “Where are we going to put him?” asked the driver as soon as they were in Adele’s apartment. “Wow! Nice flat you’ve got here!”
    Adele’s home may have been small, but it was very modern. Even she stopped to take an admiring look around when they came into the flat. The entrance opened straight into the living room, separated from the small corner kitchen by a low wall with counter space. Most of the apartment was painted white, with gray trim here and there. The walls, furniture, and other decor followed the same scheme, while the floor was paved with small lead-colored bricks. Two doors opened into the room: the bedroom and a large walk-in closet. When she’d bought the place, the closet had been a smaller, second bedroom. She’d had it converted. Between these two rooms, and connected to both, was the bathroom.
    Adele had no intention of letting the man ogle the rest of her home. “On the couch,” she said, and the two of them stretched Eric out on the sofa. More than asleep, her boss was now passed out. She lifted his legs to make sure he didn’t fall to the floor, then put a pillow underneath his head.
    The taxi driver snorted. “Bad thing that is, getting drunk like that. Happened to me once too. I can’t even remember how I made it back home.” Then he laughed, setting his broad belly jiggling.
    Adele had no desire to entertain a conversation with the man. She took a twenty-pound note from her pocket. The other hand was inside her purse, fingering her gun. Better safe than sorry. “Here, please take this,” she said, holding out the money.
    The man looked at the bill, wavering. “No, no,” he said, shaking his hands. “No need, miss.”
    “I insist,” she said. “You were very kind to help.” She accompanied these last words with the sincerest smile she could muster. Better to be very courteous to people who give you a helping hand. Her father had said as much a thousand times when she was growing up.
    “Okay,” said the man, taking the money reluctantly. “But . . .” He took a business card from the back pocket of his pants and handed it to Adele. “If you ever need to reserve a taxi, call me directly. That way you won’t have to pay the company for the reservation.”
    Oh yes. There was always something to be gained from being courteous.
    As soon as the taxi driver left, Adele turned all four locks on the door. She took off her jacket, hung it on a hook inside the closet, and picked up a blanket she kept folded on a shelf.
    She went over to Eric, who was still sleeping peacefully on the couch, and covered him up with it. Even though it was late June, the nights could still be quite chilly. She didn’t want him to catch cold. She took off his shoes, one after the other. Looking at him now, like this, he seemed truly fragile. Nothing like the powerful, self-assured man she saw walking around the department. The great Eric Shaw, a boss feared as much by his subordinates as by the criminals he hunted.
    She laughed a little to herself at that thought, then went into the kitchen to boil some water. After that she went into her bedroom, got slowly undressed, and put on a pair of light pajamas, yawning as she went. She was more tired than she’d realized.
    A little later, just as she was dropping her used bag of chamomile tea into the trash, her attention was drawn to some movement in the living room. She tiptoed over to the couch, abandoning her teacup on the table for the moment.
    Eric had moved, uncovering himself a little, and now part of the blanket had slid down onto the floor.
    Adele picked it up and spread it back over him. She ran her fingers through his hair, almost as if he were a child. His hair was thick and soft, a very light brown with just a faint dusting of white at the temples. She bent her head and gave his forehead the lightest of kisses.
    Then she went and sat at the little table, taking back up her cup of