Wanted: A Leopold Blake Thriller by Nick Stephenson Read Free Book Online Page A

me,” he swiveled in his chair, “don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. It’s not worth our jobs to get busted on this. I’m tempted to just call the whole thing off right now.”
    “What, and give up getting to spend time alone with me?” said Rose, making pouty shapes with her lips.
    “Please, don’t tempt me,” said James, giving her a gentle shove. “Getting rid of you would be reward enough.”
    “Aww, be nice,” she replied. “I gotta go anyway. Catch ya later, boss.” She pecked him on the cheek.
    “Get outta here, trouble.”
    Rose turned and strolled out of Cullen’s office into the hurly burly of the command center outside, leaving the senior operative alone at his desk. With the privacy glass set to full strength, the walls were a dull haze of white light. Turning back to his computer screens, Cullen let out a deep sigh. With everything going on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was getting in over his head.

Chapter 11
   
       

    “WHAT ARE YOU talking about? Who are you people?” Sophie’s voice was strained, despite Leopold’s attempts to break the news about Dubois’ death to her gently. He stood, not really knowing what to do with his hands as he tried to comfort her, keenly aware that any pretence he had managed to forge was disintegrating around him.
    “Who are you?” she repeated.
    “We lied to you, Mlle. Bardot,” he said. “We were working with M. Dubois to recover the stolen painting. Obviously, things have changed since we arrived. It was never our intention to cause trouble, we only want to do what’s best for the museum.”
    “And I was a suspect?”
    “We were just following a lead. In light of what’s happened…” he tried to find the right words. “I think it’s time we rethink things. I’m afraid we have to report to the police station downtown, I assume we’ll need to give a statement. I can arrange to meet you later if –”
    “Like hell you will,” Sophie interrupted. “I’ve known Jean for twenty years. I’m coming with you.” She grabbed a thin jacket from a hook on the wall and threw it on, as though daring anyone to convince her otherwise. “We can take my car. If anyone tries to talk me out of this, you can walk. Comprenez-vous? ”
    Leopold nodded. “We understand. I know this must be difficult for you.”
    “You don’t understand anything. Have you ever had a loved one murdered?”
    Jerome glanced at his employer.
    “It’s complicated,” Leopold said. “I’m sure your car will be fine. Please,” he gestured toward the doorway.
    With a cold look, Sophie brushed past and set off toward the stairs. “The door will lock behind you.”
    Once outside, she pulled a set of keys from her purse and marched up to a battered blue Citroen 2CV that was parked a little way down the street. The wheel arches were peppered with rust and some of the paint had blistered in the sun, but it looked structurally sound despite being more than twenty years past its prime. Assuming it ever had one.
    “This is your car?” asked Jerome, eyeing the cramped seats.
    “Yes. You have a problem?” said Sophie, unlocking the doors and jostling the driver’s side handle. “You’ll struggle to find a taxi at this time of day.”
    The bodyguard didn’t reply, settling himself into the back seat and buckling the seatbelt around his bulky frame as best he could.
    “There’s no problem,” said Leopold. “Do you know the way?”
    “Of course I know the way; I’ve lived in this city all my life. Maybe you can just be quiet until we arrive, okay?”
    Nodding, Leopold fastened his own safety belt as Sophie started the car, which spluttered into life with a reluctant rattle from its twin cylinder engine. Nudging the vehicle to the brow of the hill, she pressed her foot to the clutch and coasted the car down the steep slope toward the main road out of Montmartre. As they merged with the traffic, Leopold couldn’t shake the feeling that his vacation had