Page 19 of The Light Within

His eyes cast over men and women of all ages, some of their files thick, others a single sheet of paper. He’d have loved to take them all home with him, to unravel the mystery of why each was important enough for Eleanor—and therefore the consortium—to have a file on them, but he only had time for one in particular.

There.

A wave of shock pulsed through Julien at finding what he was seeking, as Cinn’s unsmiling face glowered at him. A police photograph from his arrest. Cinn appeared so pissed off Julien almost laughed. He turned it around to flash it to Elliot.

“How did you… never mind, stay here and tidy up.”

Elliot grabbed the two files, and Julien set about making the safe’s interior look less like a bomb had exploded in it. The loud whirring of the photocopier drifted down the hall. Was the sound audible to their friend downstairs?

After an eternity of anxiety-inducing noises, Elliot returned with the originals to put back in the safe.

For a moment Julien fearedGirl, Concealedwould remainGirl, Crumpled Mess on the Floor, but the canvas thickened when he stretched it, and easily slotted back into its golden frame.

It really was an impressive work of motetech. One he planned on thoroughly investigating at a later time.

Hovering by the door, Elliot stage-whispered Julien’s name. They slipped out into the quiet corridor but Elliot stopped them, placing a finger on his lips and pointing towards the staircase at the far end.

Those damned footsteps, getting increasingly louder, were rhythmically marching up the tiled steps, not making any attempt to be quiet.

Which meant, whoever they were, they were supposed to be here.

Unlike them.

“Putain,” hissed Julien, glancing down the other end of the corridor, which offered no escape.

“You don’t say.” Elliot grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the bathroom, sending the door crashing into the wall with a bang. They both groaned at the noise. “And this is how my career goes down the toilet,” he said, voice deadpan, opening a stall door so they could both squeeze inside.

The humour did nothing to help the guilt quickly rising in Julien. Perhaps he could claim Elliot was there under duress? He could even rough Elliot up a little—a black eye might do the trick.

At the same time as Julien slid the stall lock shut, the bathroom door opened with another bang. Elliot pulled Julien up to stand with him on the toilet, wobbling with him on the small space.

“Who’s in there?” a voice demanded. Young, female. “Only gendarmerie have access to the Institute this evening. Identify yourself.”

They offered no reply, and for a stretching moment, the only sound was Julien’s blood rushing through his temple.

The woman rattled the stall door.

Julien shrugged off his long black coat. “Use this to cover your uniform. Pull the hood up and get ready to run,” he said in his quietest whisper.

“I can hear you!”

Elliot’s mouth formed a grim line. “What’s our plan?”

“I’m sorry if she’s your friend.” Julien squatted lower, holding on to Elliot to steady himself.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Julien lifted the lid off the top of the cistern and sent it clattering to the ground, the heavy ceramic creating the most almighty of crashes.

As predicted, the female gendarme dropped to the floor, the cuff of her navy uniform poking under the door.

All they had now was the element of surprise.

Before her face could follow, Julien reached for the watermotes between the molecules of the modest amount of water in the cistern. Without pausing to second-guess his plan, he channelled a forceful stream of—not entirely clean-looking—water directly into the woman’s face just as it popped under the crack.

She shrieked in surprise.

Before she had time to react, Julien grabbed Elliot’s sleeve, then flung them at the stall door, flicking the lock open, jumping over the lady being pummelled in the face by the relentless jet stream of toilet water.

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