Page 30 of Nothing Hiding

The sense of discouragement still hung over her after their quick meal in a local pub, and it seemed to follow her up the stairs to the room Sierra had booked in a nearby hotel.

She pulled out her phone as she walked in, needing some comfort, even if it was long distance comfort now. Quickly, she called Lucien as she put her bag down.

The phone rang and rang, and she thought it would go through to voicemail, but at the very last moment, Lucien picked up.

He sounded stressed. Juliette could tell that immediately. And from the background noises, he was still at work.

"Bonjour, Juliette," he greeted her.

"Ca va, Lucien," she replied. "You sound busy."

"I am. We've had a huge case land. A major drug bust, here at the port. I'm still on the boat, coordinating the search."

"Let me not keep you," she said quickly. "I hope it goes well. Speak later."

"Later," he said and quickly hung up.

Juliette sighed, feeling more alone than ever. She sat down on the bed with a heavy heart, staring blankly ahead of her.

Wyatt's warning about long distance had been accurate. It didn't matter whether she was in London or Paris or somewhere else. Lucien had taken on a new and very pressured role, and she got the sense this was going to be their future. Ambitious and keen to make his mark, he wouldn't want to take time off for a while to be with her.

She should really message him now and suggest they go their separate ways, she thought, momentarily discouraged. That would be what a sensible person would do, but she didn't feel sensible now. Plus, the thought of doing it made her feel forlorn and sad. Maybe this pressure was just the natural stress of the first few weeks in a new job. Things might settle in a while, and he’d have more time.

She went into the bathroom, splashed some cold water on her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked so tired, so defeated.They'd worked all day and had to fight off resentment and recrimination in every direction. All three of them had been so discouraged by the time they'd gone upstairs that she knew the precious team spirit was very lacking.

But something inside her told her not to give up just yet. She couldn't let the killer win. She couldn't let the victims down. A night's rest might bring new ideas and fresh inspiration.

Even so, as Juliette climbed into bed, she felt tears prickle her eyes, because at that moment, she felt very alone. With her father's bombshell, having to accept that he wasn't the person she'd believed, and seeing how long distance was already taking its toll on her treasured relationship with her boyfriend, she felt lonelier than she ever had before.

She closed her eyes, thinking that it would be difficult to rest, but a fitful, nightmare-punctuated sleep descended quickly.

It was filled with bad dreams of Ebury calling to say a new body had been found, of Wyatt messaging her to say he was done with the task force, and of Lucien texting her to say it was over.

It almost felt like a repeat cycle when she really did hear her phone, jerking her from her dream state into cool, dark reality.

This was no nightmare. She was awake. It was dark, early morning, and the persistent trill of her phone was slicing through the silence.

Grabbing it, she saw it was Ebury, and before she even picked up, Juliette knew, with a tautening of her stomach, what the news was going to be.

"Juliette," he said, "they've just found Sophie Elder's body. This case is officially a serial."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chad Hammer was trying to breathe.

In, out. In, out.

That, supposedly, was the secret to successful running. But despite a two-month stint with a coach and five online classes so far, he hadn't gotten the hang of it, nor had it improved his run times. He was hoping it would.

In, out. In, out.

Nope, the rhythm was wrong already. Why couldn't he get this right? He needed to achieve in this direction. It was a small goal that could lead to bigger goals being achieved. Like fitness, health, and the loss of the twenty pounds of weight that was sagging prematurely around his waist.

How could he reach any of those if he couldn't even get the breathing right? His personal trainer had said that was the first and most important step.

He was too focused on his breathing that he couldn't enjoy the view around him. Running in the park was supposed to be therapeutic, a relaxation. Why was he such a damned competitive person that he even tried to be good at things he was bad at?

He slowed as he passed the statue that he loved the most. Still Waters, on the edge of Hyde Park, the incredible, giant horse head, calmly lowered to the ground as if it was drinking. Suspended in nothingness. A story to tell, every time he glimpsed it.

---