The Rift by Rachel Lynch

Author:Rachel Lynch [Lynch, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2021-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Madame Bisset sat on a comfortable sofa, sipping coffee. Opposite her sat Grant Tennyson, hands folded across his chest. He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.

‘How do I know you’re not with them?’ She jutted her chin to the window, indicating ‘them’ to be the police, presumably.

There was a knock at the door, and Madame Bisset almost dropped her coffee. She was nervous, and that’s the way Grant wanted it to be: they had to catch her off guard if they were going to garner any useful information from her. Grant already knew she was a tough nut; anyone who would follow the instructions he’d delivered to her hours earlier, when he’d extracted her from her safe house, had to have balls of steel.

‘Relax. It’s not the police.’ Grant walked towards the door and opened it, letting in Khalil. Madame Bisset’s face dropped. She got up and placed her coffee cup on the table. Grant noticed her hands shake.

‘What is this all about?’ she demanded.

Khalil had flown to Lyon by private jet from Paris, and they planned to make the onward journey together to Marseilles when they were done here. During one of his conversations with Khalil, his boss had happened to mention the name of the officer working on Hakim’s disappearance. Before now, Grant had listened to the details of Interpol’s progress (or lack of it) with nonchalance. That had now changed. His brief was to find Hakim, not get bogged down in an incompetent and slow official investigation. But the officer’s name had sent him into a quiet contemplation that went unnoticed by his boss. Khalil was a businessman and, as such, tapped in to the noises of money and trade, not emotions. And Grant was careful.

Major Helen Scott, UK Royal Military Police. It was an odd secondment, but that wasn’t the point. Whatever she was doing there, it was obvious that she’d got herself assigned to Hakim’s case. Maybe she was no longer RMP? A transfer to the Foreign Office would explain it, but he could never see Helen giving up her field-operative status for a desk job.

Khalil was fresh, no doubt from a snack and hot shower at his suite in the InterContinental in downtown Lyon. Grant didn’t need a place to stay. His business was in the Le Croix-Rousse district, and they were to fly to Marseilles tonight.

‘Marie, it’s lovely to see you after all these years. Please sit. We have some catching up to do.’ Khalil tiptoed around the reason why she was here. Grant admired his poise. He was a good player.

Madame Bisset sat back down, folded her hands across her skirt and nodded tersely. She was acting as though she returned the sentiment of a happy reunion with the boss of her son but Grant could see she remained on her guard. Did she harbour the same resentment towards Khalil about the death of her husband?

But under the current circumstances, Marie Bisset had little choice but to comply with Khalil’s wishes.

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