“Genevieve, you have to help me. I killed two men.”
“Francine?” I cringed at my redundant request for confirmation of identity. The sight in front of me shocked my sleepy brain into full alert. My hand tightened around the front door handle and I stared at the grievously injured woman in the hallway.
“Help me, please.” Her voice was hoarse as if she had been screaming. Her left eye was swollen shut and her face freshly bruised.
I could not read her expressions. My throat tightened with that realisation. My connection to other people depended on my world-renowned ability to read nonverbal cues. But Francine’s face was too damaged to allow much muscle movement. A cut on her cheek was still oozing blood, and she was bleeding from other places too. There were rust coloured splatters all over her clothes. I couldn’t see if it was from her injuries. Maybe it was her victims’. A shudder rolled down my spine.
When the insistent ringing of my doorbell had woken me at two in the morning, I had not expected to find the woman who had been avoiding me for two weeks on my doorstep. The exotic beauty I knew to be a computer genius, an exceptional hacker and an enthusiastic proponent for conspiracy theories was weaving, looking ready to lose consciousness. I had only ever seen her looking like a supermodel. The hunched-over figure at my doorstep did not resemble that at all.
“Please?” Her whispered plea brought my attention to her swollen lips.
“But you killed two people.” How could I let a killer into my home?
“It was in sel–” A gurgling cough punished her body and she reached out to me. Instinctively I recoiled, but she didn’t notice. Her breathing was becoming laboured and it didn’t take my three doctorate degrees to know that she needed medical attention.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” I stepped away from the door and opened it wider. “Come on in then.”
“Colin,” she wheezed as she staggered to my expensive sofas. I closed the door, made sure all five locks were secured in place and hurried over before she reached the living area. With an internal groan, I spread the beige mohair throw over the sofa and watched her lower herself in obvious agony. “Please get Colin here.”
“You of all people know that I can’t get a hold of him.” I had met Colin and Francine five months ago when working on an art crime case. My life had been in danger while investigating the murders of art students. Francine had proven herself to be an invaluable asset when she offered her computer hacking skills. Skills she used for a few government agencies.
Colin, on the other hand, was a criminal. He was an accomplished thief, infamous, and honourable. In that trying time five months ago he had proved himself to be one of the good guys – a concept I had learned from my boss. Not only was Colin a thief, but he was a thief who worked for Interpol. At last count only five people knew of his unconventional job. His cooperation with the law was something neither him nor the powers that be in Interpol wanted to be known. After working side by side with him, I had thought he was my friend, but he had disappeared out of my life a month after the case had closed. That had been four months ago.
At first I had thought he had to be working on some assignment, but after not being able to contact him on the number he had given me, I had become concerned. Three weeks ago I had asked Francine if she could track Colin with her computer skills. We had met only once after that before she too started avoiding my calls. All this rejection did not sit well with me.
“How am I supposed to get Colin here if I can’t reach him?” I asked.
“Send him a 911 text to the number you have. He’ll phone you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Francine’s facial muscles tried to draw together into a pleading expression. “Please, Genevieve. We need him. Just send that text.”
Apart from my boss, Francine was the only one who called me Genevieve. Mostly, people called me Doctor Lenard. Three other people used different names for me, but that was in the past.
For a moment I studied her. As usual she was dressed in the best designer clothes, now torn and ruined by bloodstains. She favoured her left side and I wondered if she had been stabbed. There wasn’t a large bloodstain in that area, so it was most probably broken ribs. I had a lot of questions about her presence on my sofa. Including the suspicion that her injuries had something to do with her reason for avoiding me. Now she was telling me that we needed Colin. I balked at the ‘we’.
A pained groan and tears streaming from her swollen eyes drew me out of my thoughts and put me into action. I stomped to the kitchen, grabbed my smartphone off the counter and swiped the screen. Within three seconds I sent the text message and was staring at the little screen, waiting for Colin to call. My smartphone’s screen lit up and a silly ringtone filled my apartment. I swiped the screen.
“Yes?”
“Jenny, what’s wrong?” Worry raised Colin’s voice from its usual deep rumble. Hearing his voice again for the first time in four months made me happy, sad and angry at the same time. But mostly angry.
“Francine killed two men.”
“She...wait...what?” He took a deep breath. “Is she with you?”
“Yes.” The more he spoke, the angrier I was becoming. It limited my social vocabulary.
“In your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on my way.”
“I’ll phone the police.”
“No!” Again he took a breath audible enough for me to hear. “Let’s first hear what happened.”
“She killed two men, Colin. There is nothing more to it. She told me so herself. I should phone the police.” My words were clipped.
“Wait a moment.”
I heard some clicking noises and narrowed my eyes. Those noises not only came through the phone, but also from a window in the back of my apartment.
My lips tightened and I turned around. “I have a front door.”
“That you always lock.” Colin smiled as he walked to me in long strides. Something was not right. His usual confident walk seemed impeded in some way. Seeing him after such a long time overwhelmed me with all kinds of emotions which distracted me from my observations. “Hello, Jenny. Did you miss me?”
The Dante Connection is now available as paperback and ebook!
The Braque Connection
Third in the Genevieve Lenard series
Forged masterpieces. Hidden messages. A desperate swan song.
When world-renowned nonverbal communication expert Doctor Genevieve Lenard wakes up in an unknown location, drugged and kidnapped, it pushes the limits of her autism coping skills.
For the last year, Russian philanthropist and psychopath Tomasz Kubanov has been studying Genevieve just as she and her team have been studying him. Now forged paintings and mysterious murders are surfacing around her team, with evidence pointing to one of them as the killer.
Genevieve knows Kubanov is behind these senseless acts of violence. What she doesn’t understand are the inconsistencies between his actions and the cryptic messages he sends. Something has triggered his unpredictable behaviour, something that might result in many more deaths, including those she cares for. Because this time, Kubanov has nothing to lose.
The Braque Connection is now available as paperback and ebook!
The Flinck Connection
Fourth in the Genevieve Lenard series
A murdered politician. An unsolved art heist. An international conspiracy.
A cryptic online message leads nonverbal communications expert Doctor Genevieve Lenard to the body of a brutally murdered politician. Despite being ordered not to investigate, Genevieve and her team look into this vicious crime. More online messages follow, leading them down a path lined with corruption, a sadistic assassin, an oil scandal and one of the biggest heists in history—the still unsolved 1990 Boston museum art theft worth $500m.
The deeper they delve, the more evidence they unearth of a conspiracy implicating someone close to them, someone they hold in high regard. With a deadline l
ooming, Genevieve has to cope with past and present dangers, an attack on one of her team members and her own limitations if she is to expose the real threat and protect those in her inner circle.
The Flinck Connection is now available as paperback and ebook!
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