Free Run Girl: Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thrillers Prequel Novella by Eva Hudson Page B

“Let’s get back to the matter in hand. Maybe we’re approaching this from the wrong direction.”
    “What do you suggest?”
    “We need to try to work out what has brought her here. If not a fellow math genius, then what? Or rather, who?”
    “You think she’s planned a romantic liaison?”
    “Hey, I know you’ve got great art galleries and theaters in London, but I don’t think they’d be enough of a draw for her to plan something as meticulously as this. I think she’s here to meet somebody.”
    “We’re screwed then.” Angelis said. “When it comes to acts of love, people behave completely irrationally.”
    “Love?”
    “Come on, it might be difficult for you, but try to cast your mind back to when you first fell for your chap. What’s his name?”
    “Who?”
    “Good god—your fiancé—who else?”
    It took Ingrid a moment to summon an image of Marshall Claybourne in a full charm offensive. It had certainly been a while. When they’d first gotten together, Ingrid’s fiancé had wooed her with his unending devotion and tireless attempts to do sweet little things for her that might make her happy. But for the last year or so, ever since he proposed, in fact, they’d been so wrapped up with work they barely even noticed one another. “How do you know about Marshall?”
    “I have studied your personnel file in detail.” He flashed a smile at her. “Wouldn’t you have crossed rivers and scaled mountains just to be with your chap and to hell with the rest of the world?”
    She frowned at him.
    “Don’t tell me you’re immune to Cupid’s arrow.”
    “Just make your goddamn point.”
    “We can’t hope to preempt anything she does. We’ve got no chance.”
    “She’s been pretty methodical about things up till now. I don’t see any reason why she’d stop.”
    “Good grief, where’s your sense of romance?”
    The helicopter suddenly dropped forty feet without warning. The straps across Ingrid’s shoulders dug hard into her flesh.
    “Sorry folks,” the pilot said. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you. I think the storm might just have caught up with us.”
    Angelis’ face drained of color. He looked like a man who might start regretting his three course lunch.
    “Hang on in there, buddy,” Ingrid said, surprising herself with her sympathetic tone.
    “I think that’s the kindest you’ve been to me all day. If I’d known the threat of projectile vomiting would get that kind of response, I might have shoved a finger down my throat.”
    “Don’t get used to it. Sympathy can wear off pretty damn fast.”
    “OK—for the sake of argument—let’s say she’s here for some romantic encounter, but let’s also assume she’s not so head-over-heels in love that she’s lost all sense of perspective. What could she have planned?”
    “Tell me more about her background.”
    Angelis handed Ingrid his cell phone. “All the files are on there. Read them for yourself.”
    “In this turbulence? It’ll make me throw up faster than anything. Give me a precis.”
    “OK.” Angelis shoved the phone back in his pocket and closed his eyes as the helicopter dropped another dozen or so feet straight down. “She went to the best school her grandmother’s money could buy. She had ballet, skiing and riding lessons. And, reading between the lines, more freedom to experiment with sex and drugs than any teenager could dream of. I don’t know why she’s so angry at her parents. They pretty much let her do what she wanted.”
    “Maybe she was craving something else—like discipline and boundaries. Maybe she’s angry at her parents for not providing the structure she needed.”
    “Craving structure and discipline? God help your kids when you have them.”
    “But what if she wanted to use this trip, in part, to get back at her parents? To piss them off in some way? What might she get up to that would piss them off? Or what kind of person might she be seeing that would upset them the most?”