“I’ll do that. I can send that information to you as soon as you email me,” Juliette promised.

  Immediate family only? Was that usual for the type of storage unit? She’d never had experience in opening a deceased relative’s storage unit, and she guessed it might be normal, and in place to prevent theft and lawsuits.

  At any rate, she’d gotten hold of the owner and could now make the necessary payment as soon as he sent the info through.

  It was almost seven thirty a.m. and that meant it was time for her morning ritual—on fine summer days, at least. And that was a walk to the train station with her new boyfriend, Lucien, who worked at the nearby Paris police precinct.

  He’d worked late last night, which meant that the dinner date they’d planned had been postponed, but Juliette felt her heart lifting as she grabbed her jacket and her laptop bag, glanced into the mirror to check her hair, and then locked the door behind her before rushing downstairs.

  The morning was already bright and warm. Sunshine was streaming through the lobby windows, even though Paris itself was a little slower to wake up, and at this hour, the streets were still quiet.

  And there was Lucien, approaching at a brisk walk, his dark good looks making her stomach flip over with desire at the same time she smiled hello.

  “Sorry about last night,” he apologized, walking over to kiss her on each cheek—and then, finally, one on the lips. She slid a hand around his back, feeling the strength of his broad, well-muscled frame.

  “No problem. If I remember, last time we canceled a date, it was my fault,” she said wryly.

  “That’s police work for you.”

  With hands loosely linked, they began the mile-long walk that would take Juliette to the Metro station where she’d catch the train to the offices of the new task force she was a part of—the FBI international task force, tackling crimes involving American citizens outside their home country.

  Lucien would then catch the bus to work at the Paris police precinct. His alternative mode of transport was his motorcycle, but in summer, walking through Paris was something both of them enjoyed. Even though fighting crime was a serious business, Juliette couldn’t help feeling as if she was on a mini vacation every time she embarked on this lovely morning stroll.

  “Did you sort things out last night?” she asked him, hoping that his hard work had brought a good conclusion.

  Lucien sighed, his expression momentarily troubled. “Not exactly. It’s an ongoing investigation into a new drugs gang, and there are a lot of loose ends. But we’re making progress.”

  Juliette nodded, understanding the ups and downs of police work all too well.

  They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and as Juliette squeezed Lucien’s hand, she felt surprised all over again that a relationship that had started off so stormy had ended up in mutual attraction. Lucien had been angry at what he perceived to be unfair interference in the murder case that Juliette and the two other US task force members had been called in to help with.

  That was behind them now, but as Lucien spoke again, she realized there were troubles ahead. The tone of his voice told her even before she took in his words.

  “I got an offer yesterday and don’t know what to do about it,” he said.

  “An offer?” Feeling worried, she turned to look at him.

  “It’s to head up the investigation department in Marseilles, in the south of the country,” he said. “It was tabled a year or so ago, and I heard rumors that it’s going to be back on the table and they’re going to approach me directly. I don’t know if I’m ready to take it.”

  Juliette’s heart sank. She had grown to love what she had here. She didn’t want Lucien to move to the south of France, but at the same time, she understood that there were often factors beyond a person’s control influencing these decisions. To refuse could be politically disastrous.

  “That is a worry. What would happen with your mother?” His recently bereaved mother, who’d then had a bad fall and been injured, had been the reason Lucien had turned down an earlier opportunity for career advancement in Paris. But he couldn’t keep turning offers down, that she understood, or his career would stall.

  “If I were to take the job, she would move, too. She has friends down there. She is quite keen to make the move. My cat would come with me, of course, and I am sure Mona Lisa would enjoy the warmer weather.” His face softened. “It is a challenging role, very different from what we have here in Paris. But it is you, Juliette. I don’t want to move, having just met you.”

  “I know. Me either. But I guess we need to wait and see what happens. Let’s not worry before the time,” she said.

  But already, even though she was trying to sound strong and unconcerned, she was worrying, and she saw he was, too. Why did life have to be so damned complicated?

  They reached the Metro station and she kissed him goodbye before turning to the trains.

  But, as she headed to the platform, her phone rang.

  It was Ebury, her boss at the FBI office in Manhattan, who was coordinating the activities of their unit.

  “Good morning, Juliette. We’ve just had a case called in. Suspected serial, involving US citizens, in Berlin, Germany. They want the team there now. How soon can you get to the airport?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “How far away are you?” Juliette asked, her blood pressure spiking as she hustled through Charles de Gaulle Airport, while on the phone to her team member Sierra Lowry.

  As Juliette rushed to the boarding gate of the flight to Berlin, which had been held for ten minutes to allow the task force team to board, Sierra had called to say her taxicab was caught in traffic.

  “I hope I’ll get there soon. This traffic’s really bad. I might save time if I got out and ran!” Sierra complained.

  “Let me know if you’ll be longer than ten minutes, so I can tell the flight crew,” Juliette said, running up the airplane’s back stairs to the row of seats at the rear of the aircraft that had been assigned to them at the last minute.

  Used to traveling light, Juliette had a change of clothes and a few basic toiletries permanently packed in her laptop bag. Now, arriving first in the row of seats, she stowed her bag in the hold and then scooted into the window seat. Not a minute later, she was joined by the tall, rangy Wyatt Thompson.

  All-American, with military and FBI experience, the muscular, strong-jawed, clean-cut Wyatt had struggled to adapt to European life and culture, but Juliette was deeply impressed by the efforts he’d been making.

  Her phone beeped again as Wyatt stowed his bag. It was Sierra.

  “In the airport,” she’d messaged, and Juliette let out a relieved breath before turning to Wyatt.

  “Bonjour, ca va? Comment allez vous?” he greeted her with a grin, his pronunciation of the French for “how are you” spot on.

  “Ca va bien, merci,” she replied. “I am fine, and well done. Your accent is perfect.”

  “I’m working on the vocab, too, but it’s hard. Suzy’s doing better than I am, but I think that’s also because she’s gotten that assistant instructor’s job at the Pilates studio and has picked up a lot that way.” His voice softened as he spoke about his wife.

  “And the food?” Juliette asked. She knew Wyatt had struggled badly to come to grips with foreign cuisine.

  He shook his head ruefully. “Food’s still a big stumbling block. I can’t make myself love a lot of the items on any of these menus. Maybe the problem is I’m just not a fan of seafood. Those mussel dishes make my stomach churn. And as for the bouillabaisse, it’s like a seafood lucky draw, but you know you won’t be lucky.” He grimaced, and Juliette suppressed a grin.

  “How’s your boyfriend?” he asked her. She’d told him recently she was dating Lucien, whom Wyatt had met on the first case.

  “There’s a possibility he might have to move down south to Marseilles,” she said. “There’s a transfer that he may not be able to say no to. So we might be trying the long-distance thing.”

  He frowned. “I think doing that’s a risky idea,” he warned her.

  Taken aback, Juliette felt herself bristle defensively. That wasn’t very supportive of him! Just as she was about to interrogate him on his reasons, Sierra arrived, breathless from her sprint through the airport, and slipped into the aisle seat, hurriedly fastening her seatbelt.

  “So sorry! What nightmare traffic!” she said.

  With her cloud of dark hair, her sharp eyes, her delicate features, and her top-level tech know-how, the young IT graduate was a valuable addition to their team. She might not have ability in languages—yet—but her research and tracking ability had given them a lead on the bad guys in a couple of their cases so far.

  “Glad you got here,” Juliette said, as the flight crew rushed to secure the exits and taxi to the runway.

  “This sounds like a very serious case. I just read through the notes now. Two American women found dead, late at night, and one’s a Master’s student. That’s freaking me out, because I have a few student friends in Berlin right now.” Sierra sounded worried.

  Juliette nodded, her own thoughts darkening as she quickly opened her phone and read the briefing, which had just been sent through. “It’s definitely a concerning case. Both the deaths seem to have happened late at night. I guess, if that’s his pattern, at least it means we have the whole day to get a lead.”

  As the plane took off, she studied the sketchy details closely, needing to know every possible piece of information on how this killer was working.

  The first victim, two nights ago, had been Iris Davies from Arizona, a Master’s student in literature who was doing a year of study in Berlin. The second one, murdered last night, was Hannah Murray, who was staying at a youth hostel and appeared to have been in Berlin on a long vacation. Juliette knew that it would be important to find out more details on both their backgrounds.

  Cause of death was strangulation. Quick, brutal, and deadly. But again, no full details as yet, no forensic report. That meant a visit to the coroner would be a priority.

  Juliette saw that after reading once more through the case report, Wyatt had put on his earphones and was mouthing French words silently and with great concentration. Sierra was typing on her iPad, and Juliette guessed, from her focused expression, that she was messaging her friends in Berlin and warning them to stay safe.

  There was nothing else Juliette could do, except read the information and theorize.

  While she did so, Juliette jotted down some notes, so that by the time they landed, they would have a clear plan of action. There were a few things that they needed to do urgently, and these, she underlined in red.

  And then, quicker than she’d expected, they were preparing for their descent into Berlin Brandenburg Airport, and it was time to pack her phone and notepad away.

  At least they were now here, she thought, as they hurried through the airplane, given priority in disembarking.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Juliette said as they strode down the plane’s aisle, conscious of the looks of the fellow passengers—most curious, some approving, and a few critical.

  Then they were out, in the modern, spacious terminal building, and heading for the exit, where she immediately saw the two police officers who had been assigned to meet them, the one in front holding up a neatly printed placard with their names on it.

  A capable woman with short, light brown hair, looking fit and determined and in her late thirties, was in the lead. Behind her stood a younger police officer, a tall, lean man with neatly cut blond hair and an excited expression that told Juliette that he was relatively new to the world of law enforcement. Neither wore a uniform. The woman was in a navy business suit, while the man wore a shirt and tie under a brown jacket.

  “Good morning.” The woman introduced herself formally. “I am Detective Fischer, and this is Detective Lehmann, from the Kriminalpolizei. We will be working with you on this case.”

  Her very formal and professional manner as she spoke the introductions didn’t allow for Juliette to see if she approved of the American contingent or not. Detective Lehmann was easier to read. He gave them a quick smile and a firm, if slightly damp, handshake.

  “Do you want to go to the second crime scene?” Fischer asked them. “It is still open.”

  “Yes,” Juliette said, after a quick glance at the others. Undoubtedly, the most recent crime scene would provide the best starting point.

  They followed Detective Fischer out of the airport and to the car that had been parked in a yellow line zone, with a police sticker displayed. She climbed in, and Lehmann got in beside her, with the three Americans taking the back of the car.

  “This is a spare vehicle, so if you require it, you may use this car while you are here,” Fischer said formally. “Of course, you will probably require us to ride with you to make the initial introductions.”

  “Thank you,” Juliette said in a polite tone. She guessed that beneath her highly regulated exterior, Fischer did seem glad to have them here, and didn’t resent the task force team. That was a relief.

  Fischer began driving in a controlled and precise way, taking them into central Berlin.

  Juliette loved Berlin. It had such a history, and she’d always found the presence of the Berlin Wall to be a fascinating and poignant part of the city. It was a reminder of the past, but also a testament to the resilience of a city that had been through so much.

  As they drove through the city, Juliette glanced out the window, spotting some of the buildings decorated with the incredible, graffiti-style street art that Berlin was famous for, and the bustling streets where shoppers, workers, and tourists thronged. It was hard to imagine that such dark and gruesome crimes could be happening in a place so full of life and activity.

  But her thoughts were quickly pulled back to the case at hand as they arrived at the crime scene.

  Fischer veered off the side road where she’d been driving, heading down a narrow lane where the car rattled over some loose paving stones, and it became suddenly dark as the high walls of the surrounding buildings blocked out the light.

  Then, they were back in the sunshine, pulling up in a tiny, narrow street that seemed to lead only to people’s backyards.

  Juliette’s first thought was that this must have been a very deserted place late at night. Why had Hannah been walking here?

  As they climbed out, turning to the crime scene tape, one of the officers beyond turned, saw them arrive, and came hurrying over.

  “Detective Fischer,” he called. “If the American team is here, they need to know about the pages! We found a second one here, at this scene.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The pages? Wyatt Thompson glanced at Juliette, seeing that she looked as confused as he felt. What pages? There had been nothing about them in the report. Perhaps they were a new discovery.

  Hoping that this might present a breakthrough, he ducked under the crime scene tape and followed Juliette into the scene.

  “Do we need to put on foot covers, head covers?” he asked the officer who approached, but he shook his head. “Forensics have finished up. The scene will be reopened as soon as you have viewed it.”

  That meant the pressure was on. What could they see from this scene, a cordoned-off area on this quiet street, with traffic—such as it was—rerouted from each crossroad for the time being? The cordoned area covered about ten yards of the road.

  The street was neat, and Wyatt had the impression that the lack of any litter or untidiness wasn’t just due to it being combed by forensics. He had heard about the German efficiency, neatness, and attention to detail. The Germans he’d known in the Middle East had all been very detail oriented.

  This was the amazing and, he had to admit, entrancing thing about Europe. It was so individualistic. So many different cultures and countries, thrown into this jigsaw puzzle of a continent. At first, he’d not appreciated it, but he was starting to enjoy it. Over the weekend, he and his wife, Suzy, had taken the train to Belgium, and that had been fascinating. An hour-and-a-half train ride, and there you were, in a different country, a tourist all over again, with so much to see and do, and little delights and surprises, historic buildings, quaint shops, and great eateries around every corner.

  He’d never have thought he would have started to actually like Europe. And weirdly, now, he was feeling motivated to solve this crime because of his respect for the special character of Europe, and the need to make sure that all its citizens and visitors, American and otherwise, were safe.

  Which brought him back to the case at hand, as he reached the place where the body had been found and looked around, imagining what it must have been like, yesterday, when the killer struck.

  He frowned in puzzlement. Okay, so it had been dark, and late at night, but what was a killer doing lurking in this area? It seemed like a typical quiet, residential neighborhood, and most probably, the youth hostel on the next street was the biggest source of trouble—if his experience was anything to go by.

  Looking at the far side of the tape, he saw that a small group of curious onlookers had gathered there and were being held back by a couple of uniformed officers.

  “What pages are these? Do you think they’re linked to the killer?” he asked, striding over to where two technicians were at work, dismantling the temporary cover that must have been placed over the body. So Hannah had been killed, and left, on the sidewalk. With a page nearby?

  “It is a page torn from a literature book. Just a random page, ripped out of some historical book,” the forensic officer said.

  “And where was it found?” Wyatt asked, seeing that Sierra, too, was listening and watching intently as this lead was explained.

  “It was found against the wall of that house over there.” The man pointed. “We guess that the wind blew it there, and that it might have originally been placed close to the victim. It’s been taken into evidence and is being examined and tested.”