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Chapters (28)
  1. Dedication
  2. Part I
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. Part II
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. Acknowledgments
  21. A Word From Mark
  22. Get Exclusive John Milton Material
  23. Also By Mark Dawson
  24. In the John Milton Series
  25. In the Beatrix Rose Series
  26. In the Isabella Rose Series
  27. In the Soho Noir Series
  28. About the Author

She deleted the files, wiping her hard drive of them completely, and then opened her email client. She hovered the cursor over one unread email, wanting to open it yet reluctant to do so. The email had been sent from Action for Children, an adoption agency in South London. Beatrix had filled out a form on their website and sent it off while she waited at the airport, requesting information on the services that they provided. They had responded at once, within an hour of the form being completed, but, although she had looked at it several times, sitting in her inbox, Beatrix had been unable to open it. She knew why: it was an admission of failure, acceptance of the fact that she and Lucas would not be able to conceive a child themselves. It was second best. She wasn’t ready to consider that.

She closed the laptop, slid it into her bag and stowed it in her overhead locker. The flight from Paris to Caracas was ten hours. She reclined her seat, put a sleeping mask over her face and closed her eyes.

Control had been right: she was distracted. Sleep would help.

4

One of the benefits of a legend that painted her as a high-end travel agent was that Beatrix was accommodated in some of the best hotels in the world. Ops had booked Rebecca Smith a suite at the Cayena Hotel, a five-star establishment that was reputed to be the best in Caracas. A limousine had been sent to meet her at the airport and the polite and discreet driver had delivered her to the Avenida Principal La Castellana. The hotel was housed within a sleek building that was at odds with the poorer areas that they had passed through on the hour-long drive through Maiquetía and then the fringes of the city.

A bellhop opened the door of the car and welcomed her to the hotel. She stepped out, exchanging the pleasant cool of the cabin for the heat of the sun, broiling even at this relatively early hour. The bellhop raised a parasol to offer shade as he guided her inside the building; his colleague busied himself with removing her luggage from the trunk of the limo and wheeling it after them.