[MOREAU]
Agent Moreau had watched the interrogation through the one-way glass. To anyone who might have been watching her, they would have seen a beautiful woman who could in that moment be best described as aloof. The only indication that she may have been engaged was the very slight crease between her perfectly shaped eyebrows.
"So what's the bigger picture?"
"It's a game. And given how much you dislike me ... you're going to hate my new opponent."
Then, much to Moreau's surprise, the young man who had greeted them upon their arrival let himself into the interrogation room. Her brows furrowed deeper at the interaction that followed, and when the same young man exited, she followed after him into the hallway.
"Agent Blackwood," her French accent was thicker as she called after him.
He turned toward her with a worried look on his face. "Yes, Mi— Agent Moreau?"
She gave a generous smile at his near slip of the tongue. It was the sort of smile that would have rendered any man starstruck; Blackwood was too young to be oblivious. "I was just wondering," she twisted a curl around her index finger, "who would have seniority over Agent Winston in regards to mademoiselle Destin?"
Blackwood's gaze dropped to her lips for several seconds too long before he answered. "Uh—" He paused as he swallowed, then he forced his eyes to meet hers "—well, the director, of course." He gave a laugh that was a shade too close to nervous.
Moreau smiled winsomely. "Oui, oui, of course," she said with an amicable nod. "But, monsieur, the director was not interested in getting involved until Agent Winston had arrived, no?"
"No," Blackwood agreed, a little too readily.
Moreau nodded thoughtfully and looked deep into Blackwood's eyes as though she was searching for something. His gaze held hope and nerves both, neither of which was she looking for. "So who else wanted to be involved?"
"Oh, uh," he scratched the back of his head and glanced both ways down the hall. He managed to look her in the eye once more. "Don't, um, mention that I told you, but Assistant Director Tyler wanted, um ..." he nodded toward the interrogation room door, evidently afraid to mention Max Destin by name, "... her put into solitary. ASAP."
"Assistant Director Tyler?" Moreau managed to repeat the name in a way that made it sound like sugar.
"Yeah," Blackwood said. "He's in charge of the Critical Incident Response Group Division. It was one of his teams that arrived on the scene and arrested, uh, her."
"Merci beaucoup, Agent Blackwood," Moreau smiled. "You have been trés helpful."
He smiled at the praise as his cheeks turned pink. "Yeah, no problem," he waved off the gratitude, "any time. Just, uh, remember not tell anybody that it was me that told you about Assistant Director Tyler, all right?"
"But of course," Moreau nodded. She gave a conspiratorial wink. "It will be our little secret."
—
When the fire alarm in the building went off, Moreau couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was because of the smoke that appeared to be coming out of Winston's ears. He was furious that Destin had been ordered into solitary, especially since someone had gone above his head to make it happen. But that fury shifted and changed before her eyes as Winston registered the shrieking bells.
"The fire alarm," was all he said before he took off toward the stairs at a speed not suited for a woman in heels.
Moreau was not deterred. She could do more in heels and backwards than most of her colleagues at Interpol could do without, so while it should have been an impossibility, she kept up with Winston without even stumbling.
But by the time they reached the lobby it was too late. Because of the relative chaos that had descended upon the building with the fire alarm, no one had seen what door she had gone out of. Her escorts were unconscious in an elevator that was stuck between floors.
And Max Destin was gone.
