Read Run Girl: Ingrid Skyberg FBI Thrillers Prequel Novella for Free Online Page B

and they made their way down a long corridor toward the main entrance.  
    “Where are we headed?” Ingrid asked Angelis when they’d exited the embassy compound.
    “Imperial College—I thought we’d put some pressure on the friends of Rachel Whitticker’s online chum. See what we can winkle out of them.”
    “I thought you said they were refusing to speak.”
    “That’s why we need to exert some pressure.”
    “Seriously? Is that all you have? Some guy Rachel Whitticker spoke to online is your only lead?”
    “It took our tech people a while to uncover his identity. The girl’s been covering her tracks extraordinarily well.”
    It didn’t seem to Ingrid that Fortnum Security’s intelligence gathering capabilities were up to the job. Surely the Bureau could find a better option. “What did the French bodyguard tell you? Anything we can use?”
    “Unsurprisingly, she’s been saying very little. Whether she’s trying to save her own skin or protect her company, is not entirely clear. We should learn from her example, however. Never underestimate a determined teenager.” He laid a hand on Ingrid’s arm and steered her to the left. “I’ve parked the bike on the other side of Grosvenor Square.”
    “Bike?”
    “Motorcycle, naturally—I don’t expect you to balance on the handlebars of a bicycle! It’s the best way to get around town.”
    Ingrid pulled her arm away from his grasp.
    “You have ridden pillion on a motorcycle before, I take it?”
    “I’m more used to riding solo.”
    “You’re a biker? I didn’t read that in your Bureau profile. How simply delicious. Now I know we’ll have some fun.”
    Ingrid wondered at Angelis’ way of speaking. What was this guy on? At times he sounded like some flamboyant dandy from a period drama. “Fun? We have a job to do—helping promote world peace, remember?”
    “I’m sure you weren’t taken in by Sol’s spin any more than I was.”
    Just as they were about to walk through the entrance to Grosvenor Square, which to Ingrid’s eye was basically a patch of frozen grass criss-crossed with cinder paths, a woman and a man started to rush toward them.
    “I know you!” the woman said, pointing a finger at Ingrid.
    Ingrid looked the woman up and down. She’d been in the embassy earlier, attempting to get her press accreditation approved. Great —that was all they needed, a curious journalist latching onto them.
    “Get a couple of shots of these two, Frank,” she ordered the overweight, disheveled man standing next to her. Immediately he raised the camera that was hanging around his neck and clicked. The flash temporarily burned on Ingrid’s retinas. “Can you tell me what your business was in the embassy earlier, Agent…”
    Nice try . Ingrid started to turn away.
    “Does it have anything to do with the Secretary of State’s impending visit? Expecting trouble? Is the embassy recruiting extra manpower? They seemed super keen on getting your ID sorted out in a hurry.” She turned her attention to Angelis. “And who are you?”
    “You’ll have to delete those photographs,” Angelis told the photographer, ignoring the woman’s questions completely.
    The overweight man clutched the camera to his chest. “It’s a free country.”
    “You’re English? Working out of the American embassy?” The journalist stepped so close to Angelis, Ingrid thought the woman might bump right into him. “There has to be a story in that. Who do you work for, the Met, MI5, MI6?”
    Angelis’ hand was outstretched toward the camera. “Either I watch you delete the images or I get a very amenable policeman to confiscate the camera.” He glanced around. “Oh look—there’s a cop just over there. He looks bored. Shall we give him a little something to do?”
    The photographer looked first at the policeman, who was sitting astride a motorcycle, then at the journalist. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, “it could take me all bloody week to get this