The Red Light Girls (Unsolved Mysteries Book 2) Kim Knight (best romance novels of all time txt) 📖

to the cars. Gibson was stood by a vehicle with Ali in the back.

The road along the canal had become busy. Locals and tourists stood around to watch the Politie in action outside the bar.

“Fuck me,” Janssen said after a beat. “I’m over on the other side of the city. I’ll be there soon.” Janssen cut the call and jogged over the Gibson.

“I’ve got go,” she whispered. “A body’s been found over by the Bos.”

Gibson peeked at her from underneath his hoodie. “Another girl, or someone else?”

His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together. His eyebrows met in the middle.

Janssen recognised this as the telltale sign that he was about to lose his shit. She’d worked with him for five years and knew him well.

“It’s a girl.” She looked away. Her eyes roamed over the patrol cars and flashing lights.

“What the fuck I can’t—shit!” Gibson ran a hand over his beard. “All right cool,” Arms folded over his chest, his eyes roamed over the scene in front of them.

His mind was ticking, she knew it.

After a beat or two, he spoke, “I’ve got everything under control here. I’ll meet you over there once I’ve got these guys back at the station.”

Janssen nodded in agreement, then set off to her car.

Fishing out her keys, she opened the door, then got behind the wheel. She tossed her wig on the back seat and glanced at her watch.

It’s eight-thirty at night, already.

She started the engine, then made her way over to Amsterdamse Bos.

3

The Hand of Fate

Madeline Sloane

The Next morning…

“Oh my, God.” A steady current of fluid gushed, spraying Madeline in the face. “Damn it!”

She struggled to stem the water that overflowed from the bathroom pipe. “Who the fuck actually lives like this?”

She threw down the piece of piping that snapped off in her hand, then shut off the shower. Wrapping herself in one of the worn, rough towels, then padded barefoot into the living room. Goose bumps covered her flesh. It was a chilly start to the morning. She noticed the clock on the wall showed six-thirty.

In half an hour, she was due at work.

Fetching her phone from the table, she unlocked it, pulled up a contact and pressed call.

“‘Elloo,” the sleepy male voice answered.

“Hello, sorry to wake you, Mr. Fitz,” she said hardly sorry. “It's Madeline Sloane. I rent the one-bedroom apartment about twenty minutes from Amsterdam Centraal.”

“‘Elloo, everythin’ okay?”

“No.” A trickle of water dribbled behind her, and she glanced over a shoulder. “The pipe’s just burst in the bathroom.” She pulled the towel tighter around her. “Hold on.”

“‘Elloo, you there?”

“Yes. I’m here.” Madeline moved the phone from her ear, then hit speaker.

The steady trickle continued from down the way she had come.

I turned the water off, didn’t I? She questioned herself, then headed toward the bathroom.

Her feet sunk into the carpet. She froze in place, lifted a foot, then let out a heavy sigh.

Shit! This is what I’m paying for? She pondered the thought of her hard-earned cash lining the landlord’s pockets for the last three months. Suddenly, she was home sick.

“Mr. Fitz, I'm here,” she said. “There's a massive leak.”

Madeline raised her heel up to inspect it, as if she had stepped in dog muck.

“Now the toilet’s overflowing.” She gagged. “It’s everywhere. Do you think you could send someone over here to take a look?”

Mr. Fitz groaned. “Oh, okay. Wun minute.”

“Mr. Fitz, I don't mean to be rude, but I need to be at—”

“Okay, okay. Wun minute,” Mr. Fitz said. “Hold de line. Wun minute, I say.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. Over the line, she heard him stumbling about, cursing in broken English. She wondered if he had just now gotten out of bed.

“Okay, I call plumber. Maybe he come after lunch,” he told her.

“After lunch? Mr. Fitz, I've got to be at work at eight.”

“Okay, okay. I call back. Wait there. No move, okay. No move. Wun minute. See you.”

“Mr. Fitz I—”

At the sound of the dead phone line, Madeline placed her phone on the sofa, then raced back to the overflowing water from the toilet, but there was little she could do.

After a while, she made her way down the soggy hallway, cleaned her feet and legs best she could in the kitchen with paper towels, then sat on the couch, waiting.

Several hours passed without so much as a courtesy call from her landlord.

The intercom buzzer sounded.

Ring.

Ring.

Madeline sprung from the sofa, rushed over to the intercom box, then snatched up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Hi. It's the plumber. I'm here about your leak,” a male voice announced.

“Well, it's about time. It's well after two o’clock. I've missed work for this.”

“I'm sorry, Miss. But I'm here now,” the voice crackled out of the box. “If you let me in, I'll have it fixed in no time.”

Without even so much as a thank you, Madeline pressed the entry button, then slammed down the phone. Within a couple of minutes, a knock sounded.

Stone-faced, she swung the door open.

“Well I should—”

“Madeline?”

“Chris?”

The pair stared wide-eyed at each other.

“What are the chances of us meeting again?”

“Yeah, pretty random.” Madeline moved her eyes over him suspiciously. “I’m sorry I was so rude. I had no idea it was—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chris cut in. “It happens all the time. Can I come in?”

Madeline blushed and stepped to one side to allow him into her apartment. She was slightly embarrassed at the work that needed to be done.

“Which way?” He glanced around.

“That way.” She lowered her lashes to the ground, then pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

“Thanks.” Chris headed in, and she followed behind him.

She noticed him look around at the wet floor, carpet, and broken pipe.

“Damn.” He whistled. “Okay, let me get started,” he said over his shoulder.

“Is this going to take long because I—”

“Madeline, chill. I’ll fix it, I promise.”

She looked him up and down, then chewed the inside of lip. “Good ‘cos I—”

“Yes, you’ve got to get to work,” Chris teased her. “I know. Now, take a seat and leave it with