'Lo, y'all. So, um, i hope you're not too mad at me for not updating, i was trying to finish my other book, "A Weather Eye on the Horizon." I did finish it, so i'm very happy. Maybe you guys could go check that one out? Okay, so here's the next chapter, and please comment and vote and stuff. Tell me what you think! Thanks so much you guys! love y'all!

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P.S. PIC OF ASTRID ------------------------------------------> And as for choosing the actors, the name "Astrid" was a coincedence, i've always liked the name so i chose it for my character, and then found that as the perfect actress, so yeah.



Chapter Three



♣ Josh ♣



The cool air of the apartment was amazing compared to the former sauna of the Great Outdoors. I had to agree with Astrid, this was a pretty nice place to live. Or stay, anyway. Astrid sat up on the bed as Pierre sat at the foot of it. Her eyes stayed on him even as I said, “Okay, Pierre, shoot.”



Her crush on Pierre could get seriously annoying.



Pierre glanced at her. “For starters,” he said, in his annoyingly superior voice. “You could get off my bed.”



Astrid looked around. “Oh. This your bed?”



Pierre rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he said patiently, “and the one next to that bed is Josh’s.”



“Georges’s,” Astrid corrected. “You’re the only one with a real French name here. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “I guess you really are French, aren’t you?”



Pierre sighed. “Honestly, Josh – okay, Georges – how could you stand a whole plane flight with her?” he asked incredulously. I grinned. “Astrid, or whatever your name is supposed to be now, you’re sleeping in that room.” He pointed: there was an adjoining door that led to a small room with a simple bed and dresser. “Now, am I allowed to start?”



Astrid lay back on the bed. I think she liked the idea of being on Pierre’s bed. Not that I mean anything by that. “Knock your socks off,” she said, staring up at the ceiling. Pierre looked at her, shaking his head before he started again. I couldn’t help leaning forward as his voice took on a more serious tone.



“All right. So, there’s this drug dealing group called G7 that operates with various poppy fields in South America. The group itself is supposed to be German. One of their leaders is supposed to be this guy named Decrioux – probably not even his real name. All we know is that he is a millionaire – or the French equivalent – living outside of Marseilles, in a mansion.”



I frowned. “So what’s the problem? Why don’t they just storm his mansion thing and arrest him? Or at least do a drug raid?”



It seemed relatively simple to me – it definitely didn’t seem to need three fully qualified agents. All of us had started training before we were teenagers, around ten or eleven. Pierre, tall, dark, and eighteen, was completely badass: toned body, amazing marksmanship second only to Astrid, and expert in karate, tae kwon do, and more. His opinion of the authority figures of Delta was far from polite, a fact he rarely hid, even though he was crazy about rules and regulations. He was completely ruthless in everything he did – except when it came to his friends, which, I suppose, is why he’s put up with Astrid for so long.



And Astrid, even with all her childishness, was probably the best of all of us. She had finished top in our class, if you could call it that. More of a training team. She could shoot a smiley face in a target a hundred meters away. Being small and slight, it was easy for her to blend in, and squeeze into small places. She was also, I have to admit, a heck of a looker, with long dark hair, huge dark eyes with long lashes, and perfectly tanned skin. I really didn’t understand why Pierre didn’t like her. Really, Astrid’s only fault was the way she looked at the boy sitting next to her. In other words, her obsession with Pierre. She could have gone for any other boy in the world, who would probably take her, too, and she chooses him?



But maybe I’m just biased.



Pierre was talking again. “No can do,” he said, a little tensely. “You see, Delta can’t prove that Decrioux is the leader of G7. Also, Decrioux is apparently very high up there in French politics. Or aristocracy. Or whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, it would be kind of hard for the U.S. to storm some big shot Frenchie’s place, when the French government themselves won’t accept it.”



“Ah.” Well, what else was I supposed to say? Truthfully, I still didn’t see why this problem needed three agents, but I decided not to say that.



Astrid had no such qualms. “So… why the heck are we here?”



Pierre looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “Well,” he said, a touch sarcastically, “they needed someone to check out Decrioux’s place. Wait,” he said, stemming Astrid’s outbreak, “there’s more. This guy is supposed to be in touch with a mafia or something, and his guards are a little more than regular house guards.”



“So… dangerous.” Astrid’s voice was impassive.



“Yeah,” Pierre agreed. “Look, I don’t know why we’re all here, so don’t take it out on me, okay?” He glared at Astrid, who shrugged. A funny look came into her eyes, a look that I’m pretty sure only I noticed. She looked almost… uneasy, which was a new feeling for her. Usually, she’s rock-steady. In most cases.



“There’s more to it than that.” It was not a question. Her voice sounded strange, and she looked Pierre right in the eye. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”



I suddenly remembered her saying the same thing to Young.



Pierre looked irritated. “Look, as I just said, I honestly don’t know any more than that. Really. So you can go tell this crap to Young if you really want to know.” Boy, he sounded really angry, and I wondered why. It’s not like it was that bad of a question.



Astrid looked highly annoyed herself. “Been there, done that,” she snapped. “As if that little… well, as if he would tell me anything.”



I had a feeling that a full blown argument was going to start any moment now, but then a faint half-smile flitted over Pierre’s face. Astrid stopped talking, apparently needing more air all of a sudden.



I groaned inwardly. What was it with that boy’s smile that drove girls crazy? Then again, I guess my smile wasn’t too bad after all. Still, it was probably a good thing that I didn’t have any mushy feelings for Astrid… or I’d have to take a pistol to Pierre’s head. Which was tempting anyway.



“Whatever,” Astrid said, backing down. Again, a new tactic for her. I tried really, really hard not to raise an eyebrow, but it flew up anyway. She glared at me, and then jumped off the bed. “All right,” she said breezily, “what do we do first?”



Pierre shrugged. “I figured you’d be jetlagged, so maybe you just want to rest or something first?” he offered.



“Well, I’m going to change anyway,” she said, grabbing her bag from the floor. “See you in a moment, chicos.” She disappeared into her little room. Pierre rolled his eyes, and got up from the bed as well, heading into the kitchen.



I sat back in the armchair. It was incredibly comfortable, and Pierre’s mention of jetlag was getting to me. I felt like I could fall asleep, and I was beginning to nod off when there was a loud bang from behind me.



“Good morning, sunshine!” Astrid chirped at me as I sat bolt upright, reaching inside my pocket. Evidently she had just slammed the door. I groaned.



“Are you serious?” I asked. “I was just dozing!”



“We don’t have time for that,” she chastised, suddenly all business. Looking up, it wasn’t exactly difficult to think why: Pierre had re-entered the room.



He stopped and looked her up and down discreetly. I smirked slightly in spite of myself. Even I had to admit, she looked pretty good. She was wearing short jean shorts, with a creamy white tank top with blue swirly patterns on it. Her dark hair was swept over her shoulder in her customary braid. Climbing up to her knees were no-heel boots, which might have looked weird on anyone else, but on Astrid they looked amazing.



She smiled a slightly dangerous smile at Pierre, and then said, “I’m ready.”



She paused. “Oh,” she said, obviously remembering something. Astrid had an amazing memory, except sometimes when it comes to little things. Not to mention she had an incredibly short attention span – except when it came down to the very serious stuff.



She reached into the bag she held in her hand and pulled out a small gun in an ankle-holster. Sliding this into her right boot, she then flipped out a six-inch blade and slid that into her left boot.



I was looking at one dangerous girl.



Astrid sank down on my bed. “So what’re we doing?” she asked, completely casually.



Pierre shrugged. “Are you sure you guys don’t want to take it easy for a while?” he said, glancing at me. “I mean, you’ve just had a long flight and everything.”



It sounded fine to me, and I opened my mouth to say so, but of course Astrid got there before me. “We’re fine,” she assured him, looking daggers at me sidelong. “Come on, I’m dying to do something.”



“Why don’t you go do more cartwheels in the hall?” I muttered grumpily, knowing I had lost. She glared at me. “All right,” I groaned. “You’re the person who dragged us here, Pierre, what are we supposed to do now?”



He leaned against the doorway. “We could go scope out Decrioux’s manor,” he offered. “We’re supposed to be tracking down, um, evidence that he’s in the drug market… So we could also walk around in the slums and see if we can find any drug dealers.” He stopped talking, probably realizing how weak that sounded.



I shook my head. “Not a lot to go on,” I said, annoyed. “Whatever.” I glanced at Astrid. “What do you want to do, Princess?”



Astrid gave me a startled look, and I smirked at her. She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to do, my prince,” she said sweetly, and I grinned.



“Shouldn’t you be saying that to–?”



“Anyway,” she said loudly. “I say we go take a look at this guy’s house. Just so we know what ground we’re treading and all, you know?”



I forced myself out of the extremely comfortable armchair. “Fine,” I agreed reluctantly. “Lead on, beautiful.”



Astrid punched me in the arm. “Less of that,” she snapped, and turned to look at Pierre. “Well, I don’t really know where I’m going, so did Young thoughtfully provide us with a map? Seeing as we haven’t exactly lived in Marseilles our whole lives…”



Pierre nodded, striding over to a side desk, and pulling out a folder. “This is what we have to go on,” he said, clicking into serious mode and flipping open the folder. I joined Astrid at his side and looked down at the file.



A man’s face stared up at me. It was a full-color passport picture. The man had sandy hair neatly slicked back, with a closed, rugged face. Dark eyes looked steadily at the camera, and a half-smile played on his lips. At first glance he might have seemed like only a successful business man after all, but it was his eyes that grabbed me. They were blank of all emotion, with a dark touch that made you think he had seen things most people hadn’t. And if he was who Delta thought he was, he probably had, too.



Truthfully, his eyes reminded me a bit of Astrid’s, in more than just color. On the outside, they looked amused, innocent, and carefree about the world. When you really focused on them, you could tell that there was a harder person deep within – one who was not afraid to kill. This was a ruthless man I was looking at, and I felt a small thrill run down my back.



Astrid was already scanning the printed words. “Louis Decrioux,” she murmured, “thirty-two…” She looked up. “Whoa, he’s young,” she commented, and then continued. “Six foot one, one hundred ninety-seven pounds…” She stopped. “How does this help us? Seriously, we need information!”



I took the file from her, perching on the end of the desk and looking through it. “Here,” I said, after a moment. “Louis Decrioux, son of the famed Alphonse Decrioux of the Three Stars real estate agency…” I stopped, frowning briefly. “That’s weird…” I said slowly, looking down at the file again.



“What?” Astrid practically shoved me off the desk.



I moved away slightly. “Well, basically, this guy grew up in an orphanage, and he only found out he was Alphonse’s son when he turned eighteen.”



“Convenient,” Pierre said. “That was after his father died, and therefore he was left everything in the will. And since he was eighteen…”



“He could have it right away!” Astrid finished. “It makes sense!” She looked at me. “What else does it say?”



I scanned the file again. “He never knew his mother… which makes sense, I guess, since he grew up in an orphanage… but apparently she also died, so he really is an orphan.” I frowned. “But wait… it says that she was thought to be murdered, in her sleep.” I looked up at Pierre and Astrid, who were hanging on to every word. “And get this – Alphonse had actually left his wife, Therese, everything in his will, since his son was presumed dead. After Therese was murdered, he left everything to his missing son. Two months later, he died…”



“And a month later, supposed son Louis shows up on the lawyer’s doorstep and claims to be Alphonse’s son,” Pierre finished grimly, nodding. “It all comes together, doesn’t it?”



“But why,” Astrid said slowly, “would he be lying? I mean, we can’t prove he lied, or else he would never have gotten the contents of the will. And no one really knows a) if Therese was murdered and b) who murdered her, if she was. And, if Louis Decrioux isn’t their real son, what happened to him? Did our drug dealer here kill him off as well? Or did he really just run away from home and die? And why do people think he’s a neo-Nazi? I mean, do we have any proof of that?”



I exchanged a look with Pierre. As usual, Astrid was several steps ahead of us. “It doesn’t make sense,” I agreed. “But then, the world doesn’t make sense. Like, why am I just sitting here? Come on, let’s go take a peek at this guy’s mansion place.” I pulled out the map from within the folder. “Ah, excellent, Young does have a brain. All right then, let’s go.”



Astrid and Pierre looked at each other, and then starting laughing. I glared at them. “Sorry,” Astrid choked. “But you’re so hypocritical, Josh.”



I rolled my eyes.



“And stop rolling your eyes at me!”



And so I did the only thing a man could do in a situation like that – I rolled them again.