Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11) by Kristi Belcamino (best motivational novels txt) 📗

It made me wonder if he waited a few minutes each time I called him before he called the police just to make sure he got to me first. I sort of suspected he did.

And I was grateful for it.

He ran over and wrapped me in his arms.

I was surprised.

Not only that he did it but that I liked it. I folded myself into his arms.

I hadn’t thought I was upset or in need of comfort until he held me. But I sank deeper into his embrace and buried my face into the soft fabric of his warm, black shirt.

“You okay?” he said, breathing the words into my hair.

I nodded my head.

Then I pulled back and looked up into his eyes. “She was just a kid.”

“A messed-up kid.”

All three of them were just kids. They were only a few years younger than me, true, but they seemed like babies compared to me after the life I’d lived.

We both jumped when a man cleared his throat.

Commissaire Boucher.

“I tried to stop her from jumping. She was distraught over her friend’s deaths.” I met his eyes, daring him to dispute my account.

He didn’t answer. We locked eyes for a solid thirty seconds before he nodded.

“I’m sure you did everything you could to stop her.”

I blinked back tears. I hadn’t expected his sympathy.

“Can you come into the station to give an official account?”

“Of course,” I said.

“We need to wrap things up here so maybe in an hour?”

“I’ll meet you there,” I said and turned to walk away.

Ryder followed me to the Jeep. “Why don’t I drive you back? We’ll get one of Boucher’s men to drive the Jeep back to the villa.”

I was about to refuse, but I realized my legs were weak, and my hands were trembling. I hadn’t eaten or slept. Sitting back in a passenger seat sounded heavenly. Without speaking, I handed him the keys to the Jeep, pivoted and went to the passenger door of his car, yanking it open and plopping into the seat.

He laughed and got into the driver’s seat.

Ryder dropped me off at the villa four hours later. The Jeep was in the driveway.

It had taken longer at the police station than anyone had expected. Apparently, the detective had been delayed with business at the American Embassy. With three American deaths in less than a week, it hadn’t been good for the tourist business either. Reporters were swarming the police department when we arrived. Ryder took me around the back and a garage door opened for us to pull inside.

My official account was recorded.

Then Boucher told me something that surprised me. They had never taken Owen into custody.

He was never really a suspect. “He actually had an alibi,” Boucher said. “He has a girlfriend in the States who he was Facetiming with on the nights of the murders. She reached out to us on his behalf. Her roommate confirmed the conversation. He apparently would sneak out of his room with Amanda and spend the time downstairs on his phone talking to his girlfriend.”

“Nice guy.”

Boucher gave me a look.

“We decided not to share that he had an alibi in the hopes it would flush out the real killer,” he said. “We put him on a flight back to America this morning.”

“Did you ‘flush out’ the real killer?” I asked.

Boucher ignored me and started to type on his computer.

But before I walked out, he said, “The bodies are being returned on a plane tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there,” I said without turning around.

Later, sitting in Ryder’s car in the driveway of the villa, the massive stone structure looked cold and empty and foreboding. I froze, my hand on the door handle, peering up at the dark building.

“Do you want to stay at my place tonight?” Ryder asked.

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate.

He started the engine again and peeled out, kicking up dirt.

“I’ll come get your things tomorrow,” he said. “I should have anything you’ll need for tonight.”

I liked that he was making all the decisions for me. I wasn’t usually that kind of a woman. I liked being in charge. But I was exhausted. For once in my life, I wanted to be taken care of. It felt nice to let down my guard and just turn off my brain.

I rolled down the window, leaned back into the passenger seat and closed my eyes, letting the cool night air caress my face.

18

Ryder’s apartment was a few streets off the main promenade. He parked and then opened my door for me, reaching down to grab my hand and pull me out of my seat. He led me by my hand to a door set in the side of a stone wall. After unlocking it, he pushed it open and gestured for me to go inside. Stairs led straight up. At the top, they opened up to an airy, but small loft apartment with a bank of windows facing the bay.

There was a galley kitchen, a small living room, and a large bed took up most of the space.

Ryder pulled back the covers on the bed, handed me a towel and large shirt and pointed toward a bathroom.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said.

Disappointment flooded me. But he already had his back to me.

He grabbed a blanket and pillow from the bed and headed for the couch.

I didn’t bother with the bathroom. I stripped down to my underwear and bra and crawled under the covers. I heard a click. The room grew dark and I closed my eyes.

I woke the next morning to the smell of bacon and toast and coffee. I sat up, my mouth watering. But something else overrode the hollow pit of my stomach’s grumbling. Something primal and urgent.

I stretched languidly, letting myself feel it, luxuriating in the deliciousness of the way my body felt as I took in my surroundings.

The entire apartment was filled with an ethereal golden light. In the distance, I could see the turquoise waters of the bay. The south of France was a