Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11) Read online

  “I’m not afraid of you,” he said.

  “You should be.”

  It sounded like they were going to go to the police.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “This girl who liked Lucas. They had sex when Amanda and Lucas were dating. That’s why they broke up. Amanda found out about it because of me. And then I killed the girl.”

  “How?”

  “She was drunk and I pushed her off this bridge we were on.”

  “Why didn’t you kill Amanda when she was dating him?”

  “Because she was my best friend, duh?”

  “So, why did you kill her now?”

  “She was going to go to the police. She told me.”

  “I have a question. If you loved Lucas, why did you kill him?”

  “It was an accident. We got in a fight. I drugged him. But I didn’t mean for it to kill him. Or maybe I did. We argued, I pushed him. He hit his head and fell in the pool. He might have still been alive. But I didn’t get help. I don’t know why. Maybe because he was sleeping with Amanda. Maybe because I just wanted him dead.” She shook her head. “I don’t know anymore.”

  It was a lie. A good one, that I think she actually convinced herself to believe.

  “But I needed to kill Amanda. I didn’t want to. I needed to. I used your gun to frame you.”

  “I know.”

  “Now I have nobody,” she said. “Now I want to die.”

  Fuck. This was not where I wanted this conversation to go.

  “Hannah, I need you to come over here and talk about this with me. I know how you feel. I’ve killed people before and regretted it. It’s not a great feeling. But it gets better. I promise.”

  “I’m not you.”

  “True. But we might be more alike than you realize.”

  I was starting to panic. She was inching closer to the edge.

  “Bullshit,” she said. “You’re fucking perfect. You have the perfect life. You are confident, beautiful, strong, and in charge all the time.”

  “Not true.”

  She made a face.

  I swallowed.

  “I never wanted to kill someone,” I said.

  But I hadn’t been given a choice. Not really.

  After I was raped in my late teens, it seemed inevitable that my attacker would die by my hands. The next person I killed really forced my hand. Literally.

  It was his death that spawned a chain of events that would change my life forever.

  Mateo Antonio Turricci. That green-eyed Sicilian devil. He’d killed my parents, my godfather, and maybe my brother. He was a monster. I didn’t know about him until long after my parent’s death. Then I learned that when my mother was orphaned as a child in Sicily, he had become her guardian. When she was a teen, he’d raped her. She’d managed to escape to America and carve out a new life for herself.

  But he remained obsessed with her. For decades.

  Shortly after I moved away from home, he killed my mother and father, thinking I was his child and my mother had never told him. When I found out later, I hunted him down to kill him.

  Even though I am American-born, my Sicilian roots require me to exact vengeance on those who kill my loved ones.

  When I found him, I showed him proof that I wasn’t his daughter right before the police arrived. Faced with this knowledge, he threw himself on the fireplace poker I was holding. As it slid into his chest and the life left his body, I saw in his eyes that he died with the realization that I wasn’t his daughter after all.

  Later, his children came to kill me.

  His daughter failed. And died.

  His son took my boyfriend, Bobby’s, life before I managed to kill him in the Sicilian villa my mother had inherited from that evil family.

  The Turricci family bloodline was finished. As far as I knew. But they’d still managed to mark me forever. They’d turned me into a killer. I hadn’t killed for years

  And I didn’t want to return to that life.

  Of course I couldn’t tell her all of this right then. Maybe later. Maybe it I thought it would help her to know. My focus right then was getting her away from the cliff’s edge.

  “Come on, Hannah.” I said. She was still staring out at the sea.

  I stared at her profile as she stared out at the sea. Tears streamed down her face. I took that as a good sign.

  “Let’s talk about this over a glass of wine. We can get in my car and drive far away. We’ll find a chalet up in the Alps and make a plan…figure out how to handle this. Come up with a solution.” I wasn’t lying. Right then, I would have done anything, promised anything, to get her away from that cliff’s edge. She acted as if she didn’t hear me.

  “Hannah…?”

  Then she was gone. She simply stepped off the edge. The last thing I saw was a wisp of her hair floating in the air. She fell silently. She stepped off the cliff to meet her death without even a sigh or whimper. I walked slowly over to the edge, dreading what I knew I would see.

  Hannah’s body was crumpled on the rocks below, a pile of clothes. A slash of dark hair.

  I closed my eyes to stop the tears, but they managed to squeak out anyway.

  I sat on the rocks with my legs dangling off the edge for a long time before I could force my fingers to dial the numbers on my cell phone. I sat staring at the sun shining down on the sea. It was a view I had taken in so many times before from so many other shores. It was a constant in my life. It didn’t matter if I was filled with joy or sorrow, the sun was there to remind me that I was alive, experiencing life and all its ups and downs. It was something. And I clung to that. My life wasn’t always easy. But I was alive. And the miracle and beauty of that was something I would never take for granted. It meant that there would be pain and sorrow, but also moments of joy and beauty. Living life fully meant experiencing all the contrasts that came with it. I was willing to experience the whole package. I had no choice.

  17

  Ryder was the first to arrive. Again. The authorities were right behind him.

  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 hi
m 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 paradise unto itself. I couldn’t believe that Ryder woke every morning to this view. It seemed unreal. No wonder he lived here.

  I squinted and saw Ryder, already dressed in his standard uniform of black jeans and button-down black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was standing at the stove holding a spatula.

  I took him in.

  My entire body felt electric as I looked at him. The veins in his forearms, his tight ass in those jeans, the muscles of his back…

  Nothing was sexier than a man cooking. Okay. That’s a lie. A father caring for his child was the sexiest thing ever. Thinking that made me think of Nico, and a pang of sadness zinged through me. But I pushed it away.

  I watched him and, as quietly as I could, I slipped out of my underwear and bra. Then I grabbed the sheet, tugging it loose and wrapping it around me.

  I got out of the bed and stretched, yawning loudly. Ryder turned and smiled. But when he saw me standing there in just a sheet, he quickly looked away before he spoke.

  “Sorry, I was trying to be quiet. But it is ten.”

  “It is?” He still wouldn’t look at me. He spoke over his shoulder.

  “Yes.”

  “What time…” I was about to ask what time the bodies were being flown home. But he knew what I was getting at.

  “One.”

  “Okay.”

  “We have time to eat.”

  “Do I have time to shower before breakfast?” My voice sounded strange in my ears. It sounded plaintive, unsure. Not very Gia-like. I wasn’t sure why this man had this effect on me.

  He didn’t answer. He was busy at the stove. Bacon was sizzling. Eggs were frying. Toast was popping out of the stainless-steel toaster on his counter. Butter was in a dish on the counter. Coffee on the stove and he had squeezed fresh orange juice for us. My mouth watered to sip it. My stomach growled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had food. But I wanted something else right then. I needed something else first.

  “Ryder?”

  I let the sheet slip off my shoulder.

  When I said his name, there must have been something in my voice because he finally glanced at me. He took me in fully. I saw his eyes rake over me. My body burned from his gaze. Just like I wanted. His hand stayed frozen in mid-air, holding the spatula. I saw his Adam’s apple bob.

  My heart raced, and I realized I was holding my breath. I let the sheet drop where it puddled silently on the wooden floor. I stood there waiting, feeling vulnerable and suddenly insecure and uncertain.

  He turned back to the stove. But he set the spatula down and turned off the burner.

  When he turned back to me, I saw something in his eyes that I’d been denying I wanted to see since the first minute I met him.

  He walked over to me so slowly that by the time he got there, I was a nervous wreck.

  “It’s been a really long time since I’ve been with anybody but my husband,” I said.

  He cupped my chin in his hand and leaned down. His mouth on mine was tentative at first and then grew more urgent. I knew immediately that waiting for this moment had been the right call.

  Conner was hot and sweet, but it would not have been like this. This tenderness, this sophisticated knowledge of a woman’s body? Only Ryder could know how I needed to be touched right then.

  I fell into his embrace and let myself go completely, surrendering myself to someone else.

  His arms wrapped around me from behind and roamed over my body. His fingers started at my mouth and then trailed down my neck, shoulders, and chest and finally stopped where I was throbbing the hardest. He pressed me against the kitchen counter from behind with his entire body. His fingers probed and brought me pleasure that I’d forgotten I could feel.

  He stopped suddenly and turned me so I was facing him. His eyes met mine.

  He was making sure.

  Because of Nico. He knew this wasn’t something I was doing lightly. That hesitation, and respect, made me certain that I was doing the right thing.

  I swallo
wed and nodded.

  The he took my hand and, without another word, led me to the bed.

  I cried.

  And Ryder held me. He wiped my tears and kissed them away and murmured soothing sounds in a language I did not know and didn’t need to speak to understand.

  19

  Ryder pulled up to the curb at the airport and leaned over to open my door.

  “Aren’t you coming inside?” I said.

  He shook his head.

  “I’ll wait right here. Unless you need me.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  Inside the terminal, I stood at the large window, watching them load the three caskets onto the plane.

  At first I didn’t notice him. He stood slightly behind me.

  It was Commissaire Boucher. He remained standing next to me as the caskets were loaded into the cargo hold.

  “I can’t imagine the grief of those three families waiting in America,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I wish I could say that it was the first time young people came to party here and didn’t make it back home,” he said.

  I frowned thinking about that. He was right. People on vacation sometimes went crazy. Add alcohol and youth, and it was even worse.

  “It’s just sad.”

  “Very,” he said.

  I turned to look at him.

  “When did you first know it was Hannah?”

  “When Amanda was murdered,” he said. “If she wouldn’t have killed the second time, she might have got away with it.”

  “What are you telling the families?”

  “We have passed the details of our investigation over to the American authorities. They have already told the families.”

  “Do the others know? The friends?”

  He shrugged.

  I thought of the night I met them in the club. They had seemed so close. As if they’d been friends forever and would remain that way forever.

  But now I knew they would probably part ways and never speak again. Sabine had left a day earlier on her own. She’d said she wanted to be with her family. Conner was the only one going home on the same plane as the bodies of his friends. He would be the poor soul facing the families when he got off the plane.