Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11) Page 13

  As I walked voices filtered past in several languages including ones I could easily recognize—English, Spanish, and French.

  It was easy to weave through the crowd. I was traveling light.

  All of my worldly possessions were in the leather backpack I had slung on one shoulder. I’d left everything behind in Barcelona at the last minute, including Nico’s pillow.

  The backpack contained a few changes of clothes. I had decided to adopt a uniform for my travels.

  I was wearing charcoal gray cargo pants, a black tank top, and steel-toed military boots with a custom heel that held a nice-sized dagger. In my backpack, I had two more pairs of the cargo pants, five more matching tanks, a pair of gray cargo shorts, a black military-issue sweater, sandals and a fold-up rain poncho. With that capsule wardrobe, I could account for varying terrain, temperature, and weather.

  I felt lighter than I had in years.

  But it wasn’t just the backpack.

  Although my heart was still heavy with the loss of Nico, the dark shadows of dread that had been lying in wait since he first showed signs of Alzheimer’s had left me.

  Now, I was on a mission.

  Find Rose.

  I’d had a dream on the plane.

  I knew that she was calling out to me across space and time.

  Even if she wasn’t answering her phone, it still pinged in a village on an island not far from here.

  I was going to take the ferry there and then hire a driver and have them take me to the surf camp up the coast where locals and foreigners went to live simply and surf all day.

  That’s where Eva had last traced Rose’s phone. Just last week.

  I knew deep in my gut that Rose needed me.

  And even if she didn’t, I couldn’t rest until I told her about Nico.

  I knew that it would break her heart.

  He was her only living relative left.

  I knew how that felt.

  Until Eva appeared, I’d thought I was all alone in the world, as well.

  I needed to find Rose and tell her—she would never be alone as long as I walked this earth.

  The End

  Gia returns in DARK VENGEANCE. Follow Kristi Belcamino on Amazon or sign up for her newsletter (details below) to be notified of its release date. In the meantime, read on for a sneak peek.

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  Dark Vengeance Prologue

  Stepping out of the hired car, I handed the driver a wad of cash and promised more if he’d wait an hour for me.

  I walked across the sandy dirt road and stood scanning the ramshackle village of huts scattered on the bluff overlooking the beach. Beyond the huts was the ocean.

  The setting sun turned the water a molten gold color. More than two dozen surfers riding the crashing waves were reduced to graceful weaving black silhouettes.

  Walking down to the sand, I scanned the surfers on the shore.

  Several sat in groups. The sweet smell of marijuana was thick in the air.

  I approached one group.

  A tall black woman with the body of a swimsuit model and long hair in blonde braids looked over at me. She didn’t smile but she didn’t frown, either, so I kept walking.

  Another woman, shorter with tanned skin and lank dishwater blonde hair, gave me the once over as she took a puff of a joint and passed it to a boy beside her. He had spiky dreads and a warm smile that he shot my way.

  Two other boys, blonde and tanned were facing the water, giving commentary on the surfers in heavy Australian accents.

  I sat on the sand nearby and watched the surfers for a few seconds.

  The friendly guy with the spiky dreads leaned over. “Want some?” he asked, holding out a joint to me. He had a Cockney accent. I smiled and accepted the offering, inhaling and then passing it back.

  “You new in town?” the tall woman with braids asked in a friendly voice.

  I nodded. “I’m looking for my daughter.”

  The group exchanged glances. I didn’t miss the zing of alarm that seemed to trickle through group. Now one of the blonde Australian boys was paying attention. He narrowed his eyes at me. “We aren’t saying shit to you. This is a free zone. Nobody asks questions. Nobody has a past or any history. We live for the moment.”

  The guy with the spiky dreads said, “Yeah, man,” and reached over to bump fists with the blonde.

  I waited a beat and then nodded. “I get it. I’m just here to tell her that her father died.”

  The tall woman met my eyes. She stared at me for a long moment. Then she stood. “That’s a different story. Who is your daughter?”

  I stood, as well.

  “Her name is Rose.”

  She laughed.

  “None of us use our real names around here,” she said, and then looked at my phone. “Show me a picture.”

  I glanced at the group that was still sitting on the sand. They suddenly seemed hostile.

  Leaning down, I pulled up a picture of Rose from a few years ago. I had no idea what she looked like now. I hadn’t seen her since her boyfriend Timothy died six months before.

  She’d left with her dog, Dylan, intent on hunting down the Sultan, a religious cult leader freak she believed had been behind Timothy’s murder.

  I held the phone out to the young woman. “She probably as a dog with her, as well.”

  As I said it, I watched her carefully. At the mention of the dog, she grew stiff. She thrust the phone back at me without even looking at the picture. Her hand was shaking wildly.

  “I’ve never seen her before.”

  And then all friendliness was gone and she turned her back.

  “Let’s go,” she said to the group. They stood and within seconds were gone, down the beach. At one point, the shorter woman turned back to glance at me. She had hate in her eyes.

  They knew Rose.

  And they were afraid.

  I wasn’t going to leave until I found out why.

  I walked down the beach for a while looking up at the huts above. They were tucked back into the trees. I kept expecting to see a dark hair of head duck down in a window. But I didn’t see any movement.

  I was nearly to the end of the row of buildings when I heard something and startled.

  It was a dog barking, furiously, angrily as if it were attacking someone. The sound stopped abruptly.

  I whirled and began to ran toward the buildings. I raced to the closest one and rounded the corner in time to see a car—the beat-up orange truck with my driver in it—squeal away down the dirt road, kicking up a plume of dust. Fuck. I couldn’t see inside the back window, but I knew. It was Rose. Had somebody had warned her? Why would she run away from me?

  I looked around. There was not another vehicle in sight. Did none of these surf rats drive? I would never be able to catch up to her now.

  Dejected and stranded, I headed back toward the closest hut.

  The door was open. Gently, holding my breath, I pushed the door open. It squeaked loudly and I jumped.

  Inside, a golden stream of sunlight poured through a window facing the beach. It was a small hut with an ancient tile floor covered in sand. The small space held a wooden table and two chairs. Something black and silver was on the floor. It was a phone. Rose’s phone. And it was crushed, the plastic smashed, the SIM card gone. She must have known it was how we found her. I glanced around looking for any clue, anything that would reveal her life here and why she’d ran away. The hut was tiny and contained very few belongings, which she’d apparently seen fit to leave behind. A small crate held a few clothing items and bottles of water.

  In one corner was a thin futon mattress with a ratty blanket. I inhaled sharply when I saw what was lying next to it—a wadded up blanket covered with dog
hair. I ran over and knelt down to see proof that Rose and her dog, Dylan, had been here.

  As I crouched on the ground, I noticed something else and my heart stopped.

  Blood. Fresh blood it was smeared all over the floor, so much so that I hadn’t even noticed it at first. My heart was pounding and my cheeks felt ice cold.

  I heard a sound behind me and whirled.

  At first I thought it was the wind howling through a crack in the bathroom wall. But it wasn’t— it was a small whimper. Then I saw a crumpled heap of black fur curled up in the corner of the bathroom floor. Oh my God. I raced over. It was Dylan. He was bleeding.

  That’s when I realized—she hadn’t run away from me after all.

  Someone had taken her.

  And the worst part of all was that I might just have led someone to her hiding place.

  To be continued…

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  About the Author

  Kristi Belcamino is a USA Today bestseller, an Agatha, Anthony, Barry & Macavity finalist, and an Italian Mama who bakes a tasty biscotti.

  Her books feature strong, kickass, independent women facing unspeakable evil in order to seek justice for those unable to do so themselves.

  In her former life, as an award-winning crime reporter at newspapers in California, she flew over Big Sur in an FA-18 jet with the Blue Angels, raced a Dodge Viper at Laguna Seca, attended barbecues at the morgue, and conversed with serial killers.

  During her decade covering crime, Belcamino wrote and reported about many high-profile cases including the Laci Peterson murder and Chandra Levy disappearance. She has appeared on Inside Edition and local television shows. She now writes fiction and works part-time as a reporter covering the police beat for the St. Paul Pioneer Press.

  Her work has appeared in such prominent publications as Salon, the Miami Herald, San Jose Mercury News, and Chicago Tribune.

  Find her on Facebook HERE.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Getting to know my readers and building strong relationships with them is one of the best parts of being a writer. I’d love to know more about you and more about what you thought about this book. What did you like about it? Who was your favorite character? What do you want to see, or think will happen next?

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  Ask my family how I act each and every time S.E. Hinton responds to my tweets. (HINT: I am a ridiculously starstruck fangirl! Every. Single. Time.)

  Or what about the time I got to interview Jackie Collins on Huffington Post’s live video. (Still one of the greatest moments of my writer life!) (Only thing that tops that is when I opened up an email from Lisa Unger telling me that she read and liked my book and would be happy to support it with a quote we could use on the book cover! A dream come true right then and there!

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  Also by Kristi Belcamino

  Gia Santella Crime Thriller Series

  City of the Dead

  Forgotten Island

  Dark Night of the Soul

  Black Widow

  Taste of Vengeance

  Day of the Dead

  Border Line

  Night Fall

  Stone Cold

  Cold as Death

  Cold Blooded

  Amazon Series Page

  Queen of Spades Thrillers

  Queen of Spades

  The One-Eyed Jack

  The Suicide King

  The Ace of Clubs

  The Joker

  The Wild Card

  Amazon Series Page

  Standalone Novels

  Coming For You

  Sanctuary City

  Gabriella Giovanni Mystery Series

  Blessed are the Dead

  Blessed are the Meek

  Blessed are Those Who Weep

  Blessed are Those Who Mourn

  Blessed are the Peacemakers

  Blessed are the Merciful

  Nonfiction

  Letters from a Serial Killer