Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Yet it’s the very courage I admire in her that won’t let me shed my gnawing concern. Being clever and brave are characteristics of a fearless traitor.
Staying close enough to grab her in case she slips, I take my phone from my pocket. I keep one eye on her while I fire off a message to my informant in the bureau, instructing him to pull the tape from the interrogation room.
I know how officers like Lavigne operate. He would’ve cut her a deal. Most likely, he offered her freedom in exchange for getting him the evidence he needs to slap a life sentence on me.
And if there’s anything my beautiful bride wants, it’s her freedom.
The only sword hanging over her head is her family. Exposing me will implicate them. She won’t risk their reputation, let alone their safety. No. She’d negotiate. It would have to go all the way to the top, to governments and higher, because the French law can’t ensure her family’s indemnity. It would have to be an agreement made with her country’s leaders, one favor exchanged for another. That’s how these things work.
“Come on,” I say, going over when I can’t resist the pull any longer. “The temperature is sub-zero with the wind factor.” Linking my arm through hers is just an excuse to touch her. “Let’s get you inside.”
The wool coat and scarf she wears over a cashmere sweater and a pair of skinny jeans aren’t enough protection for the spray blowing over the deck. I don’t want her to catch pneumonia.
In the lounge where it’s warm, I make sure she’s comfortably seated before sitting down opposite her and catching up with emails on my phone.
My attention isn’t on work however. It’s focused on the woman in front of me. She’s staring through the window, a fast-growing habit. It’s nothing but a tactic to avoid looking at my face.
One of the deckhands brings her a cup of tea. She thanks him politely and cups the warm drink between her palms. Making an effort to ignore her, I open the encrypted reply from my informer. The news isn’t good. The recording was wiped clean. There’s no record of what was said between Lavigne and Sabella. That can only mean one thing. Lavigne is covering something up.
Drumming my fingers on the armrest, I consider the turn of events. I’ll have to be extra careful around Sabella. I can’t let her hear or see anything she can use against me.
It’s going to make living together complicated, seeing that my office is at home and most of my business deals are discussed and concluded there. I host many men from crime organizations who are high up in the hierarchy. The comings and goings in Corsica are both vital and sensitive.
Unless she proves herself one hundred and ten percent trustworthy, which is, considering our circumstances, highly unlikely, I won’t have a choice but to lock her up. The thought twists my gut. It’s not what I want or what I planned. Far from it. I can only hope it won’t come to that.
The early darkness of winter has set in when the captain steers the yacht into the bay and moors it next to the jetty. The path lights are lit for our arrival, forming a twinkling golden line that runs up the rocky hill.
I try to see it through her eyes. I’ve always been proud of my home. The architectural beauty of the fortress is undeniably handsome. The garden with its Olympic size pool is featured in many landscape magazines across the globe. The isolated location on the rugged coastline is a natural gem. I suppose it’s easy to admire if you’re invited for a visit. For a stranger coming to live here, it must seem remote. Imposing even.
I take Sabella’s hand and help her down the bridge onto the jetty. Her dark eyes flare when she looks toward the house. She’s used to living in luxury dwellings on beaches, both in Great Brak River and in Camps Bay, but her parents’ house and the villa I rented for her don’t compare to the small castle stretching over the expanse of the cliff. Thick streams of soft, golden light from garden spotlights illuminate the towers and ramparts. Beyond, a ripe moon rises over the vineyard.
We make the steep climb in silence. My father contemplated the logistical difficulties of the house as his retirement approached. The roads are manageable, but climbing up and down to the beach becomes difficult if not impossible at a certain age. For that reason, he was going to install an elevator like one of those that Valparaiso is famous for. Fortunately, it’s not a project I have to tackle for the foreseeable future. Not until we’re both old. I like the sound of that—growing old together. Raising a few children.