The Lion's Den(98)
“And you threatened to tell him when you found out, so she tried to kill you?” This much, at least, I could gather from what Summer had related of her phone conversation with him when we were in Malibu—though the very fact that he’d threatened to tell John bothered me.
“It’s more complicated than that.” He sighed. “My father is a bad man. I didn’t want to be with Summer anymore, but I still didn’t want her caught up in his world. I mean, was I angry that she’d gone through my personal things and tracked down my father so that she could throw herself at him? Sure. But that wasn’t why I called her. I was worried she was in over her head with him and was trying to warn her off getting involved any deeper than she already had––but she wouldn’t listen. My threats to tell John about us were empty and aimed at getting her away from him for her own good. Shit, there are a million other rich old men out there that aren’t monsters, who I’m sure would be happy to give her what she wants.”
I watched him carefully as he spoke, weighing whether to believe him. It was his word against hers, and I recognized now more than ever that I didn’t know him well at all. But I knew her. And she was at this point officially the person I trusted the least in the world, which meant that, comparatively, I trusted him more. “So much for saving her,” I said dryly.
He nodded. “But I have far more to fear from my father than I do from her.”
Was this real? I was beginning to feel like I was in a telenovela. I closed my eyes and pinched my nose. “What do you mean?”
He grabbed my hands, his eyes clear. “I promise I’ll tell you everything. But can we please get out of here? They’re looking for me, and I don’t want to put you in danger.”
My head swam with questions: Who were “they”? Why were they looking for him? What had I gotten myself involved in?
The sun caught in his shorn golden hair, giving him a halo that framed his beaten face. He needed a doctor worse than I needed answers. I would put my trust in him, at least for now.
Day 7
Friday morning—Terralione, Italy
I’m up at first light, showered and completely packed before I finally hear the lock turn in my door.
“Who is it?” I call out.
“Julie.”
I open the door to Julie, who hands me a cup of coffee. “Thanks.” I glance into the hallway to see Bernard disappearing up the stairs. “Where’s Camille?”
“She’s no longer assigned to you.”
“Is she okay?” I ask, worried that I’ve gotten her in trouble for allowing me to go up to the deck last night.
Julie gives me a tight-lipped smile. “She’s fine.”
Obviously I’m not going to get any more out of her on that score. “Any news?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Are they coming back this morning to take our statements?”
She shakes her head. “We dock in an hour. You all go to town while John has a meeting, then to Monte Carlo for the night.”
I’m dumbfounded. “So they’re just acting like nothing happened?”
She shrugs apologetically. “It is an accident. Nothing to do.”
“So I’m still leaving for the airport, right?”
“No,” she says. “You stay here.”
Oh no. No, no, no.
“What? But I don’t want to stay,” I protest. “I want to go.”
“I’m sorry,” she replies on her way out the door. “They are waiting for you at breakfast.”
Shit. How do I get the phone to the cops with John’s henchmen watching? And how do I keep it safe in the meantime?
I stall, racking my brain for a plan. But it’s useless. I have no idea what I’m walking into today. Nothing to do but arrange my features into some semblance of good spirits, stuff the phone in the Gucci crossbody purse Summer gave me what seems like a lifetime ago, and head up the stairs, my apprehension growing with every step.
I find everyone installed at the outdoor table on the upper deck, quietly drinking cappuccinos and eating pastries. The day is brilliantly clear, as though the sea and sky are competing for the most vivid shade of blue. We’re moving slowly along a coastline peppered with colorful homes built into sand-colored cliffs, and a pleasant breeze blows off the water.
My breath is shallow, my palms sweaty as I approach the table. Summer looks up and smiles. She’s wearing sunglasses, as is everyone else, but she appears to be smiling at me. Unless there’s someone behind me. I turn around. Nope, no one behind me. I wish I’d remembered my sunglasses.
“Good morning, Belle!” Summer says brightly. “Oh, I gave you that purse, didn’t I? Gucci’s a bit loud for me, but it looks great on you.”
“Any news about Amythest?” I ask, ignoring her backhanded compliment.
Somber head shakes all around.
“We’re hoping someone picked her up,” Wendy says glumly.
Brittani slams her coffee mug to the table. “Can we all just stop bullshitting to make ourselves feel better? No one picked her up. She’s dead.”
Summer clenches her jaw. Rhonda lays her hand on top of Brittani’s. “Honey, we’re all upset.”
“No you’re not,” Brittani retorts. “None of you even liked her. She was my friend.”