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“Aye, there can be no doubt, Flora. She’s weak. Given up. She’s a nobody in there. I got a couple of the screws cornered and forced some truths from them. They confirmed she has no burners, she sees nobody; she eats, sleeps and watches TV, that’s it. Besides, I saw it with ma own two eyes. A woman broken. A woman, nae, more like a small girl in an old woman’s clothes. She’s no got the wherewithal. She doesna care about Blake. She’s happy enough he’s on his way to the afterlife, too.”
I sniffed and tried not to let the image of that woman into my head. “Are you sad she’s going to die in prison?”
“No. She hasna been anything to me in so long. I feel sorry for her, though. She really did look wrecked. A shadow of herself. But it’s true what Blake said: she needed the money to somehow get through life. Without it, she’s now who she really is. A shell. That’s it. The victim she is beneath never went away. The life he gave her just made it easier for her somehow to hide her true self.”
I sifted through the thoughts in my head. It wasn’t easy. So much still unanswered.
“She couldn’t be playing a really good game, Caelan? She’s not as daft as she seems.”
He was vehement. “Trust me. No.”
“Then what do we do?” I asked.
“We wait. He’ll no let go, Flora.”
I lifted my face to the sun. “We’ll be ready this time.”
“That’s ma girl.”
The rest of that day, I felt much more relaxed, and by evening, I was feeling so much better overall. We lay in bed and I was resting on his chest, feeling comforted by his woody scent and that strong rhythm of his heartbeat. Caelan had a really strong heart. It was unmistakable how it clacked against his ribcage, thumping against my ear. Nothing was going to break him, at least not very soon.
His calloused fingertips stroked gently over the back of my neck, then he inched them down until he was soothing my lower back. I was feeling incredibly calm and peaceful when he said, “How about a bedtime story, lass?”
“I’d like that.”
“Then, let’s go back to the beginning.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
~ Caelan – Past ~
There she was. His future wife. Beauty incarnate. Nobody else in Venice that day came even close to her splendour, he thought. He’d stalked her online and seen photos, of course but seeing her in the flesh was entirely new. Especially in that Ferrari-red wrap dress. No bra needed for those perky tits. Her skin was flawless, taut; lightly tanned and shimmering against the low autumn sun. Those big blue eyes of hers were breathtaking. Her long, thick dark hair curled at the ends slightly and he had visions of running his hands through it as he stroked her naked back. Ruby-red bow mouth he’d never get tired of kissing. She also happened to have great legs and the most luscious arse. Hers was sensational. He couldn’t help the slight push of his cock against the fly of his chino shorts.
Stood on the Rialto Bridge, she had no idea of the danger she was in. She kept taking photos, refusing to budge whenever people tried to elbow past her. Clearly, she was a character.
He’d been spying through binoculars but even through the small scope of those, a spark of light on the opposite side of the canal caught his lens and his attention. In a flash, he’d swapped the binoculars for the rifle he’d already assembled.
Through the rifle’s scope, he searched the buildings on the opposite side of the canal. He’d already mentally built a picture of where a shooter on the other side might position themselves and he went right there first. A balcony with a deep wall.
He saw nothing.
If Sherry had forewarned her man that Caelan would be in the city, too and that they would need to do whatever it took to evade him—then where would a man trying to avoid detection hide?
Probably somewhere barely visible.
Caelan’s eyes darted right to where his mind told him someone might hide but also find themselves a vantage point.
Not a window. Not a balcony. Not a roof. Right in plain sight where they wouldn’t be expected to be. The flash of light from way up above had been a diversion. A red herring.
Caelan searched the area in Flora’s immediate vicinity. There were a couple of students who were nearly glued to her right side, lingering close enough that his line of sight to Flora was a little obscured.
They’d expected him to be over here. On this side.
Cool.
So, the real killer would be on the other side.
He was fast, sight sweeping the bridge, the nearby gondolas, the drinks carts, café fronts.
