Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11)

by Kristi Belcamino

  The chances of them getting together again seemed slim to me. I even doubted they would ever speak to one another again.

  It was like that sometimes.

  20

  When we got back to Ryder’s place, we made love again.

  This time it was slower. In the daylight, we took the time to map one another’s bodies thoroughly, and I found myself caught up in his eyes.

  There was something there—a deep knowledge that this was not just a one-night stand.

  At the same time, I knew that was impossible. I was leaving for Barcelona in the morning. I’d already bought my ticket. The care home had said that Nico was doing okay, on antibiotics for the pneumonia. But I needed to seem him in person.

  Saying goodbye to Ryder would be harder than I thought.

  Maybe it was knowing that our lovemaking was short-lived that made it so tender and poignant—bittersweet.

  Later, when I said I was starving, Ryder said he would cook for me.

  I threw on a loose white linen dress and sandals, and we walked down to a farmer’s market near the promenade to pick out ingredients for our dinner.

  Or rather, Ryder picked them out.

  “I will make you my specialty.”

  He stopped at a fish stand and asked for a large number of fresh anchovies. I wrinkled my nose.

  “Um,” I said, touching his elbow. “I was always the odd Italian girl who didn’t like anchovies on her pizza.”

  “I am making pissaladière,” he said in an indignant voice. “The main ingredient is anchovy.”

  “No clue what you just said.”

  “It is a delicious tart made from anchovies, onions, tomatoes and olives.”

  “Hmm.”

  “It is my specialty.”

  “Your only one?” I said.

  “That or frog’s legs,” he said, turning and walking away.

  “Fine,” I said, huffing after him. “I’ll give it a shot.”

  When I caught up to him, he was buying garlic, onion, tomatoes, olives, basil, pecorino cheese, and white beans.

  “This all looks good,” I said as sort of a peace offering.

  “We will also have soupe au pistou—it’s like a pesto soup. It’s a little early to make it. It’s more in season in July, but we will have to make do.”

  “Yes, we will,” I said solemnly, mimicking his serious tone. He’d become French after all these years. The French were such serious fucking snobs about food. It was absurd.

  Then we crossed the street and entered a bakery. I closed my eyes and inhaled.

  “Now, this is heaven,” I said.

  “We will get fougasse,” he said. “I warn you. This also has anchovies. It is superb.”

  “Might as well go all in, I say,” I said and winked at him.

  The flatbread the woman behind the counter handed him looked amazing. It had olives and cheese on top.

  “Can we please go home now and eat,” I said. “I’m dying over here.”

  He laughed and threw his arm around me. I tucked my head into his shoulder and wasn’t surprised at how easily it fit there and how damn comforting it felt.

  So, of course, I immediately drew back.

  I was a lone wolf. I reminded myself that even if Nico weren’t still in the picture, which in many ways he still was, I had vowed to never care about anyone again.

  Ryder was fine. Fun. Amazing in bed. Easy company. But that was it.

  For what it was worth.

  A day or two of fun.

  But that was it.

  Thank God I was leaving in the morning.

  Of course, it wasn’t that easy.

  After an amazing meal, that somehow made anchovies my new favorite thing, we had crazy, wild sex again.

  With moonlight streaming through the windows into the darkened loft, he leaned on one elbow and took a lock of my hair between his fingers.

  “You are so mysterious.”

  “Am not.”

  “Every time I think maybe I am getting to see the real Gia, you draw back.”

  I didn’t answer. What could I say? “I’m leaving in the morning. We’ll never see each other again, and I’m glad?”

  But I owed him a little more than that. After all, he’d opened up about his wife and her death.

  So I told him even more about Nico.

  How we’d spent the past decade together. How we raised Rose. How our life wasn’t easy to begin with.

  I told him how I’d left the life of a killer far behind. I told him how Nico and Rose and I had settled into a normal, domestic life in Barcelona, something that I treasured deeply and had never dreamed possible.

  I told him, too, how Alzheimer’s had stolen our golden years away from us. Our rather his, since he was so much older than me.

  I told him how Nico had pneumonia and how that was dangerous and scary and was breaking my heart.

  “He is the love of my life,” I said.

  “Aha,” Ryder said, sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard. “You are blessed to have that.”

  “I know I’ll never have that again,” I said.

  He was quiet for a moment and then he said, “If you have decided it, then it will be so.”

  His words made me angry.

  “It’s not my choice,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “It’s my destiny. I’m tired of fighting against it. What you don’t know—what I haven’t even touched on—is that everyone I’ve ever loved has been taken from me one way or another. My parents were murdered. My first true love was murdered. Now, I’m losing Nico…”

  “If you have decided it, then it will be so.”

  His repetition of those words sent fury coursing through me. I was about to leap out of bed, but he beat me to it.

  I heard the shower start up in the bathroom. I sat there in bed, stewing. Furious.

  He was gone for a long, long time.

  I fell asleep before he returned to the bed.

  21

  Despite our argument the night before, I leaned over and kissed Ryder awake. He opened one eye and smiled at me.

  “Bellissima,” he said.

  “You speak Italian, too?”

  “A little.”

  I got up and made him coffee and toast with jam.

  “Thank you for letting me stay here. Thank you for being there for me.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said.

  Then I showered and dressed and was at the door.

  He looked at me for a long time as I stood in the doorway.

  “I called a car. It’s here. I have to go.”

  “I wish you’d stay,” he said finally.

  “I have to go to him.”

  “I know.”

  While I was sitting in the back seat of the car I’d hired, my phone rang. My heart leapt into my throat. Somehow, I knew it was about Nico.

  And the news was as terrible as my worst fears.

  Nico was dead.

  22

  Before I stepped off the plane, I took out my compact mirror to check my makeup. I’d spent the entire flight crying behind my dark glasses. By that point, my makeup had washed away. Now my eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

  When I saw Dante standing there on the tarmac waiting for me, fresh tears pricked my eyes. I was so lucky to have him for a best friend.

  I walked over to him, and he wrapped me in a hug.

  I melted into his embrace. He kissed both my cheeks and then we drew away from one another.

  “I’m so, so sorry.”

  I sniffed and nodded.

  I wiped my nose on my sleeve. Like a little kid.

  He gave me a look full of sorrow.

  “Did you get ahold of Rose?”

  I shook my head. She wasn’t answering my calls, and her voice mail said it was full.

  Nico had made preparations years before, as soon as he found out he had Alzheimer’s. His wishes were to be cremated. He’d picked out a plot in the Barcelona cemetery.


  Dante took me straight to the memory care home. Of course, they’d already removed his body. I wouldn’t be able to see it. In fact, I would be picking up his ashes the next morning.

  I asked to be alone as I packed up his things. I stared at his empty bed for so long that my eyes glazed over. Then I found myself crawling into the bed, burying my face in the pillow. It still smelled like him—of the soap and shampoo he’d always used and his own Nico smell. I don’t know how long I lay there, but I must’ve fallen asleep because when I next realized it, the light had changed and someone had come in and pulled the quilt up over me. Photographs on the dresser of me and him and Rose. I’d hoped that they would help him remember us to the end, but that was too much to hope for…

  I stacked the items that I would keep on the bed and filled another bag with items to donate. The items I would keep included his watch, which I would give to Rose, the photos, maybe a clothing item or two, and that was it. So little remained of such a full life.

  I pulled one of his button up shirts off a hanger in the closet and held it to my nose. It didn’t smell like him. It smelled like fresh laundry detergent. But it was still a favorite shirt. I flashed back to him wearing it out to dinner once. He’d looked so handsome and his dazzling grin was white against his dark skin and this white linen shirt. I held it between my fingers and remembered how we’d sat at a café table outside the restaurant. The air had been warm and the night filled with stars. We could hear the waves lapping the shore not far away. We’d shared a bottle of red wine and a huge platter of paella. We’d talked about everything and nothing at all—the latest art exhibit, what we thought of the movie we’d just seen, how we would have to agree to disagree on the latest book I’d read at his suggestion. And Rose. We always talked about Rose and how proud of her we were. She was out with her friends that night. After the waiter had cleared our plates, we’d ordered espresso and sat back in our chairs, smiling at one another.

  “This moment, this magical night, is one I shall never forget,” Nico said, his eyes narrowed and locked on me.

  Remembering his words, a sob rose in my throat.

  I knew that if Nico had even the slightest choice in the matter, he would have kept his word.

  The heartbreaking thing was that he, like everyone who gets this cruel disease, doesn’t get a choice.

  I grabbed the tote bag and then, at the last second, I pulled the pillow that still smelled like Nico off of his bed and tucked it under my arm. I walked out without another glance.

  23

  We were sitting on the balcony of the Gothic Quarter apartment. I was clutching Nico’s pillow in my lap. I hadn’t been able to set it down since I’d plucked it off his bed.

  Dante had looked at it once but never said a word.

  “You going to keep this place?” he asked.

  “It’s not mine to keep,” I said. It belonged to Rose. Wherever she was in the world. I still hadn’t been able to reach her. I’d tried waking in the middle of night to call her and that hadn’t worked either. I couldn’t help but think she was avoiding my calls. Eva, an expert hacker, said it looked like Rose had turned off her phone.

  Then she’d asked a question I hadn’t wanted to face. “Is there any chance she’s just avoiding you?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. What I didn’t say was that I was worried sick. I didn’t need to. Eva knew. But Rose was an adult now. I couldn’t rein her in. She was on a mission to hunt down and kill the Sultan. To me, who had only heard the stories, the Sultan was an ominous cult leader with strange powers I didn’t even want to admit existed in this world. Rose had almost become his victim. And when he had her boyfriend, Timothy, murdered, Rose had dedicated her life to hunting down and destroying him. The final push was when she realized that Nico no longer had any idea who she was. After that, she was gone. A young woman intent on one thing—murder.

  There was no room in her life for anything else. No room for love, that’s for sure. It broke my heart.

  “Will you stay here until you reach Rose?” Dante asked.

  I shook my head. “It hurts too much to be here,” I said and stood up. “In fact, I feel like I can’t breathe. Can we go out? Maybe walk? Or go to the beach?”

  What I really wanted to do was get on an airplane—or get in my car and drive away from all the dark shadows haunting me in Barcelona. I could feel them hovering just over my shoulders, and when I turned to look, they would disappear.

  “Yeah,” Dante said, trying to hide his surprise. “Let’s go.”

  As we walked, I turned to him.

  “I’m going to leave in the morning. I think I’m going to go to Indonesia. That was the last place Rose was on the grid. Eva tracked her that far, and then she disappeared. I need to find her and let her know about Nico.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But Indonesia doesn’t really narrow it down much does it?”

  “I have to at least try,” I said. “I have a huge favor to ask. Will you lock up the apartment for me until Rose returns? I thought I could close it up, but I can’t deal with it. In fact, I’m going to a hotel tonight.”

  “Of course, Gia,” Dante said. “Whatever you need me to do.”

  After stopping and buying a bottle of wine and two ceramic mugs at another shop, we headed toward the beach.

  We ended up plopping down on an empty strip and drinking the wine as the sun touched the horizon. I stretched my legs out in front of me, burying my feet in the warm sand.

  Dante let out a low whistle and admired my legs.

  “You’ve got a killer tan, G.”

  “Got to keep up with my bestie.” Dante always had me beat for the best tan each summer.

  “I didn’t get a chance to ask,” he said. “How was Cannes?”

  “It was okay.”

  “Just okay.” I didn’t feel like elaborating. It felt like a lifetime ago already.

  “Did you like my friend Ryder?”

  I gave a small smile. “Yeah. He’s a good guy.”

  “Good guy?” Dante scoffed. “He’s hot.”

  I laughed. And then, after sneaking a glance to watch his reaction, I asked, “Have you talked to him lately?”

  Dante shook his head. “Not for a few weeks. When you first got there, he texted to tell me you’d landed and were safe.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why?”

  “No reason.”

  I’d been pretty sure Ryder would keep our secrets, and I was right.

  We sat there until the sun set and the wind picked up.

  A chill ran across my bare legs, and I shivered.

  “You okay?”

  I stood and nodded.

  “Good, because I’m worried about you.”

  “You don’t need to worry,” I said. “But I’m leaving here, Dante. And I’m not sure I’ll ever come back.”

  As we walked back toward the apartment in the Gothic Quarter, I felt a peace come over me, and I knew that leaving was the right decision. I rested my head on Dante’s shoulder as we walked. He looped his arm around my waist. He was the best friend I could ask for. He’d left his husband, Wayne, behind in San Diego to come be with me. He always upended his life when I needed him. I was incredibly blessed to have him in my life. He was the one person who had remained constant since I was a child.

  I would lay down and die if anything happened to Dante.

  “I’m flying back to San Diego tomorrow afternoon after I close up the apartment,” he said as if following the train of my thoughts.

  “Good. I’m sure Wayne misses you.”

  “He’s been super busy at work, but I’m sure he does miss me,” Dante said with a small laugh.

  I smiled. I could not be happier that Dante and Wayne had found one another. They were good for one another.

  At the door to the apartment, I paused. “I’m just going to run up and grab my bag. Will you wait here for me and walk me to my hotel when I come back down?”

  “Of cours
e.”

  I raced up the familiar stairs and unlocked the door. The apartment was lit with dozens of the fake wax candles that were set to come on at dusk every night. It had a cozy ambiance and held so many bittersweet memories. Slowly, I walked from room to room saying my goodbyes. I began with the most difficult room—the bedroom I’d shared with Nico for so many years. I gave myself a few minutes in each room, knowing that Dante would understand and wait all night if necessary. After visiting each room and saying a silent goodbye, I ended up in front of the altar in the small alcove by the door. I reached my hand up to touch the faces in the photos of those I had loved with all of my being. For a half second I considered scooping the contents of the altar into the bag hanging on my shoulder, but I realized that this altar needed to remain here, where it was. After I kissed my fingers and put them on the faces of those I’d loved, I tucked Nico’s pillow under my arm and gently closed the door of the apartment where I’d lived my best life.

  That’s when I noticed that the dark shadows that had been fluttering in my peripheral vision for the past few years were gone. Instead, I felt a lightness around me. A peace. A gratefulness I’d never felt before.

  In my mind, Barcelona would be the city of my soul. It was where I lived a life I’d only dreamed could be possible.

  For me, Barcelona would always be sacred. It would remain the place where, for the first and probably last time as an adult, I was able to carve out a normal life—a beautiful, soulful, gut-wrenching, but fully-lived life.

  Epilogue

  This was what I needed.

  I hadn’t realized it until I stepped off the plane in Padang in West Sumatra.

  We’d had a layover in Kuala Lumpur but I wanted to wait to eat until I got to Padang because it was famous for its food.

  I strode through the crowded marketplace, inhaling the exotic scents, my stomach growling.

  Stopping at one stand I ordered a Satay Kacang, basically beef on a stick smothered in peanut sauce, and walked, chewing on that, while I perused the other stands and picked out small food items to carry on the ferry later.