“I didn’t know about the creeper.” He felt compelled to admit that to her.
Dario made a rude sound.
Valentino scowled at him. “What does that mean?”
“Are you telling me, even had you known, you wouldn’t have gone for it? Because I can tell you, if I find my woman, I don’t give a damn about a creeper shadow; in fact, I’m all for it. Anything to keep her in line if she’s trouble like yours.”
Emmanuelle rolled her eyes. “He’s all talk, Val.”
Valentino was grateful he didn’t have to answer the question Dario had posed because the fact of the matter was—he would have done anything to secure Emmanuelle. She was his peace. She’d given him so much more than he’d ever expected, including this huge family he was going to have to learn to maneuver his way around.
He brushed a kiss in Emmanuelle’s hair and ran his thumb over her wedding rings as the town car pulled up to the front of the luxurious Ferraro Hotel. He looked out the window as his bodyguards came up to the car, moving into position to block sight from either direction so when his wife exited the car no one would be able to get to her. He didn’t think there was a threat at the moment, but he wanted her to get used to security. She would always have to live with it.
He exited the vehicle before her, took her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. With Dario, they walked together into Stefano’s penthouse, where the rest of the family waited to welcome them.
Keep reading for an excerpt from
Christine Feehan’s thrilling new mystery
MURDER AT SUNRISE LAKE
Available Summer 2021
Mommy, Daddy’s doing the bad thing again.
The child’s voice very clearly said the words she’d said to her mother when she was four years old. When she was five. When she was seven.
Stella Harrison knew she was dreaming, but she still couldn’t fight her way to the surface. This was the fifth night in a row she’d had the dream, and the camera had widened the lens just a little more, as it had every night, so she saw additional pieces of the hideous nightmare she couldn’t stop. The man fishing. He wore denim bibbed overalls tucked into high olive-colored waders. A blue cap was pulled low over his eyes so she couldn’t see his face. There were boulders among the heavy reeds and plants that grew thick along the shore, creeping out into the lake. He’d made his way through the boulders to get out from under the shade of several trees.
She tried to warn him. Yelling. Calling out. Don’t cast. Don’t do it. Every night she saw his line go into the same spot. That little darker area that rippled in rings like a little round pool, so inviting. The fisherman always did the same exact thing, like a programmed robot. Stepping forward, casting, the lure hitting perfectly, sinking into the middle of that inky spot, dropping beneath the water into the depths below.
The camera switched then and she could see beneath the water. It should have been tranquil. Peaceful. Fish swimming. Not the man in the wet suit, waiting for that hook, waiting to tug and enter into some kind of terrible game with the fisherman above the surface. The fight for the fish became a real life-and-death battle, with the fisherman lured farther and farther from the safety of the shore and into the reeds and rocks—closer to the threat that lurked beneath the water.
The mythical fish appeared to be fighting. He seemed big, and well worth the exhausting battle. The fisherman paid less and less attention to his surroundings as he reeled the fish nearer to him and realized he was close to winning his prize.
Without warning, the killer, beneath the water, rose up right in front of the unsuspecting fisherman, slamming him backward so that his waders couldn’t find traction on the muddy floor of the lake. He hit his head hard on the boulder behind him and went down. Immediately, the killer caught his legs and yanked hard, dragging him under the water and holding him there while the fisherman thrashed and fought. He was weak from the vicious blow to his head from the boulder.
Stella could only watch, horrified, as the killer calmly finished the scene by yanking the body to the surface for just a few moments so he could drag the bottom of one wader along a boulder before pulling the fisherman back into the water and tangling him in his own fishing line just below the surface, in the reeds and plants close to the shore. The killer calmly swam off as if nothing had happened.
The lens of the camera snapped shut and everything went black.
Stella woke fighting a tangle of sheets, sweat dripping, hair damp. She sat up abruptly, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. Rubbing, scrubbing her palms down her face over and over. Trying to erase the nightmare. Not again. It had been years. Years. She’d made a new life for herself. New friends. A place. A home.
Now the nightmare was back and reoccurring. This was the fifth time she’d had it. Five times in a row. It wasn’t like she lived in a big city. Usually if murders were happening everyone would know, especially in a small town, but this killer was brilliant. He was absolutely brilliant and that was why he was going to get away with it—unless she brought attention to the murders. Even then, she wasn’t certain he would get caught.
She hadn’t realized she was rocking herself back and forth, trying to self-soothe. She forced herself to stop. She hadn’t done that in years, either. All those terrible habits she had developed as a child, that came back as a teen, she’d managed to overcome. Now she found they were sneaking back into her life.
There was no going back to sleep even though it was still dark outside. She’d planned to sleep in. She’d taken a few days off even though they were winding down. She owned the Sunrise Lake Resort and had for several years, turning it around from a dismal losing business to one that not only made large profits but helped out the local businesses as well. She loved the resort, loved everything about it, even the hard work—especially that. She thrived on solving problems, and those problems changed hourly, keeping her mind constantly active. She needed that, and first managing and then owning Sunrise Lake provided it.
When the owner decided it was time to retire four years earlier, he sold the resort to her. They’d kept the transaction quiet, and he continued to stay on the first year as if he owned it. Over time, his visits became fewer and fewer. She renovated the main house but kept a special cabin for him, so he had a place whenever he came back.
The property was beautiful, high in the mountains surrounding a good portion of Sunrise Lake. Knightly, the nearest town, was located an hour’s drive below them on a fairly winding highway. The town was small, but that just made the community close-knit.
Stella had made good friends there. She liked living in the backcountry. She felt grounded, connected, alive there. There were all kinds of things to do, from skiing to backpacking to climbing. She fit there. She wasn’t throwing it all away on a few nightmares. That would be so foolish. It was just that the nightmares were so vivid, and now they were reoccurring, becoming more detailed.
It wasn’t like there was even a body—yet. She shivered. There was going to be. She knew it. She just knew there would be. Somewhere, a fisherman was going to be murdered in the next two days. There would be no way to prove that he was murdered. She had to stop thinking about it or she was going to go insane.
She rolled out of bed and headed straight for her shower. She had overseen the renovations to the main house herself, paying particular attention to the bathroom and kitchen. She loved to cook, and more than anything, after a long day of work, she wanted to know she had plenty of hot water for showers and baths. Her spacious bathroom was a work of art.