Devika Fernando's Blog, page 25

Featured - Character Interview with Jenna from "Directions of the Heart" by Marie Lavender

On popular demand, Marie Lavender and I have decided to present even more character interviews. Jenna kicks off the new series today! Character Interview ​
​Devika: Welcome, Jenna. I’m so excited to have you over. Please have a seat.

Jenna:  Oh, thanks for the invite! I’m honored to be here.

Devika: Jenna, I’m curious to find out more about you. What do you do for a living?

Jenna:  Well, I am an actress. I work at The Edge Theater just outside Denver in Lakewood, Colorado. I hope to be big on Broadway someday!

Devika: Interesting. What about your family background?

Jenna:  It’s just me and my mom. We’ve always been a team; we had to be. My dad died in a car crash when I was two years old.

Devika: I see. So how did you meet Reece?

Jenna:  It seems like we have always been together, in a sense. We were friends since before we could speak, even took baths together as toddlers. Both our mothers were good friends and neighbors.

Devika: Wow. That sure makes for an interesting story. How did you know he’s the one?

Jenna:  It took me some time to realize that, to wrap my head around it. One minute, you’re going along like you always have, and the next you’re broadsided by the idea that you might actually be crazy about your best friend.

Devika: Would you say there was a decisive moment in your life that made you who you are today?

Jenna:  Mmm-hmm. I pretty much knew I wanted to be an actress since I was just a little girl, belting lyrics out at the top of my lungs, or quoting lines from movies and plays. But there was a moment, a long time ago, when Reece urged me to get on stage for the first time. He had so much faith in me, and I couldn’t help but believe that it was possible.

Devika: Let’s talk about your dreams and goals in life.

Jenna:  Okay, okay. So, besides dreaming about being a big actress, making a name for myself, I do kind of want the unattainable. I’d never tell anyone, but I wouldn’t mind the husband and kids bit. (Laughs.) Just not right away. I turned twenty-one only six months ago.

Devika: Okay. And what is your greatest fear?

Jenna:  I guess my greatest fear is putting myself out there in a different way than I’ve imagined, actually giving my heart to someone. Telling Reece how I feel, even at the risk of being burned.

Devika: Tell me, if you could have anything in the world, what would you wish for?

Jenna:  Reece. It’s the craziest thing that ever happened to me, but every part of me wants him. I’m just not sure he feels the same.
 
Devika: I’d love to talk some more, but unfortunately our time is up. Thanks so much for stopping by. I can’t wait to see what adventures you’ll have in store for us in the future. *waves*

About the Book Genre: Modern Romantic Drama Collection

​Blurb for Directions of the Heart:

Embark on a remarkable journey of drama, romance, and passion...
​In all of these amazing stories, there's one burning question...is love worth the risk?
 
Without You

Reece and Jenna are two childhood friends separated by time and distance. Can they find a way to heal their bond, or perhaps forge a new one?


Strange Heat

Spurred by her friend’s close call, Victoria decides to take a risk and prove the lifestyle she led was her downfall. But as Tory sinks deeper into the tumultuous abyss of desire with the mysterious Rick, can she climb back out before it’s too late? Or does she even want to?


Memories

Struggling to run her family’s farm on her own, Sadie takes on a hired hand, Matt. As they grow closer, so does the danger. Someone wants her legacy. Can they combat this new threat, as well as the demons of the past, before Sadie loses everything, including her life?


A Touch of Dawn

Caitlyn thought she’d be in the dark forever. But with the light came Jack, the police consultant who found her. Can they take a journey of healing together, or will Caitlyn retreat into the darkness of her mind, where she lived for so long?

(CONTENT WARNING: With an abuse awareness theme in this collection, there may be triggers here for past trauma sufferers. However, HEAs are guaranteed.)
 
Purchase Links:

Amazon Universal link:  https://bookgoodies.com/a/B071WVZZPV
myBook.to/DoH
Smashwords:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/729271
Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/directions-of-the-heart-marie-lavender/1126548251
Kobo:  https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/directions-of-the-heart-a-romantic-drama-collection
CreateSpace link:  https://www.createspace.com/7239124
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31351684-directions-of-the-heart
​
About the Author ​Bestselling multi-genre author of UPON YOUR RETURN and 21 other books. Mystery Blogger Award for 2017. A to Z Blog Challenge Survivor in 2016. March 2016 Empress of the Universe title - winner of the "Broken Heart" themed contest and the "I Love You" themed contest on Poetry Universe. SECOND CHANCE HEART and A LITTLE MAGICK placed in the TOP 10 on the 2015 P&E Readers' Poll. Nominated in the TRR Readers' Choice Awards for Winter 2015. Poetry winner of the 2015 PnPAuthors Contest. The Versatile Blogger Award for 2015. Honorable Mention in the 2014 BTS Red Carpet Book Awards. Finalist and Runner-up in the 2014 MARSocial's Author of the Year Competition. Honorable mention in the January 2014 Reader's Choice Award. Liebster Blogger Award for 2013 and 2014. Top 10 Authors on AuthorsDB.com. Winner of the Great One Liners Contest on the Directory of Published Authors.

Marie Lavender lives in the Midwest with her family and three cats. She has been writing for a little over twenty-five years. She has more works in progress than she can count on two hands. Since 2010, Marie has published 22 books in the genres of historical romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, paranormal romance, fantasy, science fiction, mystery/thriller, dramatic fiction, literary fiction and poetry. She has also contributed to several multi-author anthologies. Her current series are The Heiresses in Love Series, The Magick Series, The Blood at First Sight Series and The Code of Endhivar Series.
Links:
​http://marielavender.com/
http://iloveromanceblog.wordpress.com/
http://marielavenderbooks.blogspot.com/
http://marielavender.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/marie.lavender.58
https://www.facebook.com/MarieAnnLavender
https://twitter.com/marielavender1
https://plus.google.com/u/0/+MarieLavender/posts
​​http://www.linkedin.com/pub/marie-lavender/27/187/10a
Amazon author page: Author.to/MarieLavender
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6938764.Marie_Lavender
http://marielavender1.allauthor.com/
http://authorsdb.com/authors-directory/1578-marie-lavender
http://www.pw.org/content/marie_lavender
http://manicreaders.com/marielavender/
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCJu8HjRVYCFOqcIoX6ZxdqQ/videos
 

Featured - Book Spotlight for "Not Thomas" by Sara Gethin

About the Book​Genre: Fiction
Release Date: 15th June 2017
Publisher: Honno Press

Tomos lives with his mother. He longs to return to another place, the place he thinks of as home, and the people who lived there, but he’s not allowed to see them again. He is five years old and at school, which he loves. Miss teaches him about all sorts of things, and she listens to him. Sometimes he’s hungry and Miss gives him her extra sandwiches. She gives him a warm coat from Lost Property, too. There are things Tomos cannot talk about – except to Cwtchy – and then, just before Easter, the things come to a head. There are bad men outside who want to come in, and Mammy has said not to answer the door. From behind the big chair, Tomos waits, trying to make himself small and quiet. He doesn’t think it’s Santa Claus this time.
When the men break in, Tomos’s world is turned on its head and nothing will be the same again.
 
 
BUY LINKS

http://www.honno.co.uk/dangos.php?ISBN=9781909983625
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Not-Thomas-Sara-Gethin/dp/1909983624/
https://wordery.com/not-thomas-sara-gethin-9781909983625
​
​
​ EXCERPT

The lady’s here. The lady with the big bag. She’s knocking on the front door. She’s knocking and knocking. And knocking and knocking. I’m not opening the door. I’m not letting her in. I’m behind the black chair. I’m very quiet. I’m very very quiet. I’m waiting for her to go away.
I’ve been waiting a long time.
‘Thomas, Thomas.’ She’s saying it through the letter box.
‘Thomas, Thomas.’
I’m not listening to her. I’m not listening at all. She’s been knocking on the door for a long long time. I’m peeping round the black chair. I’m peeping with one of my eyes. She’s
not by the front door now. She’s by the long window. I can see her shoes. They’re very dirty. If Dat saw those shoes he’d say, ‘There’s a job for my polishing brush’.
She’s stopped knocking. She’s stopped saying ‘Thomas’. She’s very quiet. The lady can’t see me. I’m behind the big black chair. And I’ve pulled my feet in tight.
‘Thomas?’ she says. ‘Thomas?’ I’m not answering. ‘I know you’re in there. Just come to the window, sweetheart. So I can see you properly.’
I’m staying still. I’m not going to the window. I’m waiting for her to go back to her car. It’s a green car. With a big dent in it. If I hide for a long time she’ll go. She’ll get back in her car and drive away. She’s knocking. And knocking again.
She’s saying ‘Thomas.’ And knocking and knocking again.
‘Thomas.’ 
That is not my name.
About the AuthorSara Gethin is the pen name of Wendy White. She grew up in Llanelli and studied theology and philosophy at Lampeter, the most bijoux of universities. Her working life has revolved around children – she’s been a childminder, an assistant in a children’s library and a primary school teacher. She also writes children’s books as Wendy White, and her first, ‘Welsh Cakes and Custard’, won the Tir nan-Og Award in 2014. Her own children are grown up now, and while home is still west Wales, she and her husband spend much of their free time across the water in Ireland. ‘Not Thomas’ is her first novel for adults.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SaraGethinWriter/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/sgethinwriter
Blog: www.saragethin.com
Website: www.saragethin.com
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Featured - Cover Reveal for "Avishi" by Saiswaroopa Iyer

~ Cover Reveal ~Avishi by Saiswaroopa Iyer12th July, 2017

Long before the times of Draupadi and SitaImmortalised in the hymns of the Rig VedaBut largely forgotten to the memory of IndiaIs the Warrior Queen with an iron leg, Vishpala
Brought up in the pristine forest school of Naimisha, Avishi reaches the republic of Ashtagani in search of her destiny. When Khela, the oppressive King of the neighbouring Vrishabhavati begins to overwhelm and invade Ashtagani, Avishi rises to protect her settlement. But peril pursues her everywhere.Separated from her love, her settlement broken, with a brutal injury needing amputation of her leg, can Avishi overcome Khela?
About the Author: Saiswaroopa is an IITian and a former investment analyst turned author. Her keen interest in ancient Indian history, literature and culture made her take to writing. Her debut novel Abhaya, set in the times of Mahabharata was published in 2015. Avishi, her second novel set in Vedic India explores the legend of India’s first mentioned female warrior queen Vishpala.She holds a certificate in Puranas from Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies. She is also trained in Carnatic Classical music and has won a state level gold medal from Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams. 
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Featured - Book Spotlight for "Just Me, the Sink & the Pot" by Sudesna Ghosh

JUST ME, THE SINK & THE POTbySudesna Ghosh


Blurb
Meet Pamela, an overweight girl who's looking back at her school days. From longing for a Valentine to dealing with a sibling who hates her, Pamela has a lot to deal with. She even has a special bunch of friends at home who she can turn to - but they aren't the kind of friends you'd expect. Life sucks when you're fat. Can Pamela ever be happy?
Read an excerpt of the book here...

One day a classmate asked me, “Where is your lunch?” I told her that I had already had it and went back to my fake laughter and smiles. The others chatted and laughed while they ate from their tiffin boxes. Some brought samosas or ice cream from outside the gate. My hunger pangs got worse as I saw all the food and smelt the delicious odours around me.
The ice cream cart was run by a sweet old man who knew me since I’d started school. He would ask me some days, “Child, you don’t want your favourite orange stick?” I would say no thank you and smile before running away from him and his cart. One day he seemed to be desperate to make me have an ice cream. “Child! Come here and have an ice cream. You don’t have to pay me,” he called out. I smiled, turned around and went to hide in an empty classroom. Two minutes later, I shrieked; the old man had found me. He was carrying a dripping ice cream for me. I started laughing. Then I started running away from him. The old man started running after me!
My classmates were shocked. The sports teacher was happy to see me run for the first time – I had never run before because fat moves when you run. Everybody would laugh. The lunch break ended with me accepting the mostly melted orange stick from the kind ice cream man. We were too tired to talk about the whole event. But it did make me a bit popular that year, with the school Yearbook including the story and a picture of me running away from a 6 feet tall man holding an ice cream.
Grab your copy @Amazon.in | Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk

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About the author


Sudesna (Sue) Ghosh is a writer based in Kolkata. She was born in the United States and moved to India when she was 9. After completing high school there, she went back to the US for her higher education at the University of Rochester. She has also penned What Would I Tell Her @ 13 and News Now, along with several short stories. When Sudesna isn’t writing, she tries to do her bit for animal welfare.       
                              
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#FreeDailyRead - Forbidden, Book 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse) - Part 14 (Final)

​Chapter 24
 
Seconds later, Jayne was in the rental car, grinding the transmission into reverse and backing recklessly into the street, not caring if anybody hit it.
There was a screech of tires and a blaring horn, but no collision, thank god. Jayne threw the shifter into first gear and slammed on the accelerator, glancing over her shoulder to try to keep an eye on the motorcycle. She glimpsed its headlight speeding away and she guided the rental car over the middle curb, across the grassy median, and on to the other side of the street, the underside of the car giving a huge thud as the second curb hit something underneath.

She caught sight of the chopper again, far ahead now, weaving in and out of the traffic that had backed up at the next intersection, where there was a red light.

“You’re not getting away from me,” Jayne growled, picking up more and more speed. When she reached the intersection, she was so eager to catch up with the bike that she had to slam on the brakes to avoid ramming into the half-dozen cars that were ahead of her.

Ekaterina was still in between the two lanes of stopped cars, inching her way forward, with barely enough space between them for the bike to fit. She was so close to the cars that the drivers were honking and yelling at her. Jayne could see her helmet dip every now and then, keeping her eye on Jayne’s car.

Did she recognize me? Jayne thought.

The traffic lights in Cyprus were programmed to turn from red to yellow to green, to give you a heads up that they were about to change. The instant this light turned yellow, the bike took off like a bat out of hell, swerving to the left around one of the cars and taking off up the cross street.

Jayne gunned her engine, swerving up the street in pursuit, the little car’s wheels screeching.

By the time she straightened the wheel out, the motorcycle was far ahead on the dark street, which went steadily uphill. On the right were three and four story apartment complexes, the windows all dark, and on the left a huge building under construction—Jayne was aware of a crane towering overhead.

In an instant, the motorcycle veered around a corner.

Jayne lost it.

She drove even faster, and then she realized she was quickly coming up on a small roundabout, where Ekaterina had turned.

She veered right, entering the roundabout...only to realize she had already forgotten about driving on the left-hand side of the road.

A pair of headlights whipped around the circle towards her.

“Ahhhh!” she screamed, and via some miracle, the two cars missed each other by inches.

Jayne exited the roundabout still on the right-hand side of the road, and nearly ran smack into yet another car before she yanked the wheel to the left and got on the proper side of the road.

“Fucking idiot tourist!” she faintly heard the driver yell over the blaring of his horn.

Her heart in her throat, Jayne looked ahead—she could still see the single red tail light of the motorcycle in the distance. Ekaterina took a left-hand turn and the bike disappeared again.

When Jayne reached the spot, she slammed on the brakes and looked to the left as she turned onto what she thought was another street.

Suddenly it felt like she was driving over a series of logs, her teeth chattering. It was a dirt road—no, a wide dirt plain—filled with deep gullies and potholes. The right front tire slammed into one, then the right rear, shaking the car so violently that Jayne thought it would fall apart. Her sun visor flipped down in her face, obscuring her view, and she ripped it free and tossed it aside, keeping the accelerator pressed to the floor.

Her headlights bobbing up and down, she now had the motorcycle in her sights. It was actually moving slower than she was, with the Russian having to dodge the potholes herself to avoid being thrown off the bike.

Jayne could see her anxiously checking her rearview.

She screwed up, Jayne thought, bearing down on her, not giving a damn how violently the car groaned and shook and shuddered. She thought she could lose me here, but she has to hold on and I don’t.

Now they were going through a series of random, circular bumps that almost looked like moguls on a ski slope.

Wham!

The gully was so deep that Jayne’s head hit the roof of the car when she went over it. The whole vehicle actually went airborne for a second—she was thankful she had her seatbelt on. She saw one of her hubcaps go spinning away.

She was only maybe fifty feet behind the Russian now, and the girl gunned the engine, guiding the bike over the crests of another series of bumps.

Suddenly the bike flew way up in the air, and Ekaterina went cartwheeling away from it.

“Oh my god!” Jayne gasped, slowing down. With dust drifting across the car’s headlight beams, Jayne could see that the bike had landed on its side, the wheels still spinning, but she couldn’t spot any sign of the Russian.
Jayne slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car, tripping in a pothole. She scrambled forward, afraid that the girl might have killed herself. She trotted across two more gullies and then, in the semi-dark, barely made out the girl climbing shakily to her feet, and yanking the helmet from her head.

“Are you all right?” Jayne said.

“Why you can’t leave me alone!” Ekaterina screamed hysterically.

“What?” Jayne said, confused.

“I do not take drugs!”

She walked defiantly up to Jayne, breathing hard, and dropped the helmet on the ground. She started pushing both her sleeves up, and Jayne took a step backwards—Jayne was afraid she was about to get pummeled by those muscular arms.

“Do you see tracks on them?” she asked, holding both bared forearms up in the car’s headlight beams.

Jayne was speechless.

“Do you?” she demanded.

“I—no,” Jayne said.

“No tracks, no drugs! In Russia I Olympiskii athlete, you understand? Olympiskii gymnastika! I never taking drugs. Never in my life!”

Jayne was baffled.

And then Jayne thought: She must think I’m with the police.

“Where’s André Gaillard?” Jayne said, making her tone sound official.

All at once, the girl became perfectly still. She looked spooked.

“What’s wrong?” Jayne said.

“He has escaped?” Ekaterina whispered. And then her expression hardened. “I do not know where he is! I no seem him!”

“Escaped from where?” Jayne said.

Ekaterina frowned at her, her expression changing from surprise to doubt. “Who are you?”

Jayne hesitated, then said, “I’m a friend of André’s. I need to talk to him.”

The Russian eyed her distrustfully, then bent down and picked up the helmet. She turned and limped over towards the fallen motorcycle.

“Wait,” Jayne said, following her. “I’m not with the police, I swear to you. I’m just a friend of his. Where is he? What did you mean ‘he escaped’? From where?”

Ekaterina turned around, frowning at her. “Escape from jail, where you think?”

She righted the motorcycle, checked something, then straddled it and started the engine. The tail pipe coughed smoke before the powerful motor finally thundered to life.

“Why is he in jail? What happened?”

“He selling drugs. I know nothing about this until he arrested—he lie to me.” Ekaterina put on her helmet. “I hate this stupid French boy. You want him, you can have him.”

“When was he arrested?”

“Three month ago,” Ekaterina said.

“And he’s been in jail all this time?”

Ekaterina gave her a sarcastic look that seemed to say, “What do you think?”

She gunned the engine and slowly rode away, leaving Jayne standing there, stunned.
 
(End of Book 4) 

Read Part 13 here.

Buy the eBook now!

#FreeDailyRead - Forbidden, Book 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse) - Part 13

Jayne stood there alone, stunned. Now she felt a little panicky. She searched the crowd behind them to catch sight of Christos but he was out of sight, long gone. What if he was on his way to inform André that some American girl was looking for him, making up lies? That bit of information would immediately speak volumes to him—he would know that it was her, Jayne Clark.

She found herself ducking, afraid that André was there and might spot her.

She turned and started pushing her way through the crowd back towards the front entrance—she wanted to get the hell out of here. It now occurred to her that if André was crazy enough to send blackmail letters, he might be crazy enough to physically harm her. Or kidnap her and make Robert pay a ransom to get her back.

Her whole plan seemed stupid and extremely dangerous to her. It hadn’t seemed that way back in Oxford twelve hours ago, but it did now.

Isn’t that why you kept this trip a secret from Rob? a voice in her head asked.

She hadn’t taken two steps towards the door before a hand firmly grabbed her elbow.

She gasped, half turning in that direction, filled with terror expecting to see André’s insolent face, smiling at her.

It was the bony bartender with the Mohawk, now apparently working as a waitress, balancing a tray full of drinks in her hand.

She leaned forward and said into Jayne’s ear. “You’re looking for André Gaillard?”

Jayne swallowed, her throat dry. “Yes.”

“I don’t know him, but I know his girlfriend, and she’s here tonight.”

“Where is she?”

The waitress just stood there with a look on her face that said, “Well?”

Jayne then realized she wanted money, and quickly opened her purse and pulled out a fifty euro note.

“Is this enou—”

In a flash, the waitress snatched it from her hand and pocketed it. She nodded back towards the stage and leaned forward again. “That’s her.”

Jayne turned and searched through the throngs of people in front of the stage.

“Which one?” Jayne said, turning back to her.

“The dancer,” the waitress barked in her ear.

Jayne looked a second time—the Russian girl was now hanging upside down from only her ankles, like an acrobat, her arms spread wide, swinging around, her long blonde braid whipping through the air.

When Jayne turned back, the waitress was gone.
 

Chapter 22
 
Jayne watched as the Russian continued her impressive pole dancing routine, but she wasn’t interested in the performance—she had repositioned herself to a point very close to the right-hand side of the stage, where she could observe the crowd. If the Russian was indeed André’s girlfriend, surely André himself was there, too, watching her and rooting for her to win this semi-final.

Jayne started to feel a little more confident. The way Christos behaved had rattled her, but she felt more grounded and determined now. She reminded herself how much Rob was suffering from this blackmail problem. She was part of it, and she had to muster up her courage and take action to stop it.

Jayne scanned the front of the audience directly in front of the stage, then she searched farther back into the crowd. She again realized the effort would be fruitless—if he was there, she would never find him, there were simply too many people, everyone constantly milling around.

She moved back to her original position and reasoned that André was probably watching his girlfriend from the stage wings, anyway, or maybe on video monitors backstage.

As the athletic Russian finished up her routine, the crowd went wild. Even Jayne had to admit she was spectacular. She gave a dizzying, final spin about halfway up the pole and then flung herself into the air, doing a flip before landing perfectly on the mat, like a gymnast, with her arms spread wide, facing the crowd.

“Miss Ekaterina Savina, from Moscow!” the announcer boomed.

The muscular blonde threw a couple of kisses to the crowd and, panting, trotted energetically offstage.
 

Chapter 23
 
Ekaterina Savina won tonight’s semi-finals. All the contestants had come back out on the stage for the judges to announce their decision. The Russian girl had looked overjoyed at the news, had thrown kisses again to the crowd, and then trotted off stage, presumably into André’s arms. That was, if the waitress had been telling Jayne the truth.

Now, the club was closing, and Jayne was trying to get out of there as fast as possible in hopes of catching Ekaterina and André before they left. Throngs of young inebriated people were flowing like a river towards the main entrance.

Ekaterina Savina, Jayne thought, as she hurried along. Russian pole dancer extraordinaire. Just the kind of woman that she imagined would be André Gaillard’s accomplice. Jayne could still see that long blonde braid, and she wondered: when Ekaterina had gone to the hotel here and arranged to receive the wired money through the hotel owner’s bank account, could she have worn a brown wig and hidden that braid under a hat, or simply run it down her back, under her top?

The braid and blonde hair wouldn’t have been that hard to hide. Now she wished she had asked Rob for more details about exactly what the detective had told him.

When Jayne finally moved through the gaping mouth and out into the street, only three or four minutes had elapsed since Ekaterina had walked off the stage. Jayne was relieved to finally be outside on the street, in the hot but fresh air. She trotted towards the stage entrance gate that she’d seen when she’d parked her car, dodging numerous drunks along the way. A kid that looked no more than sixteen dropped to his knees right in front of her, hurling vomit, and Jayne had to jump out of the way to avoid having her shoes splashed.

When she reached the stage gate, she could see a big black guard standing on the other side, smoking a cigarette, only his head visible. She stood on her toes and peeked over the fence, but it was impossible to see much—the driveway took a turn before reaching the side of the club.

Jayne zigzagged around the vehicles parked on the sidewalk, double-checked the location of her rental car, and then walked directly across the street. She stopped on the grass-covered median and turned so she had a clear view of the stage entrance. Lingering there under the shadows of a palm tree, she kept a sharp eye on the gate. She was sure that Ekaterina and André would be leaving together to go somewhere more private to celebrate their victory, perhaps an apartment where they both lived. Jayne’s car key was in her hand—she was ready to give chase and confront the two of them at the earliest opportunity.

After a moment, the guard said something into a radio. He disappeared from view and the gate began to slide open.

A long white limo rolled out of the driveway, turned, and quietly proceeded down the street. The windows were too dark to see inside.

“Damn,” Jayne muttered, looking after the sleek vehicle. Her ignition key still in her hand, she took a step towards her car, but then hesitated—how could she be sure who was in the limo? It could have been any of the performers, or the owners or management...

The guard was already closing the gate again, but he stopped, his radio squawking. He replied but left the gate half open.

After a few seconds, over the din of the music from the club, Jayne heard what sounded like a large motorcycle revving its engine.

A Harley Davidson chopper soon rolled through the gate. The androgynous rider was wearing boots, skin tight black leather slacks and a light black windbreaker.

As the big motorcycle rolled out and turned into the street, Jayne glimpsed a long, blonde braid hanging down all the way to the middle of the rider’s back.

Jayne expected the bike to roar off, but it rolled along slowly along the street, slowed even more, and then cut into an opening in the median.

The Russian girl was making a U-turn.

Jayne sprang to action, running to the other side of the median. She took a couple of careful steps into the street as the bike began to pick up speed, approaching her. Jayne stepped farther out into the street, waving her arms and moving partially into the bike’s path.

Ekaterina slowed a little, the helmet tilting slightly sideways as she took Jayne in.

“I need to talk to you!” Jayne yelled.

The Russian gunned the bike and swerved into the other lane, avoiding Jayne, and blasted off down the street.

Read Part 12 here.

Don't want to wait? Buy the eBook now!
​

#FreeDailyRead - Forbidden, Book 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse) - Part 12

​Chapter 19
 
After about twenty more minutes of driving, Jayne arrived in Limassol. The glittering city lights were a welcome sight after driving so long on the dark and nearly empty highway. Far off to the right, she could barely make out the silhouette of the mountains in the center of the island.

With the aid of the navigator, she easily found the hotel where she’d made a reservation. The Amathus Plaza was on the seaside. It was a five star hotel and normally expensive, but she’d snagged a cheap room on a last minute deals website while she’d been on the bus to Heathrow.

After she was checked in to her city view room, she quickly changed into a miniskirt, tight tank top, and flats, and immediately went back down to the lobby. It was now just after eleven p.m. and the elegant lobby was deserted.

“Is your room suitable?” the clerk said, as she approached. He looked Cypriot, dark hair and with a dark complexion, and spoke with a pleasant British accent.

“Yes, it’s fine. Can you tell me which club is the wildest one in Limassol?”

He raised an eyebrow, then glanced down at her miniskirt.

“It’s not for me,” she said. “I’m here trying to track down a friend and that’s where he would probably go.”

“None of my business,” the clerk said, with a smile. “I suppose the ‘wildest’ club would be Azteca. It’s one of the most debauched beach bars on the planet, according to their ads. I’ve never been there, personally, of course.”

“Where is it?”

He stuck his thumb over his shoulder. “Straight down the sea road, maybe a mile past Pizza Hut. You can’t miss it. The entrance is a gigantic mouth.”
“A mouth?” Jayne said, surprised.

“Yes, but I really don’t think you want to go to that club tonight.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’re hosting the International Pole Dancing Competition, goes on all weekend.”

Well, that’s certainly classy, Jayne thought.

“The place will be even crazier than usual,” he went on. “It might be hard to find parking around there.”

“I’ll manage.” Jayne said. “Thanks.”

It sounded like the perfect place to start her search for André Gaillard.
 
* * *

After more grinding of the rental car gears, she managed to pull out into the divided “sea road” and turn the car around in the direction of the Pizza Hut, which she’d seen on the way here. Jayne was right-handed, and she found operating the shift lever with her left-hand more than awkward. She also kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signals, because those controls were reversed, too.

Driving in Limassol was even more nerve wracking because drunk tourists spilled out into the street and others threw the doors open of cars parallel parked along the sidewalks. She passed the Pizza Hut and kept driving. She swerved several times to avoid clipping off doors and side view mirrors before she finally saw a crowd on the sidewalk that looked like a line formed to get into a club.

Seconds later, as she carefully drove past it, dodging more drunks, she could not only hear but feel the music coming from the place—it was so loud it vibrated her chest innards and made bits of the car rattle.

AZTECA, a sign said in huge, ancient, Central American-looking block letters.

And underneath the sign was the gigantic mouth, the queue spilling out of it, like a long, meandering tongue. Some of the girls were barefoot and in bikinis, straight off the beach, it seemed. Cars were parked everywhere around it, all over the sidewalks, at crazy, drunken-looking angles.

Jayne spotted a driveway on the opposite side and, thinking it might be a paid parking lot for the club, swerved in.

She slammed on her brakes when she saw another huge sign.

PINK VELVET STRIPTEASE CLUB and a warning: PARKING FOR CLIENTS ONLY!

Well, they’re sure not shy about what they offer, Jayne thought, as she pulled around the side of the building to try to turn around. Then she noticed another sign, and her mouth dropped open. DRIVE-THRU SERVICE.

Jayne brought the car to a stop. Caught in her headlights was another car parked right in front of what was apparently the drive-through window—from her angle, she couldn’t see what was going on behind it, but there was a greasy, obese looking guy sitting in the car, alone, staring mesmerized through the glass, with his tongue practically hanging out...and the car was rocking slightly back and forth.

“Ugh,” Jayne said, and quickly backed the car up and turned it around.

hat kind of a place have I come to?
 

Chapter 20
 
After driving back and forth for ten minutes, Jayne finally found a parking space almost directly in front of Azteca. It was next to a gate that apparently was for VIPs and led to a stage entrance—someone had just pulled out on a motor scooter. It wasn’t a parking place, exactly, but a space on the sidewalk between two haphazardly parked cars that looked big enough to accommodate the little Ford. It was already clear to Jayne that Cypriots parked wherever there was room for their cars to fit and totally disregarded everything else.

As she stepped around the cars towards the main entrance, she passed groups of young people coming out of the club that were either so drunk or stoned that they had to be carried. Most of them were half-naked and some were smeared with bright colored body paint.

Jayne had thought she was dressed provocatively, but when she stepped into the line at the entrance and waited to be admitted through the huge, gaping mouth, she might have been a Mormon. Half the girls were in bikinis, and most of the guys were just wearing swimming shorts—a lot of them looked like they’d walked straight in off the beach.

From how it appeared, the club was full and they were only letting the same number in that stumbled out.

MAXIMUM CAPACITY: 5,000, a notice said.

Five thousand Jayne thought dully, the music jarring her eardrums. After stepping through the mouth and paying the cover charge she moved along with the flow of sweaty bodies out into a large, open area with what must have been several thousand people partying their asses off. There was a pole dancer whirling round and round on a kind of stage, behind which was a DJ, all illuminated by constantly moving colored spotlights and strobes. The club had no roof, just a series of marine nets composed of thick rope. The pungent odor of marijuana tickled Jayne’s nostrils. All the body heat made it even hotter here—the far side was open, overlooking the sea, but there wasn’t even a breath of wind.

Suddenly there was a loud whoosh and a thick jet of water sprayed through the screaming crowd. Jayne caught a bit of the spray, gasping.

Half soaked, she held on to a wet railing and turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. Down below, by the beach, there were rows and rows of large, mattress-covered lounge chairs and lots of couples, plus a few threesomes and more, were openly getting it on in the dim light. It was hard to believe that a few short hours ago she was sitting in her quiet little Edwardian-terraced house in dreary, conservative Oxford...she felt like she had been deposited smack into the middle of Sodom and Gomorrah.

“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” a male voice screamed from beside her.

She turned and saw that the guy who had shouted the cliché was quite short. He flashed a crooked grin at her. Shirtless, wearing long, floral swimming trunks and a pair of flip-flops, he held a beer bottle loosely in his hand, by the neck. There was a black fanny pack strapped across his chest, like a holster. He looked like he was in his early twenties. His hair was dark and curly. A local, Jayne thought, but spoke with a perfect American accent.

“You’re an American?” she said, trying to be friendly.

“What?” he said, or rather screamed, leaning in closer so she could hear him over the pounding music.

“American?” she yelled, pointing at his chest.

He shook his head. “Cypriot. But I went to high school and university in Chicago.”

Jayne nodded. He seemed a cut above most of the clientele—he didn’t appear drunk.

“Pretty crazy, huh?” he said, looking out over the boisterous crowd.

Jayne glanced down at all the glistening bodies writhing around on the lounge chairs but quickly averted her eyes. “I’ll say.”

“The local community keeps trying to shut it down, but it just keeps on going.” He paused and offered his sweaty hand. “I’m Christos.”

“Ellen,” Jayne lied, giving him a polite handshake.

“Want to go get a drink?” He turned his bottle upside down and a few drops fell out onto the wet floor. “I’m empty.”

There were multiple bars scattered around the huge space, and Jayne glanced to the nearest one. It was jam-packed with people trying to be served, the sweat-soaked bartenders looking exhausted from trying to keep up. Jayne had already reasoned that the logical place to start with her search for André was with the staff—the bartenders, servers, and security guards. Before she’d left home, she’d copied a couple of pictures of him onto her phone from the Internet, snagged from French tabloid websites.

Jayne followed Christos over to the bar.

Neither of them spoke while standing in the queue—screaming over the deafening music required too much effort. It took a good ten minutes for them to finally reach the front of the queue. A skinny, tattoo-covered bartender with a Mohawk haircut simply gazed at her, waiting expectantly.

“Beer,” Jayne yelled.

“What kind?”

Jayne shrugged, learning forward to be heard. “Local?”

The girl nodded and pulled a bottle from under the counter, handing it to Jayne after she popped off the cap.

KEO, the red and gold label said.

Christos ordered one, too. He tried to pay for Jayne’s but she wouldn’t let him. Fortunately he seemed to take this as a signal that Jayne wasn’t interested in him.

They both wove their way out of the mob. He turned and raised his beer to her in a toast, but before he took a sip, he made the sign of a cross over his chest.

Jayne frowned, looking warily down at her own beer bottle. “Is it that bad?”

He laughed. “No, it’s great! KEO’s biggest shareholder is the Church of Cyprus.”

Jayne blinked. “The church owns a brewery here?”

He chuckled, smiling at her. “It’s our version of holy water.”

Jayne looked around again at what most could only be called unbridled hedonism. She had the feeling it was just the kind of place André Gaillard would frequent. But even if he was here, how could she ever find him in a crowd of five thousand party animals?

“Ladies and gentleman, let’s give Miss Maya Gadomski, from Warsaw, Poland, a big hand!”

A thundering round of applause and whistles broke out. Jayne looked back at the stage—the scantily-clad pole dancer had finished her routine and was bowing to the crowd. Jayne noticed that directly in front of the stage there were several rows of chairs, presumably for VIPs, who were the only people in the place who were sitting down. In the center was a table with what appeared to be a panel of judges seated behind it—six of them, three women and three men—all writing on notepads.

Jayne thought: André Gaillard was a semi-celebrity—could he be one of the judges or in the VIP section? But she couldn’t spot him.

Jayne stole a glance at Christos—he was hugging his beer bottle to his side so he could clap, watching the dancer, who was taking a second bow, and yelling “Woo!”

He had moved a little bit away from her and didn’t seem to be paying her any attention.

Jayne glanced at her watch. It was now almost midnight. Only six hours until Rob was supposed to receive the next text with the bank wiring instructions.

It was time to see if anyone knew André Gaillard.
 

Chapter 21
 
Jayne began moving from bar to bar throughout the club—there were eight of them, altogether—subtly showing the photo of André to the workers, along with a few security guards.

None of them seemed to recognize the young man in the photo, although she thought the bartender with the Mohawk hesitated a split second before shaking her head and saying, “Never seen him in here before.” Something about the way the girl included the words in here made Jayne make her think she had seen him somewhere else, or maybe at least knew who he was. Most of the clientele at this club did not seem to be the type or age who would spend much time reading tabloid newspapers.

After about an hour, Jayne had questioned just about every employee at the club. She shied away from talking to the tougher-looking security guards, afraid that they might question her about why she was looking for him.

She decided she must have been wrong about André Gaillard coming here.

Jayne began to make her way towards the front entrance—there was still time to check out a couple of the quieter, upscale clubs she had seen down the street. But then she spotted Christos again. He was leaning up against the railing overlooking the stage area, watching the last pole dancer of the evening. She was a strong-looking Russian girl with a long blonde braid that came all the way down to the small of her back. Although Jayne didn’t know anything about pole dancing, she seemed quite skilled, a true athlete—as she spun around and moved up and down the silver pole every muscle in her body seemed toned to perfection. This was the third night of the competition, Jayne learned, and the winners of the first three nights would compete against each other in the finals tomorrow.

She paused, eyeing Christos again. Maybe it was worth asking him about André before she left. He seemed knowledgeable about what was going on around here.

She weaved through the crowd until she reached him.

“Can I ask you something?” she yelled into his ear, having to bend down a little.

“Sure,” he said. He barely took his eyes off the impressive Russian dancer.

Jayne pulled her cellphone from her purse and finally got him to tear his gaze away from the stage and look at the picture of André Gaillard. “Have you ever seen this guy before?”

He glanced at the photo, then looked at Jayne’s face and took a sip of his beer. “Yeah.” She had his attention now, it seemed.

“You have?”

Christos shrugged. “I know who he is.”

Jayne was surprised, but a little doubtful, thinking that maybe Christos was trying to show off.

“What’s his name?”

“André Gaillard.” The name rolled off his lips with no hesitation.

She flinched at the sound of it, her heart rate increasing “Do you know where I can find him?”

Christos eyed her for a moment and took a sip of his beer, looking back at the stage. “Why?”

“Because I want to talk to him.”
“About what?”

Jayne found his responses rude and annoying. She wasn’t sure if he was just being nosy or perhaps knew André personally and was trying to protect the guy for some reason.

 She had already prepared a kind of cover story and lunged ahead. “I’m his girlfriend.”

Christos looked sharply at her. “No you’re not.”

Jayne was taken aback by his bluntness. “Well, I didn’t mean right now. I’m an ex-girlfriend.”

“Really?” Christos looked even more doubtful. “You don’t seem like his type.”

She touched her belly and whispered into his ear, “Look, I’m pregnant, and I need to talk to him. This is serious, Christos.”

“You don’t look very pregnant to me.”

Now Jayne was really irked but she was also sure he knew André. “I just found out yesterday morning. We got together a couple of months ago and...” Jayne shrugged. “Look, can you help me find him or not?”

“You’re a goddam liar.”

He turned and moved away from her, then disappeared into the mass of people.

Read Part 11 here.

#FreeDailyRead - Forbidden, Book 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse) - Part 11

Chapter 15
 
Jayne was so exhausted that she slept until almost noon the following morning. Today was Sunday, thank god. She didn’t have to go into work. After the restaurant was open, she would have to work six days a week, Tuesdays through Sundays, with Mondays her only day off.

After eating breakfast, she busied herself by cleaning up the house. But she had trouble concentrating—all she could think about was that damn blackmailer and the money that Rob would probably have to fork over tomorrow.

She found herself thinking: would it really be so bad if Rob simply refused to pay any more money and the blackmailer followed through with the threat and sent the story to the tabloids?

She stood there for a long time with the broom in her hand, staring unseeingly at the kitchen countertop, imagining the gutter press’s gleeful reaction to such a juicy pile of dirt...the sleazy reporters and paparazzi following her and Robert around Oxford, endlessly hounding Lord and Lady Astor.

Robert’s parents would never forgive her then, not a chance. If he stayed with her after that, he would be totally estranged from his family. And forget the restaurant project, that would be finished.

And the wedding of her dreams, having an intact biological family and a doting set of British grandparents for her children—she could see that fairy tale crumble to dust right before her eyes.

Her thoughts shifted to Schröder. No matter how insistent Robert was, she still had doubts about the detective’s work ethics. More time meant more money for the man, after all. How freaking difficult could it be to go to Cyprus and find a degenerate like André Gaillard? He was the son of a famous French movie star, and he’d been in the tabloids. If he was in Cyprus, surely he couldn’t be that difficult to track down. He was a semi-celebrity—people would have seen him out and about.

Before her rational mind could come up with a dozen excuses why it was a bad idea, Jayne dropped the broom and strode to the living room. She switched her laptop on and typed “Limassol, Cyprus” into the search engine, then scrolled through the results.

It was beach town on the southern coast of Cyprus, with just about enough attractions—like a medieval castle and a historical port—to pull in a steady flow of tourists. Even though it was supposedly the second-largest city on the island, only around one hundred thousand people lived in it. Hell, André was probably still there, hiding out and thinking himself oh-so-sly and invincible. He and his accomplice would just choose another bank and pull the same type of stunt.

The anger was back, and she made an impulsive decision on the spot. Typing rapidly on her computer, it only took her a couple of minutes to determine that there were several direct flights to the small Mediterranean island that she could catch this evening. It would be expensive, but it could be done.

She made a snap decision. She would fly to Cyprus today and track down André herself before he could tell Rob to wire the money. She quickly checked the time differences. Noon in Changshu would be six a.m. Cyprus time. If she left soon, she would have the entire evening and night in Cyprus to check all the fancy clubs where André would surely hang out.

It may have been a long shot, but it was better than puttering around the house playing Little Miss Homemaker.

She had to try!
 

Chapter 16
 
The city of Limassol had no airport, so Jayne booked an expensive last-minute ticket from London to Larnaca. It appeared to be the nearest one and was the island’s main airport, less than an hour’s drive from Limassol. She grimaced at the exorbitant price she would have to pay—there were budget airlines that offered flights there but, unfortunately, none that she could make tonight.

She called for a taxi, then threw the few clothes she thought she would need into a Gucci carry-on bag and locked up the house tight.

The taxi arrived just as she stepped out the door, taking her to the Gloucester Green bus station in the center of Oxford. The next bus to Heathrow was just leaving, and she had to bang on the doors to get the driver to let her on. She nervously counted the minutes as the bus made stops in Thornhill and Lewknor, which seemed to drag on forever. Her creative mind now in full gear, she kept going over different scenarios that might happen once she was in Cyprus and had found André Gaillard. She needed to catch him before he had a chance to send that next wire transfer message, come hell or high water.

When she finally reached the airport, she had less than an hour left until take-off. She jogged all the way through the terminal and barely caught the British Airways plane that would take her straight from Heathrow to Larnaca—the agents were calling her name over the loudspeakers when she scrambled into the gate area, wheezing from exertion.

During the four hour flight, she felt a little guilty at times about taking this trip without telling Robert, but of course he would never have agreed to her going in the first place. He would have thought it was far too dangerous.

There was a bit of turbulence as they flew over Southern Europe, and a thousand thoughts raced through her mind about this impulsive plan, making her even more jittery. Should she have brought along a disguise? Should she have searched for more condemning facts about Gaillard?

hat if he wasn’t in Cyprus at all right now?
 

Chapter 17
 
The plane touched down in Larnaca just after ten p.m., Cyprus time. By then Jayne was a nervous wreck, now doubting that this was such a wonderful plan. She had never been to Cyprus or anywhere like it, and she had no idea what to expect.

She was a bit surprised when she walked through the corridors and out into the expansive airport lobby. She wasn’t quite sure what she had expected, but the building was modern and spacious—it seemed almost brand new.

But her first positive impression of this new country quickly vanished. She had made a reservation for a rental car, but when she reached their desk, she found that the company closed at ten p.m. She angrily went to the airport general information desk, and the Cypriot woman simply shrugged and said, “What can I do? If they want close, they close.”

“Well, is any rental car office open?”

“Of course,” she said, pointing. “At end of corridor.”

When Jayne reached the last counter, she found a man who looked half asleep sitting behind a computer screen. It turned out they only had two cars, both of them economy models, Ford Fiestas.

“That’s fine,” Jayne said, pulling out her driver’s license and credit card.
“You can drive manual vehicle?” he said, looking at her doubtfully.

“What do you mean, manual?”

He made a motion with his hand to indicate a stick shift.

“Oh.” Jayne wanted to groan—she wasn’t a great driver in the first place, but she could barely drive a stick. “Of course I can drive a manual,” she said confidently.

As she filled out the documents, she also opted for a GPS navigator, which was an extra fifteen euros—she figured she would need it.

When the clerk handed her the keys, he said, “Go out that door and turn right, walk fifty meters, you will find car there. Red car.”

“Turn right,” Jayne said.


“Yes.”

As she walked away, he called out, “Remember keep left!”

Jayne frowned. “Okay,” she said, waving. She thought maybe the man didn’t know his right from left, but was sure she could find the car. The airport seemed fairly deserted at this hour.

When she went out the door and into the parking lot, a wave of heat hit her with such force she slowed to a stop. It was the middle of the night and the temperature must have been above ninety degrees. The air was balmy and smelled of brine. She pulled off her jacket before continuing on.
By the time she found the lot with the rental car company name on it, she had already broken into a light sweat. She spotted a red compact in one of the spaces.

She hurried over to the driver’s door, was about to stick the key in, and then did a double take as she glanced inside.

What the hell?

She found herself looking into the passenger seat.

The steering wheel was over on the other side.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, and hoped it was some kind of mistake, some kind of driver training car. Then she moved over to the two cars next to it, peering through the windows, only to find they all had their steering wheels on the right-hand side.

“Don’t tell me these people drive on the left-hand side of the road, too,” she muttered aloud, but then she remembered reading this morning that Cyprus was once a British colony. “Damn it,” she hissed, yanking the door open and sliding behind the wheel. The main reason she had never driven a car in England was because they drove on the “wrong” side of the road, at least from her perspective.

And a stick shift to boot!

Now she understood why the clerk had yelled, “Remember keep left!” in his broken English.

Jayne sat there behind the wheel for a long few seconds, thinking of just marching back into the airport and buying a ticket for the first flight back to London...

You can do this, she told herself.
 
* * *

A few minutes later Jayne was driving on a modern, four-lane divided highway that looked more or less like any American interstate...except that she felt like she was looking out the windshield through some kind of widescreen rear-view mirror, with the oncoming cars to her right. Merely maneuvering the vehicle out of the airport parking lot had been a challenge. She’d ground the gears so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d left behind transmission shavings on the concrete and was thankful that few people had been around to witness that black comedy.

Then, before she’d driven more than thirty seconds she came upon a dreaded roundabout, like they had all over the UK and which she had zero experience with. She had the navigator working, and by the time the annoying female voice told her to “exit the roundabout” she had already passed the correct one, and she drove around in circles three times before she got it right.

At least the road signs were not only written in the national language, Greek, but in English as well.
 

Chapter 18
 
Jayne finally relaxed a little bit when she had the little car droning along the divided highway towards Limassol, but it didn’t last long. She had completely glossed over the problem of not showing up at the restaurant tomorrow morning.

Before leaving home, she had checked all the return flights from Cyprus to London. Whether she tracked down and stopped André or not, she could hopefully catch the flight that left at eight a.m. tomorrow morning, which would put her back in London about ten a.m., since she would gain two hours due to the time difference. Still, it would be early afternoon by the time Jayne got to the restaurant.

Beatrice would be livid.

Better to diffuse this situation than have it blow up in my face, she thought.
She pulled out her cellphone and, keeping an eye on the road, called Beatrice.

Her business partner answered after the second ring.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Jayne said. “I hate to call you on a Sunday, but—”

“I’m actually glad you called, Jayne. I was just about to call you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. One of our important construction clients had an emergency in Amsterdam, and that’s where I am now, fixing the damn problem, which was trivial.” She made a low growling sound in her throat. “I get so tired of these fire drills, can’t wait until I can quit this job. Anyway, I don’t think I can get to the restaurant tomorrow at all, unless a miracle happens.” Beatrice paused. “Can you hold down the fort until Thursday?”

“Sure,” Jayne said. What a stroke of luck, and a what relief!

Then Jayne realized Beatrice was waiting to see why she had called. She said, “I, um, wanted to let you know that...” Jayne faked a cough, desperately trying to think up a reason to have phoned her.

“Are you all right?” Beatrice said.

“I’m fine, just some dust in my throat.”

“Oh. Where are you—in a car?”

“A taxi,” Jayne blurted. “I called because I wanted to let you know that I found a decent pasta cooker that sounds like it’s in prime condition, great price. It has baskets to cook six portions at once.” More lies. She was beginning to lose track of them. “I’m on the way to check it out right now. Should I snap it up before anyone else does?”

“Oh, that sounds perfect. Yes, please go ahead and buy it—do you have enough cash?”

“Yes, I have enough.” What a total load of crap, Jayne thought guiltily. “I—I hope I can snag it before anyone else does.”

“Well, good luck with buying it. I have to run.”

“No problem, see you tomor—”

“Thursday,” Beatrice broke in.

“Thursday then.”

Jayne cut the call, sweat running down her belly. At least that problem was solved.

Read Part 10 here.

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Available Now: Forbidden 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse)

Looking for some weekend reading? Forbidden 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse), the sequel to the romantic suspense series I have coauthored with Amazon-bestselling author Mike Wells from America, is out now.

Blurb

It's been almost a year since Lady Eleanor Sotheby leaped from a hotel balcony into the abyss. Jayne Clark is now living an entirely new life in Oxford, England, with Robert Astor, the man she loves. The horrific memories are finally starting to fade.

That's when the malicious envelope arrives in the mail.

It's a blackmail letter.  
​
And the criminal behind it threatens to destroy everything.
​
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#FreeDailyRead - Forbidden, Book 4 (Lady Sotheby's Curse) - Part 10

Jayne did not arrive back at home until almost two-thirty in the morning. She’d left her bike chained to the racks at the Oxford train station, and she shivered as she rode through the town’s desolate streets and to the empty house in Jericho.
​
As she unlocked the door and pushed it open, she held her breath, hoping no blackmail letter had arrived today. Much to her relief, the foyer floor revealed nothing but a couple of advertising flyers. Next, she made two rounds through the house, checking meticulously whether everything was the way she’d left it, that all the windows were locked and no belongings were missing. Only after she was sure that nobody had tried to break in did she allow herself a long, hot shower before falling into bed. The last thing she saw before dropping into coma-like sleep was little Liam’s face, but his features kept morphing into those resembling Rob’s, then Eleanor’s, then turned into a caricature of André Gaillard’s sneering visage.
 

Chapter 13
 
The next morning, Jayne forced herself out of bed early and fixed herself a hearty hot breakfast before tackling her day. She couldn’t afford to be jet-lagged, stressed or weak—she needed all of her strength to prepare for the impending grand opening of the Californian. As she ate, she felt much more optimistic about it than she had the past few days—in fact, more optimistic than she had since they received the blackmail letter. She was certain they pinpointed the culprit, and Rob and the private detective could put a stop to it.

She reached the restaurant on a pleasantly full stomach. A few workers had already begun their daily tasks, a drill echoing through the rooms while an IT technician juggled a mass of multicolored wires in the office room.

“Beatrice?” Jayne said, walked around, calling for her partner, momentary panic rising when she couldn’t find the woman.

When she entered the kitchen, she stopped short when she saw the new gas stove sitting there, shiny and monstrous. She had almost forgotten about it. On top of it was an immense metal pot, and against it leaned a sheaf of paper addressed to her. Jayne immediately recognized Beatrice’s neat handwriting, sloping ever so lightly to the right, each dotted I and downward G perfect.
 
Dear Jayne,

I hope whatever urgent family business you had is settled.

Everything went smoothly yesterday, as you can see. The stove was delivered on time, and the gas is hooked up. We also have a fair amount of pots, pans and kitchen utensils now, in case you want to familiarize yourself with them. I haven’t got the faintest clue which pot is called what, so please have a look at the list and verify what was delivered.

I’ve taken the liberty to take a day off today, though I will try to pop over this afternoon. Jayne smiled at this. Damien wants me to check out a flat in Chelsea because we’re planning to move so we’ll be a bit closer to Oxford. I’m sure you understand. I’m only a call away if you should need me.

Cheers,
Beatrice
 
P.S.: Our dear friend the niggling neighbor has been at it again. Yesterday was noisy even for our standards, and his threat to sue us sounded more serious. Will you organize a nice flower delivery to him and attach a message that invites him to a special free dinner shortly after the opening, as we discussed?
 
Jayne felt flooded with relief, her worries dissipating. It seemed that she was back in Beatrice’s good graces.

She ran her hands over the big stove, switched it on and off and had a look at the stained handbook, which lay on top. To save as much of their startup capital as possible, they bought all the kitchen equipment they could second hand, provided Jayne could find what she wanted in good working order. Yes, this stove would do nicely—she’d checked it out herself before Beatrice paid for it. The old stove left behind by the Moroccan restaurant owners had been a nightmare, a behemoth from the Stone Age in dire need of repair, but this was up to her standards. How could one cook five star food without top quality equipment?

They still needed a commercial pasta cooker, and Jayne made a mental note to keep searching for a good used one.

Calling Beatrice on her cell, she thumbed through the manual and also made another mental note to make a copy for her head cook once he was ready to start, though he’d probably be more familiar with this kind of stove than she was.

Beatrice’s phone was busy, so she quickly typed out a message instead, thanking her partner for her help and understanding, wishing her good luck with the new apartment, and asking for some photos if they did choose it.
 

Chapter 14
 
The rest of the day flew by in a blur of activity. Jayne was so engrossed in various tasks that she hardly missed Beatrice’s presence. She spent hours overseeing the last remodeling touches on the floors, walls, and furniture. There was the final draft of the window sign to be checked and approved. Then she had to scan the newspapers to continue hiring kitchen help—she still had some vacancies. Jacques called from Monaco, where he’d been hunting for indoor fountains to include, and her banter with him was the highlight of the day.

By the time Jayne raised her head to take a deep breath and look at her watch, it was early afternoon and she had missed lunch. She decided on the spur of the moment to cycle home as the workers wouldn’t need close supervision for the last few hours of the day, and Beatrice would probably drop in.

Once she was out of the building and her head had cleared thanks to the cool wind blowing in her face, the fear from this morning crawled to the fore again. Would there be a pile of mail lying on the floor when she came home, among them another blackmail attempt? Demands for more money? Maybe an even worse threat?

She’d barely cycled a minute when her phone chimed and vibrated in the pocket of her red boat-neck cardigan. She hopped off the bike and started wheeling it, answering the call with her heart in her throat when she saw Rob’s name.

“Darling, how are you? Am I disturbing you?”

“No, not at all. I was just headed home for a late lunch. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Listen, Jayne, I just got an update from Schröder.”

Jayne’s ears perked up. What important news did the German investigator have to share?

“He’s got a lead on the whole Cyprus thing. Apparently, the bank account where I wired the money to belongs to an operator of a small hotel in Limassol—that’s a big resort town by the sea. But when confronted, the hotel owner claimed he had no idea about the blackmailing, and Schröder thinks he’s telling the truth. It looks like he was used as a pawn by a guest who stayed at his establishment for twenty-four hours.”

“What guest?”

“Some woman who pretended to be looking for a flat to buy.” The line crackled for a bit before becoming clear again. “The guest appeared to be a middle-aged female tourist with a Belgian passport. She’d told the hotel owner she was there to buy property on the island. Then, the next day, she pretended to have found a flat and asked if she could use his bank account to receive money in order to put down a cash deposit.”

“And he believed that?”

She could imagine Rob shrugging. “Apparently this sort of thing happens a lot in Cyprus—partial cash payments for real estate aren’t traceable or taxable. She asked if the hotel owner could receive the money in his bank account and give her the money, in exchange for a fee paid to him.” Robert gave a low chuckle. “I’ll bet as soon as she mentioned that fee of two percent, he fell over himself to ‘help’.” Rob’s tone had grown derisive. “That’s two thousand euros for doing basically nothing.”

“Okay. So how did that all go down? Did Schröder give you any more details?”

“He did, yes. That afternoon, the hotel owner and the mysterious woman went to the bank together. That must have been when she or André sent me the text message. As soon as the hotel owner came out with the money, she paid him and made off with the rest in a taxi. From what Schröder could find, she disappeared from the island without a trace. She did pay for her stay at the hotel and gave that man his fee, so even though he’s a bit mystified, he’s not too eager to give the detective more details.”

“I see.” Jayne made a frustrated sound, automatically walking faster and pulling the bike along when a slight drizzle kicked up. “But that can’t be all they have on the woman. I mean, there’s got to be something, her details from the hotel check-in or whatever.”

“Well, yes and no…” Robert sighed at the other end of the line. “She had a Belgian passport that she showed the hotel owner when she checked in—he made a copy, which is required by law. But Schröder found out that it was a lost, invalid passport. He got in touch with the Cyprus immigration and no one from Belgium with that name had come into the country in the past three months—she must have come in on another passport, or maybe she simply lives in Cyprus. So that trail leads nowhere.”

“Damn. At least he must have gotten a physical description. Surely there are photos of her on security cameras, either at the hotel or the bank or wherever she might have gone in town...”

“No, not that Schröder can find. The hotel was too small to have any cameras. She must have known where the cameras were around the bank and avoided them. Cyprus is a far cry from London, Jayne—it’s very underdeveloped. The hotel owner did give Schröder a physical description, but it’s hard to work with, very vague.”

Jayne waited breathlessly for more details, her mind wandering off to Eleanor again. Had the mystery woman been her biological mother? Or was André really behind it and had simply used an accomplice to pick up the money? Maybe he had a girlfriend who did whatever he asked her to because he’d promised her riches?

“The woman was described as ordinary-looking, middle-aged, shoulder length wavy brown hair, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. She wore lots of makeup and dark, oversized sunglasses the entire time, but sunglasses are normal for Cyprus. She spoke only English but the hotel owner couldn’t tell if she had an accent. He says he couldn’t really get a proper look at her face, but again, he wants to stay out of trouble.”

“Goddammit.” Jayne gritted her teeth. Oh, who was she kidding, this wasn’t going to be easy, no matter who was behind it all.

“Schröder’s still on the case,” Rob said, his tone echoing her frustration. “And from what we’ve got so far, I’m pretty sure this is André Gaillard’s doing. I’d bet my bottom dollar that he’s got some gullible bar girl wrapped around his finger and lets her do the dirty work for him, probably some stripper—Cyprus is loaded with them.”

Jayne nodded to herself, wondering for a moment whether Celeste had spared this possibility a second thought, whether she was worried at all that she might have caused this. Did it even matter to her, even though she claimed she had changed?

“I think so too,” she said, the wheels in her brain turning. “How on earth are we going to catch the bastard and his accomplice?”

“I’ve given Schröder everything we know about Gaillard, and he’s wading through masses of information on the knave right now—or at least that’s what he’s claiming and demanding payment for. He assured me he’ll locate Gaillard soon.”

“So, we just sit around idly twiddling our thumbs?”

“Jayne…” Rob’s voice was strained, and she regretted her outburst.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Guess he’ll have the info soon.”


“Yes, I certainly hope so. Schröder is one of the best, don’t forget that.”

“Right.”

Jayne glanced around at the old, gray Oxford buildings and the steady curtain of drizzle, feeling helpless and angry again.

“Listen, Jayne, I’ve already taken too much time off, I need to get back to work. You keep your chin up, all right?”

“All right, get back to work.” She took a deep breath. “I love you, Rob.”
“I love you too, darling.”

 
* * *

On the way home, Jayne stopped by the bakery again, buying herself a scone. She wasn’t even all that fond of scones, but she associated them with Robert and they not only soothed her hunger but her nerves.

She chained up her bicycle outside the house and unlocked the front door, completely forgetting about the mail until paper rustled under her feet. She stepped back as fast as if the envelopes had singed the soles of her feet, then bent to retrieve them.

Rob’s monthly issue of the Business Matters magazine.

A pizzeria leaflet.

And at the bottom of the stack, a plain white envelope with her name in all caps and Heathrow airport as the return address.

Her legs going weak, Jayne steadied herself against the door.

Oh god.

Not another one.

No.

With trembling fingers, she let the rest of the mail drop right back down to the floor and opened the dreaded envelope, which could only be a second blackmail letter. At the last moment, she remembered to only touch the edges, but it would probably make no difference.

In the same cut-out jumble of letters:
 
YOu DiD VeRy WeLL
ExPeCt aNoTher TEXt on mONday at tHe SaME TiMe
 
That was all it said, but it was enough to make her shudder.

She and Robert had been so stupid, so naïve! Of course there was another letter, and there were bound to be more. As if any blackmailer would leave them in peace so easily and settle for a one-time payment!

Feeling nauseous, Jayne moved robot-like into the kitchen, dumped the letter on the counter, along with her bag and bakery parcel. Her throat had gone completely dry with fear, and she poured herself a glass of water. She gulped it down in one go, coughed a few times, then took a deep breath and called Rob.

“Jayne? Are you all right?” She realized that he had gotten worried the moment he saw her name on his phone’s display, with her calling back after they’d said their goodbyes less than half an hour ago.

“There’s another one,” she said simply.

She didn’t even have to explain—Rob immediately knew what she was talking about. Jayne heard him curse under his breath, something that happened so rarely it always shocked her when it did, and then he really let loose.

“Goddamn that fucking bastard! Why can’t people get a life and leave others in peace? It’s always the bloody losers like Gaillard who haven’t done a day’s honest work who are a pain in the arse. What the hell do they think, that for everybody else, money grows on trees?”

Jayne flinched and held the phone slightly away from her ear until Robert stopped yelling. She could understand his fury so well and was glad it wasn’t directed at her.

Sounding only marginally calmer, he sighed, “Read it to me.”

She did as he asked, adding, “We should’ve known this would happen, Rob. We need to hurry up and catch him—that’s in less than two days!”

“You don’t think I know that, dammit? And I’m not exactly sitting here twiddling my bloody thumbs.” She heard him pull in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. It’s just… I can’t deal with this tosh anymore, Jayne. I’ve got a job to do. I have to prove myself to a half a dozen no-nonsense executives who hold my success—and with it our future—in their hands.” She heard a loud thump. Was he pacing? Was that a fist slammed into some piece of furniture?

“I understand, Rob,” she said soothingly, but her own anger made her voice anything but reassuring or calming. “We need to find a way out of this. If we can track down André and threaten him with criminal charges, we’ll have our lives back before more damage is done."

“Well, Schröder is making some progress,” Rob said, sounding a little calmer. “He called a few minutes ago to let me know that he found out that André traveled to Cyprus twice in the past year.”

“Oh, that’s great news,” Jayne said, hoping to hold on to the positive shift in the conversation. “Then it really must be him. We can—”

“Hold on. André traveling to Cyprus may seem suspicious at first glance, but it’s not unusual considering where else he’s been recently. The Canary Islands, Majorca, Sicily, and Malta. All big offshore banking locations. Looks like the bugger is playing some money game or other and getting rather desperate.”

“But surely he’s the most likely suspect.”

“Well, yes, I still think so. Cyprus was the last place where he was seen, and it was in Limassol, too, but it was three months ago. Schröder’s working on it, following the trail as we speak.”

“So the detective is in Cyprus again?”

“Well, no he’s not, he’s just following André’s trail via phone and Internet. That’s his usual modus operandi until he has a solid lead. And I certainly wouldn’t want to pay his prices to send him all the way back to Cyprus on a wild goose chase.”

Jayne hesitated, unsure how Robert would take her next words. But she had to get them out. “Are you sure that detective is doing all he can, Rob? I don’t mean to doubt, but are you confident he’s taking this case seriously enough?”

“Of course he is, he’s doing all he bloody can!” Rob snapped. “Do you think I’d hire some incompetent nincompoop when all I want is for this bloody mess to be over?”

“No, I’m sorry, I—”

“Do you even know how a private detective works?”

“I… No. No, I don’t. I apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so upset about all this.”

There was an awkward silence.

Jayne bit her lip, worried that they were taking their frustration out on each other now.

When Rob spoke at last, the biting tone was gone. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry, Jayne. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m dead on my feet right now. I worked almost twenty-four hours straight. All this stress is eating me alive.”

Jayne clutched the counter with her free hand, her heart going out to Robert. He had bosses to please and corporate deadlines to meet—at least she and Beatrice were able to schedule their own time.

“I understand. Believe me, I do.”

The silence stretched.

“Rob?”

“Yes?”

She hesitated, looking over at the new blackmail letter on the countertop, but she had to know. “Are you going to pay the money this time?”

With another sigh, he said, “I honestly don’t know, Jayne. I have to think about it.”

She felt a wave of anger so strong it took her breath for a moment. If she got that blackmailing piece of dirt André in her hands, she...she...well, she felt so mad right now she thought she was capable of doing him great bodily harm.

Jayne regained control of her emotions with difficulty, pouring all the love she felt for Robert into her next words. “Rob, honey, get some rest. Looks like there’s nothing much we can do right now anyway. Please put your health before anything else.”

“I wish I could.”

“You have to. You’re more important to me than money or success or even us getting married—you have to take care of yourself. Do you hear me?”

She could picture him trying to smile, to put up a confident, strong front for her. “Yes, I do, and I appreciate you saying that, darling. I’ll try to get some sleep.” She heard more rustling and a few thumps—it sounded like he was lying back down in the bed and roughly fluffing up the pillow with his fist the way he always did. “Please take some hi-def photos of the letter and send them to me so I can forward them to Schröder. And then get some rest too, you need your wits about you as much as I do.”
 
* * *

After they hung up, Jayne made photos of the blackmail letter and sent them to Robert.

Later that evening, Jayne found herself overwhelmed by a glum, hopeless feeling when she took off her clothes and climbed into the empty bed.

How she wished Robert was here with her!

Read Part 9 here.

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