Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I was arrested by the local cops, not the Nice Police.”
“I have to admit, you’ve given me a hard time these last few hours. But you see, being the only witness to a murder has played out in your favor. Or rather mine.”
“Luck,” I murmured.
“Miss Rougon,” he said, grimacing.
He didn’t like using this name, and honestly, I didn’t either. I’d grown bored of it ages ago. And I hated when people called me Miss. I wasn’t a precious little girl, and the term was as absurd as it was outdated.
“Roxane,” I offered instead. “And just for the record, people haven’t used Miss on paper for decades.”
He blinked twice and then repeated, “That isn’t your real name.”
“Neither is Angelica, so what does it matter?”
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but you’re in a lot of trouble. And I’m not talking about the stolen car.”
“Borrowed,” I corrected him.
“When you borrow something without permission, it’s called stealing.”
“Not if you return it in perfect condition, which was my intention.”
“By driving well beyond the speed limit?”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I got a little bit carried away, but have you seen the car? Anyone would want to see what it’s got under the hood.”
He sighed and rested his arms on the table. He was going to try another method, that was clear. He was going for the good-cop routine. When he started again, I was sure of it. “Listen, Roxane—or I don’t even know what to call you. You’re the only person who can help me catch a dangerous criminal. You witnessed a murder, and something tells me you didn’t particularly enjoy the experience.
I let out a mocking laugh. “No kidding. Apart from a psychopath, who would say they enjoyed it? Did I like seeing a guy get shot? Of course not. I don’t know exactly what you want from me, but I know what I want, and that’s to be as far away from Santoni as quickly as possible.”
“Exactly, and as a witness—”
“It’s like I’m walking around with a target on my back, I know.”
“Exactly what I was going to say.”
“Ah, yes, excuse me. This is when you give me false promises and tell me you’ll protect me until the trial. Let me just tell you that I won’t believe a single word you say. I’d prefer to exile myself to the Guatemalan jungle or the Russian tundra than cross paths with Bruno Santoni again.”
I was exaggerating a little bit. I didn’t need to close my eyes to remember the look Santoni had given me when he found me in the kitchen. His words had said it all. “Breathe a word and you’ll have the same fate.”
Because I’d been in shock, I was unaware I had called the emergency services, and I stayed to try and calm Madeleine, who was panicking at the thought of having a dead man in the place where she usually made her ravioli.
For once I had behaved like a model citizen.
He had the decency not to immediately reply with an outrageously big lie. Instead, he chose the diplomatic route. “Roxane, you don’t really have a choice.”
“I think I do. I’m pretty good at the silent game. If I decide not to talk, rest assured I won’t utter a single word.”
He looked at me for a few seconds before saying, “You’re a crook.”
I had no idea where he got that information from, but there was no point denying it.
“I prefer the term con artist. It gives it a more Ponzi feel than a Bernard Madoff one, no? An old-fashioned classiness. And have you noticed there’s no female version of crook? Most professions have their female term, but not crook.”
“Maybe because, strictly speaking, it’s not a profession?”
“Or maybe it’s because men think women aren’t clever enough to trick them?”
For a second, I thought I saw a slight smirk appear on his lips, but it was so brief I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it.
“Roxane, the choice is simple. Either you come with me and agree to testify against Santoni, or I leave you here and you can deal with the speeding ticket and stolen car on your own.”
There was a question lurking behind his brown eyes. Which of the two options seemed the most reasonable to me?
At least he’d already given me his opinion.