Mystery /
Detective
Date
Published: September 29,
2015
Publisher:
HarperCollinsPublishers
San Francisco Bay Area reporter
Gabriella Giovanni has finally got it all together: a devoted and loving
boyfriend, Detective Sean Donovan; a beautiful little girl with him; and her
dream job as the cops' reporter for the Bay Herald. But her success has been
hard-won and has left her with debilitating paranoia. When a string of young
co-eds starts to show up dead with suspicious Biblical verses left on their
bodies—the same verses that the man she suspects kidnapped and murdered her sister
twenty years ago had sent to her—she begins to question if the killer is trying
to send her a message.
It is not until evil strikes
Gabriella's own family that her worst fears are confirmed. As the clock begins
to tick, every passing hour means the difference between life and death to
those Gabriella loves...
EXCERPT
Chapter
1
Saturday
The setting sun turns my family
into dark silhouettes as I step onto the warm sand. The beach is nearly
deserted, except for a lone figure walking north of us along the sand where the
waves are crashing in from the Pacific Ocean.
A cool breeze makes me glad I
trekked to the car to retrieve my daughter’s little lavender parka. We promised
her we’d stay until the sun set.
Donovan’s back is turned, phone
held to his ear. He’s pacing in his bare feet, his jeans rolled up, a scowl on
his face from what he’s hearing. A murder. Every once in a while he glances
back at Grace kneeling in the sand playing.
Grace has dug deep channels with a
small red shovel, chatting to herself, weaving tales about mermaids and sea
creatures and fairies. She bounces a plastic dinosaur along the sand, a prize
won in kindergarten for reading two books in one week.
Everything I’ve ever wanted is on
that beach—Donovan and our daughter, Grace. My own little family. My life.
I’m still far away, closer to the
parking lot, when I see the figure walking along the shore is growing closer.
It’s a man. His shadow, with its elongated arms and legs, stretches across the
beach until it seems to take on a life of its own. Something about his
movements seems angry and frenetic—instead of the wandering gait of a casual
sunset stroll—and sets off small alarms in my head. I walk faster,
the sand seeming to reach up and grab at my ankles, slowing my progress.
Donovan’s pacing takes him in the opposite
direction, away from Grace. He’s not paying attention to anything besides his
phone call. The man is now closer to Grace, who seems alone on the beach,
although Donovan is twenty feet away. Donovan squints up into the pink and
orange clouds, raking a hand through his perpetually spiky
hair.
The man’s path takes him straight
toward Grace. My heart races. I can’t tell for sure, but it seems like he’s
watching her. He walks at a determined clip, covering ground much faster than
me in my flat, strappy sandals. I lean over in mid-stride and rip a sandal from
one foot without stopping. Then I scoop up the other in one fluid motion.
Still, each step feels like my
bare feet are being sucked into quicksand. I hurry, but feel like I’m moving in
slow motion.
“Grace.” I shout, but my words are
carried away on the wind. I’m breathless from fighting the sand tugging at my
feet. The breeze, which has grown stronger in the past few minutes, whips my
hair. Grace’s brown ringlets bob as she hops her plastic dinosaur around, not
noticing anything else.
Donovan isn’t far from Grace, but
now the man is closer.
At the same moment Donovan turns
and sees the look on my face, the man reaches Grace. His long shadow falls over
her small figure. She looks up with a smile and starts chatting. He leans down.
His hand reaches toward her, his fingers millimeters from her arm. A wave of
dread ripples through me. My feet feel cemented into the sand. My mind screams,
but no words come out of my open mouth. Inside, I’m flailing and thrashing to
get to Grace, but on the outside, I’m struck immobile.
The man reaches down and grasps
Grace’s arm, turning her toward him, and the spell is broken. I’m on wet sand
running, the scream caught in my throat coming out as a birdlike garble. I
scoop Grace up onto one hip and take a step back. I gasp for air, but I can’t
breathe. My heart is going to explode in my chest.
The man looks at me with surprise
and for a split second, there is something in his eyes that sends panic racing
up into my throat, but then the look is gone, as if I imagined it.
“Gosh. I’m so stupid,” he says in
a nasally voice. He wipes his palms on the legs of his jeans, as if he is
sweating even though the temperature is rapidly dipping along with the sun.
Donovan is at my side. “Gabriella,
is everything okay?”
He’s used my full name and he’s
looking at me instead of Grace in my arms. Guilt flicks through me. I’m not
acting irrational or hysterical. A strange man walked up to our daughter and
grabbed her arm. Any mother would react the same, wouldn’t
she?
At first glance, the man seems
boyish with his bowl haircut, baggy jeans, and sneakers. Up close, a few crow’s
feet shows he is older. Maybe even my age—thirty. He has feminine pink lips,
and piercing blue eyes, the color of the arctic sea. The collar of his black
jacket is pulled up. His smile is all “gee, golly, shucks,” abashed and
embarrassed but doesn’t reach his eyes. He paws at his jeans with his palms.
He’s done that twice now. He’s nervous.
When he meets my eyes again, I
realize that something about him seems off, something about his eyes, more than
just their intense color. One eye is close to his nose and the other set far
apart. It’s jarring and somehow unsettling to make eye contact.
“I’m so sorry,” he says in that
same stuffed-up sounding voice. “What a knuckle-headed move. I should know
better than to walk up to someone else’s kid like
that.”
Donovan grips my arm.
“What’s going on here?” His words
are clipped.
I’m panting, but finally able to
catch my breath. Still, the words will not come.
“Your kid is so darn cute. She
looks just like my little sister used to look. I just wanted to say hi to her
and didn’t even think that was a total bonehead move to walk up to someone
else’s kid when her parents weren’t around.” He gives an odd smile as he says
this.
“We were around.”
Donovan says in a monotone, staring the man down.
The man looks down at the
sand.
Grace is kicking and trying to get
down. My knuckles are white gripping her.
“Ow, mama, you’re hurting me,” she
says and tosses her curls in irritation.
Donovan shoots a glance our way
before turning his attention back to the man.
“You live around here?”
Donovan asks, seemingly casual, but the muscle in his jaw is working hard. His
dark eyes under thick eyebrows have narrowed and hold a glint of menace. In a
second, it alters him from the man on the cover of the “Sexiest Bay Area Cops”
calendar into something feral and dangerous.
The man meets Donovan’s eyes and for
a second it looks like he is challenging Donovan to dispute his story, but then
he looks down again and digs a sneakered toe into the sand, reinforcing my
impression that he’s a kid not a man.
“Marin. Meeting some friends here
in the city for dinner. Was early so came here to kill some time. I
didn’t mean to cause any problems. I just wanted to say hi to her. Maybe you’re
over-reacting a bit.”
Donovan runs a hand through his
hair. His posture relaxes. Instinctively—or luckily—this man has honed in on
Donovan’s Achilles heel. We’ve talked at length about our tendency to be
overprotective parents because of our jobs, me as a crime reporter, and him as
a detective. Donovan has argued we can’t let this affect Grace’s childhood. We
need to protect her, but let her grow up carefree. I agree. But it’s easier
said than done.
We’ve, also, talked about my
irrational fear that something will happen to Grace.
This man may not realize it, but
he’s instantly off the hook with this one simple
word—Overreacting.
“Why don’t you go head on out,”
Donovan says, dismissing him.
“My bad, really. Wasn’t using my
head. Have a nice night,” the man says and turns to
leave.
I set Grace down and Donovan wraps
his arm around me.
“You
okay?”
“I don’t know.” I don’t tell him
that it felt like I was having a heart attack, that I couldn’t breathe or move.
A stranger walked up to my daughter and I stood there, weak, helpless, frozen.
Donovan gives me a look before we
both turn and watch the man’s figure growing smaller. We watch without saying a
word. We stand there until the man turns and heads toward the wooden boardwalk
bordering the road. He never looks back.
About the
Author
Kristi Belcamino is a writer,
photographer, and artist. In her former life as a newspaper crime reporter in
California, she flew over Big Sur in an FA-18 jet with the Blue Angels, raced a
Dodge Viper at Laguna Seca, watched autopsies, and interviewed serial killers.
She is now a journalist based in Minneapolis and the Gabriella Giovanni
mysteries are her first books. Find Kristi on Facebook
www.facebook.com/kristibelcaminowriter or on Twitter
@KristiBelcamino
Contact
Links
Purchase
Links
