Page 112 of Risky Obsession

“Perfect. We’ll be there before sunrise.”

“We should take turns driving.”

“Roger that,” I said. “I’ll take the first shift.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Once we get near Cuxhaven, we’ll ditch the car somewhere that it hopefully won’t be found for a while.”

“Hopefully they won’t put a BOLO out for it.”

“A BOLO?” I chuckled.

She shuddered. “Be on the look out. BOLO.”

“You been watching too many cop shows.”

“I guess.” A frown washed over her that was so dark I wondered if she felt ill again.

She released a huge sigh and shifted in her seat to look at me. When she swallowed, I got the sense she wanted to say something that I didn’t want to hear. Like having sex with me was a mistake. I fucking hoped not, because I was keen for a whole lot more of that.

And a whole lot more of Tory.

Deciding on a distraction, I said, “Hey, see if you can find any news on the radio?”

As Tory’s slender fingers fiddled with the dials, a silence settled between us. I stole glances at her profile, illuminated by the soft glow of the GPS screen, and could tell she had some serious emotion brewing inside her mind.

The moon cast a haunting glow over the winding road, and its light speared through the tall trees flanking the asphalt like laser beams. Voices burst from the radio as she ran the dial across the channels, but each time the station was in German.

“—breaking news,” a woman’s crackling voice said through the speaker.

“Oh, here we go.” Tory adjusted the dial, trying to improve the signal.

“Murder of renowned Symbologist Gunter Sachs,” the woman said, her voice coming in clearly now.

Tory and I gasped.

“Oh fuck!” I shook my head. “He was alive when I left him.”

CHAPTER 22

Kane

“Ican’t believe he’s dead.” Tory’s tone was shrill as she turned up the radio volume.

“. . . still trying to piece things together and we don’t have any details on who or why someone would have murdered Gunt . . .” The woman’s voice on the radio faded.

“Shit. Shit.” Tory adjusted the dial.

At a T-intersection that had a pub on both corners, I turned left and drove through a town that had no traffic lights. The buildings that lined both sides of the street morphed into paddocks and the ancient stone fences that guarded the properties went on forever. The temptation to stomp on the gas was huge, but we didn’t need a cop pulling us over for speeding. Not that I’d seen another car for at least twenty minutes.

“Damn it.” Tory shoved back on her seat. “I can’t find the channel again. We need to ring Aria.”

“Oh fuck! My phone was in my tuxedo jacket. And I left my jacket on the chair back in our room.”

“Bloody hell.” Tory nibbled on her knuckle. “Why would he kill Gunter? And how did he even get into the gala ball?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”