Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Heavier wound dressings covered the side of her neck and the skin by her collarbone on the other side; no part of her body visible above the blanket was free of the evidence of violence. There was even a large, square dressing on the side of her skull.
I hadn’t realized she’d been stabbed there, there’d been so much blood everywhere. Her hair must’ve been matted to the wound. I wondered if the doctors or nurses had had to shave off a patch to check the wound.
Diya would no doubt scrunch up her face when she woke and realized. Then she’d laugh and shrug and probably go hunting for a vintage hair clip to help cover up the spot while her skin and hair recovered.
“Baby, I’m here.” I gently touched her foot through the blanket.
“I can arrange something for you if you want to stay here,” the nurse who’d brought me in said a few minutes later, “but I suggest you go home and get a few hours of proper sleep. You can talk to the surgeon tomorrow—she had to respond to another patient or she’d be here now. I can tell you that your wife’s been placed into a medically induced coma due to…”
I wasn’t listening, my focus on the rise and fall of Diya’s chest, the butterfly beat of her pulse against her skin. She was alive. The woman I loved with all my heart and soul, the woman I’d watched put out seeds for baby birds every spring morning, the woman who’d danced with me in the glitter and glamour of Vegas, was alive.
I wanted to stay with her all night, just watch her breathe, but I knew the nurse was right. I had to start thinking, had to start trying to figure out what had gone so horribly wrong. Not just for Diya, but because right now, I was the perfect gift-wrapped suspect in the multiple murders and attempted murders of the Prasad family.
Sweat broke out over my back, my tongue feeling too fat in my mouth.
Because this time, I was innocent.
Chapter 12
Private notes: Detective Callum Baxter (LAPD)
Date: Dec 11
Time: 10:17
Interview with Tavish Advani. Full record in official file.
Good-looking, articulate, highly intelligent. Cooperated fully, admitted that Virna had given him a monetary “gift” in the range of a quarter of a million, and appeared embarrassed when I pointed out the client-adviser relationship he’d had with Virna.
“I screwed up,” he said. “We became friends, and when she offered, I was in a tight spot. She told me it was loose change to her. I still should have said no, but she was so insistent that I allow her to help me.”
Not sure what I think of him, but I can see why Virna was charmed. He’s barely a couple of months past twenty-six, but he knows how to talk and say exactly the right words. None of that bullshit young asshole stuff—man is smart and smooth. Big difference between running a love con on a rich and vulnerable older lady and murder, though.
Perez says it’s a slippery slope. He’s definitely got Advani as his number one suspect.
Especially since unconfirmed rumor is that Advani was fired from his job a couple of days ago after Jason Musgrave kicked up a stink at Advani’s old investment firm. That job came with a serious six-figure pay packet—which leaves us the question of why Advani was in a tight spot in the first place.
Man should’ve been swimming in money.
Chapter 13
Aleki had left a duffel bag for me with someone he knew at the hospital, and shot me a text: Hey man, they said you were up in the ICU and I wasn’t sure if I could get in. My auntie JJ has your stuff with her at the nurse’s station in Maternity. Call me if you need anything—I mean it.
His aunt proved to be a matronly Samoan woman who gave me a silent pat on the hand when she handed over the battered duffel bag. Aleki hadn’t just gotten me the T-shirts I’d asked for; he’d bought me a toothbrush, toothpaste, even a razor and some soap, along with a set of sweatpants, a hoodie, and a box of protein bars.
I couldn’t think of anyone in LA who’d have done this for me, who’d have been so thoughtful about it. And my family was based in the city.
The people I’d called friends…they’d gotten the gloss and shine of Tavish Advani, investment adviser and child of A-lister Audrey Advani. None of them knew me. Several had, however, picked up the phone when the Musgrave case hit the headlines.
False sympathy. An avaricious desire for drama and gossip.
Not their fault. I’d chosen to make friends with them, hadn’t I? I’d chosen to be the kind of man who surrounded himself with people who boosted my ego with their own status and glamour. Chasing love, my therapist had told me when I’d decided to go get my head shrunk after Jocelyn’s death.