Never Trust a Callboy (24 page)

"He wanted to frame me for murder," I finish the sentence for Christian.

"That was his intention, but you haven’t made it easy for him."

"At least that’s something," I mumble.

"You‘ve cost Ron ten years of his life. At least." Christian grins at me. His eyes ask me to find my courage. He draws a crooked smile out of me. A conviction begins to stir in me. I made a mistake, when I fell in love with Ron. But I had no way of knowing what kind of person he was, I won't let him get me down. I won’t spend the rest of my life with self-doubt and accusations, because I don't deserve it.

"Ron made the anonymous call to the police. He knew you would wake up late because of the sleeping pills. The police would find the body, discover the bloody sweater, and of course the murder weapon, because he had to be sure that your fingerprints would be on it, but nothing went the way he planned. By noon, Ron was already in a panic. He couldn’t call you and ask what had happened to the body, but thanks to your text he knew where you were. He sent his man to the garage. He was supposed to run you over, because Ron had decided to make a scapegoat of Madeleine instead of you. Everyone was supposed to think that you had an affair with Barelli and out of jealousy Madeleine killed her husband and you. A poorly thought-out plan, but Ron was panicking. He didn’t know what you had done with Barelli. He feared, that with the help of the police you would be able to move against him."

"Son of a bitch. The fucking, lying, rotten asshole. I could kill him," it bursts forth from me. The anger feels good. Better than the despair that still has a grip on me.

“Yes. I wouldn’t mind doing that myself. Ever since I learned of his schemes."

"But, why didn’t he take his chance, when Blondie and Rambo found me at the hotel?"

"Oh, that? That's the part of the story I like best." Christian laughs and tips his chair backwards. "Ron couldn't just kill you. First, he had to find out what you did with his money. I bet he went mad with rage when he saw his accounts."

For the first time since Christian began his revelations an honest grin spreads across my face. "Then I did at least one good thing in our relationship."

For some reason, I feel better. I was in love with a psycho, but in the end I did make it as hard as possible for him to get away with his crimes.

"Why didn't you tell me that you're a detective? You should have told me that Reinhard hired you," I finally ask him the question that has been burning in my soul.

"I..." Christian rocks on his chair, dangerously poised on two legs. "Well, the truth is..."

"Christian, could you get to the point please?"

"I wanted to have you with me," he finally admits.

"You wanted... Oh!" I look at my wine glass thoughtfully. This twist is unexpected. I had already resigned myself to the idea that I had fallen for another son of a bitch. I had banished my feelings for Christian into the farthest corners of my subconscious.

"Will you come back to Frankfurt with me?"

With a jerk I'm uprooted from my dream world. Of course, he wants to complete his mission.

“No. I'm going to stay here a while, but you can close the file and submit your invoice," I say and stand up.

"Wait." Christian holds on to my wrist. "Tamara, please. That didn’t come out how I meant it to."

"And how did you mean it?"

"I wanted to ask whether you would go out with me. If you wanted to see me again."

With a sigh, I take a step back and release my wrist from his grip. "Christian, I need time. I just found out that I loved a murderer and a criminal. I'm clearly not very good at judging a man's character."

"I understand that, but you shouldn’t let one mistake determine your whole life."

"It's not my whole life. I think I need a couple of weeks to think about what I want. What kind of relationship is right for me and how I can find my confidence again."

Christian nods. He looks sad, which does me good. I'm not sure whether I was wrong about him. After all, he was hired by my stepbrother, and he knows my family is wealthy.

"How is it that you can afford a Ferrari and your apartment?" The question leaps out of me, even before I can think it. It is important for me to know the answer, to put a piece of the puzzle in the right place, maybe it will help me understand what kind of person he is.

"I don't like to admit it, but my parents are rich." Christian looks me in the eye when he speaks these words. He won't let go of my gaze, and suddenly I know what he wants to tell me.

I turn around and leave, even though everything in me wants to stay with him.

Epilogue

I pull the jacket tighter around me as I climb out of the car and walk up to the house. It's cool, early October, autumn has set in and the temperature has dropped. The last three months were not easy. It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that I loved a man like Ron. That, together with the media interest in me, the ‘bride of a murderer’, as the article in the Times so beautifully put it, made it necessary for me to disappear for some time from Germany. I fled to my new apartment in Ibiza. I went underground in the hope that the hype would eventually die down.

Now people have lost interest in me. Thank God.

Reluctantly, I raise my hand to ring the doorbell. I don't know if he is at home, even though I chose the day wisely. Before I can ring the bell the door is opened.

"So it looks like your favorite time is still three o'clock in the morning," Christian says leaning in the doorway. Despite the early hour he does not look sleepy, rather he looks as if he was already awake.

Instead of an answer I open my palm and hold my hand out to him. Something that looks like a coin glitters on it, it’s the GPS transmitter I have worn every day for three months, even though I knew that Christian was pursuing my every move.

He takes the transmitter. "Why did you keep it?"

I shrug my shoulders. "No idea," I lie. The small device was something like an umbilical cord, my connection to him, and I didn't want to give that up.

"You were always a lousy liar," he observes, and pulls me into a hug. "I've missed you," he whispers in my ear.

"I missed you too. Every day."

"Good." With a kick, he closes the door. "Have you considered everything thoroughly?"

"For three months."

"That should be enough."

Christian takes my hand and pulls me down the hall to the stairs, but then he turns to me.

The kiss takes a long time. A very long time. It makes me forget time and space. I sling my arms around his neck. I don’t want to let him go ever again.

His phone. It doesn’t ring, but there are strange sounds coming from it.

Without breaking our kiss, Christian pulls the device out of his pocket, and types something with one hand. Silence.

"Let's go upstairs," whispering he kisses from my chin down to my neckline.

"Good idea."

Our path is lined with clothing. My t-shirt, his shirt, his jeans.

The phone rings.

"Bloody hell."

"Don't worry. It's just the feedback signal," murmurs Christian. I have no idea what that means, but I don't care.

Then, finally, we’re lying on his bed. Closely entwined.

I gasp "wait." I turn around and search on his bedside table, until I discover the mobile phone, whose calls he must answer. With a splash, it lands in a glass of water.

"Are you crazy? I need that!"

"Not anymore." Very satisfied with myself, I peel myself out of my jeans.

“Not my iPhone!" I gasp when I see what he holds in his hand, but before I can stop him, my favorite gadget lands alongside his phone in the glass of water.

"I’ll buy you a new one." Christian grins when he sees my gaze. "I promise!"

"All right. Maybe we can have our peace now."

"Exactly." Christian bends over me and kisses me. Suddenly it doesn't matter to me whether I ever hold an iPhone in my hand again. I'm much too busy finding out whether Christian would really be talented as a callboy.

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