CHAPTER ONE
ASHOUTDREWAngelo’s attention. He stepped through the open French doors and saw Enzo, the gardener, leaning over the balustrade of the lowest garden terrace.
Enzo was staring down towards the sea. Then he spun around, saw Angelo and waved urgently.
‘A body!’
Angelo frowned. Enzo’s eyesight was cloudy and he was due to have cataract surgery soon. He must be mistaken. Yet he repeated it. ‘There’s a body on the beach.’
Angelo sprinted towards him. With every step he told himself it was simply a stray tourist, drawn to sun themself on the island’s unique pale pink sand. Though, given the strengthening wind and ominous clouds spreading across the brilliant blue sky, they’d picked an odd time. The forecast was for a savage storm.
It must be a stranger who didn’t know the cove was private and had swum ashore from a boat. Though every local boat owner respected Angelo Ricci’s privacy. None would allow an outsider near his home.
Angelo slammed to a stop beside his gardener, staring down at the body. A woman, lying face down at one end of the beach.
His breath backed up in his throat, his brain cataloguing every detail.
Any thought that she might be sunbathing died. She lay mainly in the water, slender bare legs extended. The lap of waves made her oversized white T-shirt lift and ripple around her hips but it was the only sign of movement. She lay utterly, heart-stoppingly still. Nor was she lying totally on sand. Her head and one outflung arm rested on an outcrop of rocks above the water. It was clear, even from here, that her clutching hand was limp.
‘Call the doctor!’
Angelo vaulted the balustrade to land in a crouch at the bottom of the first set of steps on the path down to the beach. He felt his bent knees absorb the shock. A second later he rose and pivoted, hurtling down the next set of steps that made the almost sheer rock face negotiable.
Mere minutes must have passed since he’d heard Enzo yell. Yet it felt like a lifetime.
Perhaps, for the woman below itwasa lifetime. Each second could mean the difference between life and death.
Angelo felt each beat of his pulse as if in slow motion while his brain raced. He recognised the clarity of senses, the hyper-awareness of his adrenaline surge, from previous crises.
The last time had been while climbing in the Dolomites in the north of the country. When he and his climbing partner rescued a couple of beginners who’d got into trouble. One had broken a few bones in a fall and the other had frozen with fear. It had taken a lot of ingenuity to get the pair to safety.
Angelo’s feet touched sand. He shunted the memory to the back of his mind as he powered towards the rocks.
She mightn’t be dead. Surely there was a possibility...
Angelo dropped to his knees, careful not to touch her as he scanned both the woman and the empty beach. No footprints. No evidence anyone had been here, except her.
Even above the waterline the sodden T-shirt clung to her body and her hair was wet. So she hadn’t been here long. It looked as if she’d walked or dragged herself partly clear of the sea before collapsing.
He reached out and gently circled her wrist with his fingers, searching for a pulse.
It was there, weak at first, but when he shifted his grip, stronger and even.
Relief rose like a warm tide. Angelo sat back on his heels and heaved in a slow breath. Alive and not obviously injured. From what he could see.
He surveyed her surroundings, the damp sand and dark rock. No sign of blood. He scanned her bare arms and legs, noting she had the smooth, unblemished skin of youth. There were a few freckles on her arms and, though lightly tanned, her pale colouring hinted she was likely a tourist rather than a local. Olive skin was more common here in the south of Italy.
Dare he move her? Turn her over?
He had no idea if she’d injured her back or head on the rocks that ran out into the sea from this end of the beach. Better to wait for a medical professional.
Angelo lifted his gaze to the cobalt sea, growing choppy as he watched. The mainland was close yet far enough to prevent people swimming across. There wasn’t a boat in sight. But now he thought about it, he’d heard a speedboat earlier, in far too close to the rocks. But if she’d been on a boat, where was it now?
This was no time for speculation. He leaned over the woman and carefully lifted some strands of wet brown hair from her face.
She didn’t move.
He reached again, drawing more tresses back behind her ear. The action uncovered the sweep of long eyelashes against the curve of her cheek.