Walking The Edge: A Romantic Suspense/Espionage Thriller (Corpus Brides Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

reckoned should never be breached.
    She was done with Peter, but was he done with her?
    Frustrated beyond tolerance, she jumped out of bed and went straight for the heavy marble pot holding delicate white orchids on a low side table in her bedroom. In her fury, she picked it up and hurled the small container at the antique standing mirror at the other end of the room.
    “Fuck you, Peter!” The sound lost itself in the shatter of the glass carrying all the violence she burned to let out.
    Fisting her hands, her short nails digging into her palms, she gritted her teeth and contained the scream dying to escape her lips.
    Such aggressive and destructive thoughts and behaviour. What could be wrong with her? Had she always behaved like this?
    The walls around her closed in, rendering the big, airy room to the size of an ever-reducing sardine tin.
    She had to get out of there. Stat!
    Before she could think out a plan of action, her legs had carried her into the corridor, where she hurtled down the stairs and headed towards Nathaniel’s cubicle. He’d take her out, get her away from the dwindling air supply in this mausoleum.
    The sound of the television’s drone caught her attention the minute she stepped close to the little room.
    Nathaniel sat in front of the screen, apparently unperturbed by what had been going on upstairs. Unless he’d received orders not to bother her no matter what he heard. Either way, her attention shifted when a word from the commentator caught her ear.
    Marseille .
    Again, that city; then someone started talking in French before being voiced over in English.
    But in those split seconds before the dubbing, she’d made out a voice reminding her of the one she’d heard in her dream. The hint of the accent she had identified. A slight drawl, like regional patois, with the letter ‘n’ pronounced phonetically as “ng.”
    Could her mystery man be from Marseille?
    On suddenly light feet, she dashed back into her bedroom, closed the door, and locked the panel before sitting down on a settee with her mobile phone. Once the Internet browser logged on, she searched for information on Marseille.
    The usual tourist pages came up, and with swipes across the touch screen, she skimmed and navigated through the results. Finally reaching the section where the city got mentioned in recent news, her search landed on a video clip of a news segment involving the Marseille police. There had been a bust involving a gang of European casino robbers, their headquarters in the old city having been disbanded. A branch of the local police, under the command of a commissaire by the name of Gerard Besson, had led the investigation, in a concerted effort with Interpol.
    An interview of the man accompanied the article. Something prompted her to swipe her finger over its link...and she nearly dropped the phone when the video started playing.
    For there, staring back as he delivered his report, stood the lover from her most recent dream.
    She covered her mouth, smothering the gasp before it escaped. She had found him. Lord, she had found him.
    Desperate to learn more about him now that she knew his identity, she redirected her search onto him. A commissaire ; must be a high-ranking officer in command. Fishing for more information on the Net, she discovered he’d only recently been promoted to the post.
    So this could mean he hadn’t made it to that level when the two of them had been together, about a year earlier, before she’d had her accident. The article didn’t mention if he was married, and in the close-up images in the clip, she hadn’t been able to spot a ring on his left hand. Neither did she recall one in her dream, but would a man wear his wedding ring while making love to his mistress? Certainly not.
    Gerard Besson. She frowned. His name definitely sounded French, but it didn’t call forth any recognition in her mind. His face looked all too familiar, though, and he couldn’t be a body double of the lover in her