Ultimate Nyssa Glass H. Burke (bookstand for reading .txt) 📖

Nyssa turned her handheld over. Before she could consider the riddle, the waiter returned, carrying a green bottle and a pair of glass flutes. She put the handheld to the side.

The waiter placed the flutes on the table and uncorked the wine. A pop made Nyssa jump and grip the tablecloth.

Ellis laughed. “Sorry. I should’ve warned you it does that.”

“Is it always that loud?” She rubbed her temples before joining him in a chuckle. Golden, bubbly liquid filled their glasses. Ellis thanked the waiter. The man gave a slight smile then left them alone again.

“Where were we? I suppose we should toast while we have this.” Ellis picked up his glass and held it towards her. “To us?”

“To us.” She mimicked his motion, and their glasses clinked together. The drink was somehow sweet and sharp at the same time. The bubbles tickled her nose then settled in her brain. She sipped slowly.

Ellis leaned forward, his eyes intent on her. “Nyss, I love you.”

Though she’d heard it perhaps a hundred times from him, her heart still fluttered. Maybe it’s the champagne. “I love you, too.”

He fingered his handheld. “I made us these partially because recently I’ve been thinking a lot about how we met. When we found each other, I was in the most isolated state I can imagine, trapped without even realizing it, and you … you saved me. I can never pay you back for that.”

She dropped her eyes. “I was lost myself at the time. I think we saved each other.”

“Maybe. The point is, I have you now, and I don’t want to ever lose you.”

A chill shot through Nyssa, though she didn’t know why. She opened her mouth to respond to his sentiment, but her eye caught a flash of copper red behind him, and words fled from her. Her grasp tightened on her champagne flute.

Detective O’Hara sat perhaps three tables away, staring straight at her.

Ellis’s brow furrowed. “Nyss? Are you all right?”

“The detective I told you about?” She dropped her voice low. “She’s behind you. The woman with the red hair.”

“She?” Ellis cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me it was a woman.”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, it does deflate my manly fantasy of defending your honor by punching her.” He laughed ruefully.

Nyssa tried not to look in O’Hara’s direction, but she could practically feel the woman’s stare boring into her. “How did she know we’d be here? I didn’t say anything about it.”

“I didn’t make it a big secret when I made the reservations and hired the car, though that was almost a week ago.” Ellis pushed his dark hair back from his forehead. “Is it possible she’s been watching us for a while now?”

Nyssa shrugged. The very thought made her queasy.

“Either way, I’m surprised a woman on a detective’s salary could afford a table here. I sincerely doubt dinner at an establishment like this is in the police department’s budget either.” He sat straighter. “Do you want me to say something to her?”

“No. Let’s ignore her. She can’t hurt us.” Nyssa forced herself to gaze into Ellis’s eyes, the only thing that might possibly distract her from O’Hara.

He scowled. “You’re as tense as an overwound clock, Nyss. This isn’t the mood I had in mind for the evening.”

“Well, what are we going to do?” Nyssa bit down hard on her lip. She had wanted this evening to be perfect.

“Maybe the maître d’ can move us to a more private table … or at least one not directly in her line of sight.” He rolled away from the table. “I’ll be right back. Just drink your champagne and give her a big smile. Don’t let her know she’s getting to you.”

Nyssa nodded and took a sip. The fizzy alcohol seemed to have lost its magical effects.

As soon as Ellis disappeared, a messenger in a red uniform and round cap hurried through the tables, directly to her. Nyssa sat straighter.

“Miss Glass?” the man asked.

A jolt of anxiety raced down her neck. True, a few people on the island—Amara, their housekeeper, and maybe one or two others—knew her real name, but very few openly used it. “Yes?”

The messenger placed a black leather case, small enough to fit into her palm, on the table in front of her. “I was asked to deliver this to you. As well as this.” He handed her an envelope.

“Thank you.”

She eyed O’Hara as she slipped her finger under the envelope’s flap. The woman tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

Inside the envelope was a brief note in blocky handwriting.

I can get you a copy, but if you tell anyone, even your friend in the chair, I will know, and I will destroy the recording. The police are onto you. How much longer do you think you can run? I’m your only way out. Meet me in the airfield Hangar 32 at midnight.

Nyssa turned the letter over. Nothing was written on the back. No name. No address. No hint of what it meant let alone who sent it. She pried open the leather case. Inside was a portable moving picture player. I haven’t seen one of these in years.

Flipping a switch, she waited for the picture to flicker to life. Her breath caught in her throat. From the small screen, the familiar face of Mr. C stared back at her, his expression stern. His mouth moved, but the video didn’t appear to have sound. Nyssa recognized herself, standing next to him. Mr. C whipped out a silver-handled revolver and aimed it towards the videoscreen. Nyssa instinctively averted her eyes as the wires of the attacker’s taser gloves sank into Mr. C’s chest, sending him convulsing to the floor. Her throat tightened at the memory.

This is video of the actual murder? And of me not committing it?

Her head spun. She tried to find a replay switch, but a smell of melted celluloid rose from the picture player. The film inside was ruined after one play. It took all her