Breathing Room by Susan Elizabeth Phillips Read Free Book Online

creaked like a bad movie sound effect. She braced herself for a flock of bats to come flying out at her, but she was greeted with nothing more ominous than the musty scent of old stones.
    "Self-pity will paralyze you, my friend. So will a victim mentality. You're not a victim.
    You're filled with a magnificent power. You're—"
    Oh, shut up!she told herself.
    She fumbled along the wall until she found a switch that turned on a floor lamp with the wattage of a Christmas-tree bulb. She glanced around just long enough to note a cold, bare tile floor, a few ancient furnishings, and an unwelcoming stone staircase. At least there were no cows.
    She couldn't cope with any more tonight, so she grabbed her smallest suitcase and made her way upstairs, where she found a functioning bathroom – thank you, Mother God –
    and a small, stark bedroom that looked like a nun's cell. After what she'd done last night, nothing could have been more ironic.
    *
    Renstood on the Ponte alla Carraia and gazed down the Arno at the bridges that had been built to replace the ones the Luftwaffe had blown up during the Second World War.
    Hitler had spared only the Ponte Vecchio, built in the fourteenth century. Once Ren had tried to blow upLondon'sTowerBridge, but George Clooney had taken him out first.
    The wind whipped a short lock of hair over his forehead.
    He'd had it cut that afternoon. He'd also shaved and – since be intended to avoid lighted public spaces tonight – removed his brown contact lenses. Now, however, he felt exposed. Sometimes be wanted to step out of his own skin.
    The Frenchwoman last night had spooked him. He didn't like misjudging people.
    Although he'd gotten the anonymous sex he'd wanted, something had been drastically wrong. He managed to find trouble even when he wasn't looking for it.
    A pair of street toughs ambled toward him from the other side of the bridge, looking him over as they came closer to decide how big a fight he'd put up if they tried to take his wallet Their swagger reminded him of his own youth, although his crimes had been limited more to self-destruction. He'd been a punk with a silver spoon up his ass, a kid who'd figured out early on that misbehavior was a good way to get attention. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Nobody got more attention than the bad guy.
    He reached for his cigarettes, even though he'd quit six months ago. The crumpled pack he pulled from his pocket held exactly one, all he let himself carry these days. It was his emergency stash.
    He lit it, flicked the match over the side of the bridge, and watched the boys come closer.
    They disappointed him by exchanging uneasy glances and passing on.
    He drew the smoke deep into his lungs and told himself to forget about last night. But he couldn't quite manage it. The woman's light brown eyes had shone with intelligence, and all that buttoned-up sophistication had excited him, which was probably why he'd neglected to pick up on the fact that she was a wacko. At the end he'd gotten this gut-churning feeling that he was somehow attacking her. He might rape women on the silver screen, but in real life that was one outrage even he couldn't imagine.
    He left the bridge behind and wandered along an empty street, taking his foul mood with him, even though he should be on top of the world. Everything he'd worked toward was about to happen. The Howard Jenks film would give him the credibility that had eluded him. Although he had more than enough money to live the rest of his life without working, he loved the whole business of making films, and this was the role he'd been waiting for, a villain who would be every bit as memorable to audiences as Hannibal Lecter. Still, he had those six weeks to get through beforeNight Kill started filming, and the city felt claustrophobic around him.
    Karli... The woman last night... The sense that nothing he'd achieved meant anything...
    God, he was sick of being depressed. He tucked the