There's Something About St. Tropez Read Online Free

things over. I lost a lot of money, had to get rid of a lot of baggage, but y’know I was able to keep the plane. It came in useful. Allie used it regularly, flew in every couple of weeks to see me. I think we’re happier now than we’ve ever been. Or we will be once we’re together again.”
    Mac hoped Ron was right.
    Perrin said, “I knew your show would be finishing about now and Allie wanted me to ask you and Sunny to come join us in France. How about a little vacation at our vineyard in the Dordogne? You know it’s not too far from Bordeaux and St. Emilion.” Ron knew all about Mac’s penchant for good wine.
    â€œWhen are you leaving?”
    â€œAny time you’re ready. We can fly out of Santa Monica, easy.”
    Mac got up and gripped Ron by the shoulders. Looking into his eyes he said, “You don’t know it, Ron Perrin, but you are the answer to my prayers.”
    Perrin shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Hey, you were the answer to my prayers, kiddo, a short while back. If I can do something to make up for that, just tell me what.”
    Mac brought him up-to-date with the story of the St. Tropez villa rental, how he had been delayed, and that Sunny had gone on alone.
    â€œI need to leave tonight,” he said. “If I can catch a ride with you I can be there almost before she has time to miss me.”
    Perrin high-fived him. “Consider it done. I’ll take you wherever you need to go. Let me know your timing so I can file the flight plan. The Citation is ready when you are, Mr. PI.”
    â€œTonight,” Mac said. “Soon as I’m through here.”
    Now he knew he would see his Sunny again soon, everything was right in his world.

 
4.
St. Tropez, 3 A.M.
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    Sunny drove slowly up a small hill. Water flowed down it toward her. It was like climbing a waterfall. The GPS French woman was telling her she had arrived but peering through the deluge all she could see was darkness. Then a high wall. Then a pair of solid wooden gates. Shut of course.
    Cursing, Sunny got out of the car. In seconds she was soaked, then the wind hit her, roaring through the treetops with a sound like an express train. Bending double she staggered toward the gates.
    A decorative blue and yellow tile set in the wall announced that this was Chez La Violette. Well, thank God for that, at least she was in the right place. She tugged at the handles, twin wrought-iron circles clasped in lions’ mouths, relieved when they opened.
    She got back in the car and drove on. Storm-tossed trees bent over the driveway. A house loomed ahead. Not a light anywhere.
    Lowering the window, Sunny stared at the darkened house. She was hours late but shouldn’t the housekeeper at least have left a light on? Nervous, for a second she thought about turning round, driving back to St. Tropez town and finding a hotel, but it was the middle of the night and the storm was still raging, and besides the drive was too difficult, and anyhow she was exhausted. Retrieving the keys from her red bag, she hefted suitcases from the trunk, slung her straw bag over one arm, walked up the shallow steps, unlocked the door and stepped into a dark hallway.
    Before she’d even found the switch the place was flooded with light. She blinked, half-blinded. When she looked up she saw a man crouched at thetop of the stairs in a menacing martial arts stance, hands raised high over his head. And in those hands he held a sword.
    Sunny did what any sensible woman would do under the circumstances. She turned and ran.
    Terrified, she found herself under an arched cloister, skidding on the rain-slicked flagstones. Her heart thundered in her ears. She could hear him pounding after her, gaining on her. She skidded again, grabbed for a stone pillar, and fell.
    The man was on her, she was facedown on the ground, hands locked behind her back. She was screaming but there was no one to