Murder Takes the High Road(65)

We waited until they were almost out of sight, the sounds of their suitcase wheels and quiet cursing dying off in the distance. John gripped my shoulder. “Come on.”

We followed at a careful distance, hurrying as best we could in an awkward half-crouch. The ground was mushy and uneven, and I narrowly missed tripping over one of the grates in the grass. The cold, dank air of the underground tunnel gusted up against my face. John caught my arm, keeping me from landing on my face.

“Okay?” he whispered.

I nodded.

We scuttled along, yards behind as the four shadows vanished over the ridge, following the hidden trail down to the beach that John and I had walked earlier that day.

“They’re making good time,” I whispered.

John nodded, squeezed my shoulder and pointed.

“How do you know where they’re headed once they leave here?” I asked.

“The mainland is the obvious choice, so I think they’ll aim for Orkney.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

I saw that a large fishing boat sat anchored not far from the shore. Lights twinkled as she bobbed in the black water.

“How are they getting out there?”

John had pulled out a small pair of binoculars and was scanning the anchored vessel. He started to answer, but then swore.

In the distance I heard the unmistakable approach of a helicopter’s engine. Far, far through the expanse of clouds and night, a star seemed to be heading our way.

He shoved the binoculars inside his jacket. “Shit. He’s early! We’ve got to move.”

We left the cliff, running back the way we’d come, trying not to break our necks on the slippery ground or crash into anything with thorns—which was pretty much every shrub in Scotland.

When we reached the spindly new growth forest, we slowed to a painful jog, and then finally, out of breath, half-walked, half-crawled up a small hillock to the cleared area of the landing pad.

I’d thought I was in pretty good shape, but by that point I was drenched in sweat and gulping for breath. Hands braced on my knees, I looked at John, who did not seem nearly as winded. He gave me a grin and a thumbs-up.

Yeah, I was not the only one who loved his job.

The whup-whup-whup of the helicopter engine was deafening now, and the little trees below us bent in half at the force of air rushing from the blades.

There would be no missing the helicopter’s approach. I wondered what the Rices and Scherfs made of it, what they would do next. Would they abandon their plan? Would they change course and head for the mainland after all? Or would they opt for door number three and pull out a bazooka?

I had firsthand knowledge someone in that group did not like to feel cornered.

The helicopter hovered overhead and then slowly descended, kicking up dirt and tiny bits of gravel.

John turned to me. This was it. The big goodbye. It was even more painful than I’d expected.

“Be careful,” I said. “Your bad guys may be working from a different script.”

John pulled me close. “I’m going to miss you,” he said, his face pressed close to mine. His breath was warm against my face, his eyelashes flickering against my own.

“Same.” It was all I could get out over the lump in my throat.

His hands tightened on my shoulders. His lips said against mine, “You be careful. I mean that, Carter.”

I nodded. Tried to joke, “Hey, you’re the one going after a criminal gang. I’m still on vacation.”

There was no smile in his voice. “I’m serious. Watch yourself. I hate leaving you here. There’s something going on with this tour. I don’t know what, but I don’t like it.”

I didn’t have a response because, unfortunately, I agreed with him. The revelation that both Rose and Sally were unharmed had relieved my unease for a few hours, but it had come back full force in the library that evening.

In fact, illogical or not, my unease had developed into full-blown foreboding. Or maybe that was more about not wanting John to go.

I pulled back. Met his gaze. “I promise. I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

He threw an impatient look at the waiting helicopter and yelled into my face. “I’ll try to call you later.”

I nodded, yelled back, “Yes. I’d like that.”

John kissed me—quick and hard—and ran toward the helicopter, clutching his suitcase.

He climbed inside. I watched, holding my hair from my eyes, as the helicopter rose, blades twirling. Up, up, and then it whirled away. I stood there until its light disappeared into the night.





Chapter Twenty-One

When I opened my eyes the next morning I had the strange feeling I had dreamed the past four days.

Everything felt so...normal.

Or as normal as waking in an isolated Scottish castle surrounded by marble busts of unknown historical figures, cracked Grecian urns and a stuffed raven could be. I blinked up at the glass-eyed bird of prey, which I hadn’t noticed the day before, and felt for my phone.

Eight thirty.

Hell. The bus would be leaving at nine for a tour of the island. I glanced at John’s empty bed and sighed. I checked my messages, but there was no text from him. No word from anyone at all.

No news was good news, right?

At some point in the wee hours the central heat had kicked on, and the room was at a survivable temperature. I crawled out of bed, padded into the empty bathroom, still steamy from my neighbors’ morning ablutions, and was weirdly cheered to spot one of John’s crumpled white T-shirts beneath the bath towels strewn on the floor. I picked the damp shirt up and folded it carefully, as though it was a precious artifact placed in my safekeeping.