Murder Takes the High Road(81)
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’ll get them next time.” He tossed another pebble. It flew past the second stake and clacked against the sagging picket fence, nearly taking that down too.
“What if there isn’t a next time? What if they’ve decided to give up their life of crime?”
John made a derisive sound. “They’ve already rented a car for a week’s tour of the Highlands.”
“Is that so?”
John nodded.
Neither of us said anything for a time. I was wondering whether John would be returning to the States. It would be nice to fly home together. But maybe he would continue to pursue the Rices and Scherfs all over Scotland. Maybe the Rices and Scherfs were going to turn into his Maltese Falcon.
He threw a final pebble and sat up straight. “You’ve still got a week of vacation, right?”
“Yes.”
When he didn’t reply, I glanced at his profile. His lashes veiled his eyes, but there was a tinge of pink in his face. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Oh?”
“What would you say to touring the Highlands together for a week?”
“Busman’s holiday?” I suggested. I mean, why not? My flight home was still five days away. I had nothing and no one to rush home for. Of course, I wanted to spend more time with John. I was always going to want to spend more time with John.
“That’s right,” John said. “Only no bus. And maybe more of a...well.” He cleared his throat.
Maybe more of a what? I was waiting curiously for the rest of it.
“Well?” he said a little sharply. He looked uncharacteristically serious, even a little self-conscious.
It dawned on me what he was trying to say. My heart floated up like a butterfly. My face warmed. “Oh.”
Not bad for a guy who had probably never even read Dorothy L. Sayers.
He continued to watch me with that mix of hope and caution.
I smiled. I felt like I would be doing a lot of smiling from now on.
“Do you like the idea?” he asked tentatively.
“Oh, yes,” I said, “I do.”
*
To purchase and read more books by Josh Lanyon, please visit Josh’s website here: www.joshlanyon.com
AUTHOR NOTE
While the itinerary of Murder Takes the High Road is based on my own 2015 tour of Scotland, a number of place names were changed to protect the innocent.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my partners in crime—and travel companions—Lisa, Pamela and Laura.
Sincere thanks to everyone at Carina Press, but especially to my dear (and long-suffering) editor Deb Nemeth. I couldn’t do this without you (and maybe you wish I wouldn’t)!
Now available from Carina Press and Josh Lanyon!
One final game of cat and mouse...
Ex-FBI agent Elliot Mills thought he was done with the most brutal case of his career. The Sculptor, the serial killer he spent years hunting, is finally in jail. But Elliot’s hope dies when he learns the murderer wasn’t acting alone. Now everyone is at risk once again—from a madman determined to finish his partner’s gruesome mission.
Read on for an excerpt from
FAIR CHANCE
Chapter One
“I knew you’d come.”
Andrew Corian, dubbed “The Sculptor” by the national press, was smiling that same old smile. Supremely confident and a little scornful. For a moment it was almost as if he were seated at his desk in his office at Puget Sound University and not in this sterile interview room at the Federal Detention Center in SeaTac.
“Sure you did,” Elliot said.
Corian’s powerful hands, thick wrists handcuffed, rested on the resin table. He spread his fingers, palms up in a “be my guest” gesture as Elliot took the plastic chair across the table.
He had been second-guessing the decision to meet with Corian from the minute he’d acceded to SAC Montgomery’s request, and Corian’s supercilious attitude just confirmed his doubts. They were not going to get anything useful out of the Sculptor.
“How could you resist?” Corian was saying. “A chance to play hero one last time. A chance to convince yourself you got the better of me.”
“Sounds like you’ve been hitting the library psych shelves pretty hard.” Elliot folded his arms on the tabletop, glanced casually around the room.
He’d been in plenty of these interview cells back when he’d been with the FBI. Neutral colors. Durable furniture. Stainless-steel mesh over the bulletproof frosted windows. A guard outside the door. Generic right down to the two-way mirror, behind which stood Detective Pine of Tacoma Homicide and FBI special agent Kelli Yamiguchi.
Just in case Pine and Yamiguchi missed anything, cameras overhead were recording the interview.
Corian’s eyes, a weird shade of hazel that looked almost yellow in the harsh institutional light, narrowed at Elliot’s gibe, but his broad smile never faltered. He seemed to be in a great mood for a guy looking at multiple life sentences.
“I don’t need to read a psychology book to understand you, Mills. There’s nothing complicated about your psyche.”