"Okay, so this is the current situation," Lake said in his briefing voice.
Man, he missed being in charge. He missed talking to a group of men who actually knew what they were doing. Instead he had an evil Hobbit and a scared hippy for a team. He cleared his throat.
"We're behind schedule," he said as he started to write on the board. "Opening is Saturday. Underwear arrives Friday, so that gives us a day to get the shop sorted. So no disappearing." He pointed at Rainne. "The sign for the shop arrives on Friday morning. We're going to be busy that day, people. All hands on deck."
"Aye, we know all that, but what about the war? What are we doing about the war?" Betty demanded through a mouthful of cake.
"This is the war," Lake told her. "The whole point is to turn this shop around. Make profit. Be the last shop standing. We don't do that by eliminating the competition. We do it by selling more underwear."
"That's boring," Betty huffed.
Lake grinned, folding his arms over his old Muddy Waters T-shirt.
"I thought you'd say that," he told her. "This isn't the only thing we're doing. This is only one arm of the campaign. There are five. We're following the Watts model. Don't worry, there will be plenty to keep you busy. You won't be bored."
As Betty gave him a toothless grin, and he wondered where her teeth were, Rainne scowled and sank deeper into her seat.
"You got a problem, Rainne?" he asked, working hard to keep his tone non-threatening. "After all, this is your business too—it would be good to see a little more participation."
She jerked upright at that.
"Is it? Is it my business? Because since you came to town, it's been all about you and your war. You haven't once asked me what I wanted."
Mainly because he didn't want to hear it. He took a deep breath.
"Fine, what do you want?"
Almost immediately the wind went out of her and she slumped back down.
"Never mind," she muttered.
Lake hesitated before he continued.
"Okay, so we're working on five fronts, like I said." He made little bullet points on the board. "Intelligence gathering, marketing, exchange of skills, involving the locals and sabotage."
"No." Rainne shot to her feet. "This is underhanded. I don't want to sabotage anyone, especially Kirsty. She's been through a lot and she doesn't need you running over her too. Why can't we work together and pool our resources? A community effort would be much more effective."
"What is it with you, girl?" Betty asked grumpily.
Her teeth were back. Lake wasn't sure if that made him worried or relieved.
"What do you mean?" Rainne bristled.
She tucked a strand of now multi-coloured hair behind her ear. Lake didn't interfere. This was the most animated he'd seen his sister since he'd arrived in Invertary.
"I mean," Betty said as she pointed her bony finger at Rainne, "you seem to have a problem with healthy competition, lass."
"This isn't healthy competition," Rainne said. "You two keep talking about war. There's nothing healthy about that. There's nothing healthy about you two, either."
She folded her arms over her purple work dungarees.
"You can't go through life letting people walk over you. You need to grow a backbone," Betty told her.
Lake thought he should maybe point out that if Rainne stopped letting people walk over her, then Betty would lose a hobby.
"See?" Rainne flushed red as she spoke. "That's the problem with the world. We don't cooperate enough. We should start a committee." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "A lingerie committee. We could set up a great cooperative. The whole town would benefit."
Lake couldn't take it any more. It was as though his sister was channelling their mother.
"No one would benefit," Lake said. "The more people involved in the decision-making process, the less gets done."
"That's not true, Lake," Rainne said. "You grew up in a cooperative, you should know better."
She actually sounded hurt as she spoke, which had the effect of increasing his irritation rather than making him feel contrite. He'd hoped that running a shop would be good for her. Would teach her a thing or two about the real world. Would get her away from their parents for the first time in her life. Instead she'd let the shop sink further into debt and showed absolutely no interest in making it work.
"I remember well how things were in the commune," he said. "There's a reason I joined the army as soon as I was legally allowed. I was desperate for someone to make a decision, for someone to stand up and take responsibility. I can tell you, from experience, that life is a whole lot better when there's structure."
"How can you say that?"
Yet again tears began to pool in her big blue eyes. Lake sighed wearily. He put down his board marker and gave his sister his full attention. He'd held his tongue for weeks, listening to this crap, and now he'd had enough.
"Look," he told her. "You're twenty-six, Rainne. You can't hold down a job or a relationship. You flit from thing to thing, following the rainbow and hoping for a happy ending. You know nothing about how life works. And you obviously have the business sense of a cucumber. Don't you think that if you had a more realistic view of life things wouldn't keep going pear shaped? You had an opportunity here. A chance to make something for yourself. To be independent. Yet you don't seem to care."
"Maybe that's because you rode into town and took over. It isn't my business any more. It's yours. I never wanted any of this. You bullied your way in here and stole it from me."
"Don't forget whose money is tied up in this, little sis," he said, feeling his temper stretch.
"How could I forget with you mentioning it every second? You never even gave me a chance to make a go of things."
"I gave you six months. What did you do in that time? Please, tell me. Because we went even further into the red. And when I turned up the place looked like it was stuck in the '60s. You hadn't even changed the damn sign."
She thrust her hands into the pockets of her dungarees.
"I was working on it. I had an idea for environmentally sustainable underwear. I was researching suppliers."
"Who was going to make this underwear? Design it? Finance it? Were you going to do anything with the shop while you were working on this?" He stepped towards her, wanting to shake her for being so unrealistic. Wanting her to grow up.
"I would have been fine. You didn't need to rush in to rescue me."
"I came to rescue my savings."
"Money again." She looked disgusted.
"Don't give me that." He was about ten seconds away from throttling her. "Every time you call, I help you. Every single time. I kept hoping that this would be the time that you grew up, that you saw how the world really worked. I wanted you to learn to stand on your own two feet. I don't see you calling River, or Brooke, for help. And I'll tell you why, because deep down you know that they won't be any help."
The tears started to fall. He balled his fists. Wishing she wouldn't cry. Wishing she would fight. For once.
"That's not fair. Brooke is still in a kibbutz and River is really busy with lobbying the government."
"You mean protesting in a tent camp in London."
"It's important!"
Lake threw up his hands in disgust.
"I'm not saying any of this isn't important—to him, anyway. What I'm saying is that you live in this world, not in some commune somewhere. And your skills for this world suck."
"In that case, maybe I should just go find a commune and get out of your hair."
"Maybe you should."
Rainne wiped her face with the back of her hand.
"See, this is why Mum and Dad struggle to talk to you. You've sold out. You're part of the system. You want to control us. Just like the rest of them. You don't like free thought, or free speech. You want everyone to behave themselves and do what they're told."
Lake took a step towards her, making her flinch. He clenched his jaw and moved away
from her again.
"The reason you have freedom of thought and speech is because there are people like me on the front lines fighting for it. So no, little sister, I don't have a problem with freedom. I have a problem with my family. I've listened to this crap all my life. According to you lot having the freedom to choose your own life is great—as long as you agree with it. You don't want people to make up their own minds. You want them to think what you think. Well, I don't. I don't interfere with your life. Or the rest of the family. I let you lot live like natives, now how about you leave me to be me?"
Tears were flowing down Rainne's face now. Betty looked disgusted.
"I won't be a part of this," Rainne sobbed, and then she fled.
"Good riddance to useless rubbish," said Betty.
"Watch it," Lake snapped. "You crossed the line. That's my sister you're talking about. There's nothing useless about her."
Betty actually looked shocked for a change. Her mouth snapped shut. Lake stared at the space where Rainne had been. He had no idea what to do about her. His chest hurt from worry. She wasn't equipped for the world. How the hell was she going to live? He rubbed his chest through his T-shirt.
"I'm going for a run," he said.
"Now?" Betty was bewildered and none too happy that the meeting had ended before the juicy part.
"Yeah, now. We'll pick this up tomorrow."
He went upstairs to get changed.
"I'm sorry," Rainne said through sobs.
It seemed that the only things she did these days were cry or apologise.
"Come here," Alastair said, and pulled her in through the door of his tiny house.
"Who is it?" his flatmate Stephen shouted from the kitchen.
"Rainne," Alastair called back.
Rainne was about to say that she would leave, that she couldn't face anyone else.
"We'll be in my room," Alastair shouted.
He took her hand and led her up the narrow staircase. At the top were two doors. He opened the one on the left. Rainne hesitated on the threshold.
"It's okay," he said, and tugged her gently inside.
The walls were grey, the curtains were standard rental house brown and the carpet was a colour she couldn't describe. The closest she could come was baby-poop green. There was a double bed wedged in the corner under the sloping roof, an old wooden wardrobe, a desk covered with fishing gear and a laptop sitting on a chair. The place was surprisingly clean and tidy.
"Sit down," he said.
She looked around but didn't know where to sit. The bed seemed like the wrong place.
"Ah, okay, wait a minute," Alastair told her.
He disappeared. She heard pounding on the stairs, then he reappeared with a large beanbag. He plopped it in the middle of the poop-coloured carpet.
"Sit, I'll get soup. Stephen made potato."
Then he was gone again.
Rainne lowered herself onto the beanbag and instantly felt better. No matter where they'd lived growing up, she'd always had a beanbag. It felt comforting and familiar. Brushing a tear from her cheek, she studied the room. The posters on the walls were science-fiction-based, mainly Star Trek, and from her position close to the floor she could see that the space under the bed was stuffed with books. It made her smile. Alastair was a geek.
"Here," he said as he entered the room. "This will make you feel better."
He handed her a large mug filled with steaming potato soup. Then put a plate with bread and a spoon beside her. She picked up the spoon and stirred the soup. Alastair crouched in front of her. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, but he didn't say anything. More silent tears slid down Rainne's cheeks. She was so incredibly lost.
"I didn't know where else to go," she said in a small voice she didn't recognise.
"You came to the right place." His voice was so strong and soothing.
"I don't always cry," she said to her soup.
"Good to know."
It sounded like a smile in his voice. Rainne felt herself relax for the first time in weeks. She looked up into her boy's eyes and nothing else mattered. Somehow she knew, in those few seconds, that Alastair would make everything better.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lake wasn't stupid. If he planned to get through the days before the relaunch of his shop without further sabotage, then he needed to know what Kirsty was up to. He waited patiently until the early hours of the morning, when people were in their deepest sleep, to act. Carrying a torch, a knife and his iPhone, he crept around to the back door of Kirsty's shop. One swipe of his knife and the door was open. He shook his head in disgust. She needed to get better locks; a kid could break into this place.
Years of training enabled him to move silently through the office space. There was no noise from the flat above him. Kirsty was sound asleep. He was surprised to find that she was designing her own lingerie. Surprised and kind of impressed. He fingered one of the bras. They were pretty. He shook his head to clear it. Spending all his time around lingerie, and mad women, was affecting his brain.
He rifled through the desk, making sure that everything was put back exactly where he found it. He smiled when he came across her plans for a Christmas fashion show. Now that was interesting. He could do something with that. He booted up the laptop and wasn't even surprised to see that there was no password to protect it. Her browser bookmarked her bank account and, lo and behold, she'd let the browser save her password. He cursed under his breath as one click let him have access to her financial information. He seriously had to do something about this woman. She was completely vulnerable; anyone could come in and rip her off.
Her bank details made for grim reading. She was in a worse spot than he was. Looking around him, he couldn't figure out why that was. She had a nice shop, good merchandise and a decent business plan. As far as he could see there was no reason she shouldn't be raking in the cash. It didn't make any sense. He clicked on the other bookmarked site and grinned—her new website. He'd heard rumours. Obviously, it was now up and running. The visitor counter at the bottom of the page read thirteen. He cringed. She wasn't going to sell through the site if no one was looking at it.
He flicked open his phone.
"I need you to do something for me," he said by way of hello.
"Great to hear from you too, Lake," said his army mate.
Lake grinned.
"No time to chat. I need you to hack a website and make the same pop-up message appear every time someone clicks on something."
"That sounds simple enough. Why don't you do it yourself?" John said. "I'm busy doing proper work. As in work that will make us a lot of money when the business is up and running."
"You can spare ten minutes."
"So can you."
"Are you going to do this or not?"
"Are you going to stop screwing around in Scotland and sell that business so we can get on with our lives?"
"Trust me," said Lake. "There is nothing I would like more. But until the place shows a profit, I'm stuck with it. Now, if you want to speed things up, how about you help me sabotage the competition?"
He picked up some beads in a dish beside the monitor. Ugly pink paper things.
"Fine," John grumbled.
Lake let the beads slide through his fingers as he listened to the grumbling in his ear.
"What's the address?" John said at last.
Lake rattled off the website address as he held the beads in the palm of his hand. They were heavier than they looked.
"What do you want the pop-up to say?"
Lake grinned as he put the beads back in the dish.
"I want it to say, 'Buy your lingerie from Lake Benson's shop', and put the phone number." He told him what it was.
"Yeah, I can see you're being really productive," his friend said drolly. "When you're done messing with your girlfriend's website, how about you spend some time thinking about what you could be doing? I leave for Singapore on Monday to babysit some prince. All ex
penses, plus hefty fee and I get to wear a gun. Wouldn't you rather be doing that?"
Hell yes, Lake thought, but before he could answer John had hung up.
Another few minutes poking around the place and it was clear that Kirsty planned her sabotage elsewhere. He glanced upwards in the direction of her flat and then headed for the stairs. The lock on the door to the flat hadn't been turned—obviously Kirsty thought it was enough to lock the shop downstairs. The more he wandered around her home, the more he worried about her. This might be Invertary, but it didn't mean she could give up on safety. As soon as this war was over, he was going to take her in hand and sort out her security. Until then, it would drive him crazy knowing that she was wide open for any nutter to walk right in.
Her home was exactly as he'd expected—stylish, soft and understated. Just like Kirsty. The place was neat, as a home should be. As his home would be, if he had one. Even the pictures on the wall were tasteful. He made his way through the small rooms, noticing that there were no photos anywhere. Strange, but not unusual. Not everyone put their family pictures on the wall; some people preferred albums. Out of curiosity he checked the shelves in the living room—no photo albums. There was also no evidence of her latest plot against him.
It occurred to him that the plotting might be taking place somewhere else entirely. Then it slowly dawned on him. The day he was fixing the plumbing, she'd said she knew who did it. Not that she did it. He hung his head. Her mother. He should have checked the mother. Still, it wasn't a wasted trip. The website should keep her out of mischief for a while at least.
As he turned to leave the flat, he heard a little moan coming from the bedroom. He stilled. There was no reason to go in there. None at all. His feet didn't pay any attention; they walked towards the noise. The door was ajar. Soft light filtered through the thin curtains. Lake felt his heart pound at his ribcage as he looked for Kirsty. She was lying on her belly in the middle of her bed. The duvet had slipped to her hips. One foot dangled over the edge of the bed. Even covered in long-sleeved pyjamas, she was beautiful. The fabric had pulled tight around her as she'd moved in her sleep. He could make out the slender curve of her back and the gleam of creamy skin at her neck. Her full lips parted as she moaned again. The soft, intimate noise of sleep. His chest tightened and his fingers actually hurt from wanting to touch her.
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