by Pat White
The lead cop turned around and eyed Bobby. “You’ll get back when we’re done.”
THEY PULLED into an old warehouse parking lot.
“In there,” the driver cop said. “No one will hear anything.”
Adrenaline pounded through Bobby’s veins. He was going to be beaten and tortured. Why? Because of his criminal background? No, there was something else going on here.
They parked and the lead cop opened his door. “Out with ya.”
Bobby took a deep breath, scooted out and shouldered the guy in the gut. They both went down.
“Christ almighty!” the guy said.
Bobby was pulled off by the second cop, who spun him around and slugged him in the gut. Bobby went down gasping for breath.
“He messed up my uniform,” the first cop said, kicking him in the chest.
Bobby rolled away, his ribs aching from the kick.
“Let’s get this over with. Hold him.”
Bobby was pulled to his feet and held up by one cop while the other slugged him again. Sure, they didn’t want to damage his face or anything so obvious.
As he struggled to recover, something pricked his arm. He was tossed to the gravel drive, his head slamming against the rugged stones.
He lay there, dazed, trying to make sense of what was happening. All this for stealing a pair of trousers and a shirt? Bollocks. Even with his record, his criminal background was nothing compared to his years at Scotland Yard, where he’d tried desperately to make up for his sins.
Where he’d met Max Templeton and got a second chance, and a third with the Blackwell Group: finding a serial killer, saving a lost boy, protecting Grace.
Max. Cassie. Grace.
She was vulnerable, too innocent. Too sweet to be involved in anything like this.
Like what? Like violence and torture?
Torture. Failure. Grace. He was failing again.
Couldn’t think. Thoughts spinning as if he’d drunk too much ale. A pint. Three pints. How much had he had with Art last night? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember why he was here on the ground, gravel digging into his cheek.
Suddenly sitting up.
Who hired him? Why was he watching Grace? What about her mother?
That’s why Grace was here, in Scotland, yes, that’s why she’d come. She wanted to find out about her mum, where she’d lived as a girl.
The past. Leave the past alone. Bobby knew that. Hadn’t spoken to Uncle Thomas since his aunt’s funeral. Bastard.
The man on the train. His name? Harry Franklin. Earring, worn trainers, expensive suit. Inspector Parker. Helpful chap. Gave her his card.
His brain fast-forwarded through the last forty-eight hours. He could hardly focus. The fall must have knocked him senseless.
Brains rattled. Would be fine in the morning. They were trying to help him, keep him on the straight and narrow.
Like Max. Max always helped. Had faith in Bobby.
Where was he going next? Up north, where?
Maybe Pitlochry. Mentioned in her diary.
Diary?
Dark leather, with ties. Saw it on her nightstand. Mother’s notes to her daughter. Dead mother.
What happened to mother?
Died in a car accident. Died when Grace was a baby. Didn’t know her mum.
Where did Mum grow up?
Don’t know. Mum was gone, dead. Grace was a baby. Grace…she didn’t like having someone follow her, act as her bodyguard.
Not much of a bodyguard, is he? They’re calling. Have to report back.
Pulled to his feet. Bobby struggled to get balance.
Must have hit his head when he fell outside the shop. Probably a concussion. Will take him to a clinic, call the girl. He’ll be fine.
In the backseat, spinning, everything spinning.
Thought they were going to torture him. Paranoid chap.
Blur of images, buildings, steel fence. Feeling sick. Close eyes.
Relax, mate. Would be over soon. Would wake up right as rain.
“Grace.” He breathed her name.
Save her. Had to help her. Had to…sleep.
GRACE PACED around Bobby’s hospital bed. The police believed he’d knocked himself stupid when his head hit the sidewalk. Bull. He was conscious when they drove off. Something else had happened to him. He’d been out for three hours.
If this wasn’t a case of brutality, she didn’t know what was. He’d obviously been knocked unconscious by the two cops who’d arrested him outside the shop.
Why? It was a misunderstanding. Guilt tore at her stomach. If she hadn’t run off, chasing after a ghost who looked like her boyfriend, Bobby wouldn’t have run out of the store after her. He wouldn’t have been taken away by the cops and wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed.
“Miss Fairmont?” A man wearing a navy suit, crisp white shirt and maroon tie stood in the doorway.
“Yes?” She stepped closer to Bobby and touched his hand in a protective gesture.
“I’m Detective Inspector Owen. I want to apologize for any misunderstanding.” He took a few steps into the room.
“No misunderstanding,” she said. “Your men abused my friend.”
“I’m sorry you think so, miss. I’ll look into it.”
“You do that.”
She stroked the back of Bobby’s hand. She and Bobby had the absolute worst luck.
“It’s an easy fix,” the inspector said.
She glared at him. “Really?”
“We’ll drop the theft charges and you don’t pursue this line of thinking.”
“You mean the one that dictates I notify your superiors about police brutality?”
He glanced at the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no point in that, miss. If your boyfriend hadn’t stolen the clothes none of this would have happened.”
“He didn’t steal anything. He ran out of the shop because he was worried about me.”
“Why’s that, miss?”
She shook her head. Bobby seemed to be sleeping so peacefully.
“You’re here on holiday then?” the inspector asked.
“Yes.”
“I’d hate to hold you up with unnecessary paperwork. I’ll give your bloke the benefit of the doubt and you can be on your way.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Unless you feel that’s unfair.”
“It’s fine,” she said, frustrated, wanting to head north sooner than later.
“Good day, then.”
She didn’t look up, but sensed the inspector leave the room.
She squeezed Bobby’s hand, remembering what the doctor had said. It seemed like a minor concussion, nothing to be alarmed about. Then why was he still asleep?
She sat in the chair and rubbed the back of his hand. He looked so still and broken, nothing like the man who’d protected her on the train or stood watch outside her room at the inn.
He seemed completely drained of energy.
Because of her.
No, she wouldn’t take full responsibility. She didn’t want him tagging along on this trip. That had been Dad’s idea.
“Wendy,” Bobby muttered.
Great, now he was dreaming about old girlfriends.
“Bobby? It’s me, Grace. Can you hear me?”
He moaned and squeezed the sheets between his fingers.
“Shh. It’s okay now,” she said.
“No!” He sat up, gasping for air. His eyes were open but not totally focused.
“Bobby, look at me. It’s Grace. Do you know who I am?”
“Grace?” His brown eyes widened, he swallowed, then fell back against the bed. “Where am I?”
“At the hospital. You lost consciousness.”
“How?”
“They said when you fell and hit your head on the sidewalk, remember? Outside the tartan store?”
He pinned her with his gaze. “You were gone.”
“I’m sorry, really, I’m an idiot.”
&
nbsp; “Where did you go?”
“It’s stupid, and now it caused this. I feel like a jerk.”
“Where?”
“I saw that guy, the one who looks like Steven, and I thought it was him. He glanced at me through the window and gave me this weird look. I ran outside but lost him in the crowd. You ran after me and forgot to change your pants. The cops came for you and you fell and knocked your head on the cement, which makes no sense because you spoke to me before they took you away.”
“What did I say?”
“You said that your pants were still in the fitting room. I got them, and your wallet and went to the station. Then the cops called and said you were being brought to the hospital.”
“I fell. Hit my head on the rocks.”
“Not rocks, the sidewalk. Do you remember?”
“Not really.”
“He’s awake?” A doctor came into the room with a clipboard in his hand. “Excellent.”
“He doesn’t remember things,” she said.
“To be expected. There’s minor swelling around the brain, nothing serious, but even a slight contusion can cause memory issues. You remember this pretty lass, eh, Bobby?” the doctor said.
Bobby looked at her. “I remember Grace.”
“Very good. How about where you are?”
“Ireland.”
She looked at the doctor.
“You’re in Edinburgh,” the doctor corrected. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I’m with Grace.”
“When is your birthday?”
“October 7, 1974.”
“Good, excellent. We need to keep you overnight, young man.” He glanced at Grace. “Just as a precaution.”
“But you said it wasn’t serious.” She’d kick herself if he was seriously injured because she’d flaked out and gone chasing after a ghost.
“I don’t think it is. But my recommendation is to let him spend the night to be sure. You may stay for another few hours if you wish.” The doctor smiled and left.
She studied Bobby, who didn’t seem to have any visible head injury, yet looked out of it. “What happened?” She took a step toward him and he glanced away, out the window. He was angry with her.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “I saw this guy who looked like Steven and I thought he’d come over to check on me, but that’s impossible because he could never get here that quickly.”
“Like the police.”
“Excuse me?”
“They showed up too bloody fast.” His eyes met hers. “It’s like they were around the corner waiting to arrest me. I’m not even sure they were legitimate police.”
“Then what were they?”
He closed his eyes.
A few minutes passed in silence.
“Just relax, let them take care of you tonight,” she said.
“I can’t relax.” He pinned her with his dark-brown eyes. “I need to keep you safe.”
For a second he sounded as if he cared about her. No, he didn’t respect her, didn’t think her able to take care of herself. Yet he was the one lying in the hospital bed.
“How did you hurt your head?” she said.
“I don’t remember, exactly.”
“They claim you fell.”
“Against the gravel, yes, I remember that.”
“There wasn’t any gravel on the sidewalk.”
He sat a little straighter and fisted his left hand. His usual expression, one of mild humor, faded and he stared into space as if remembering something.
“Bobby?”
“You need to get me out of here.” He pulled the IV needle from his hand and climbed out of bed.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” she said.
“I’m fine. I can’t be here, especially if they’re going to send you home in a couple of hours.”
“I can take care of myself.”
He shot her a look of disbelief. She was tempted to hightail it out of there, but he’d find her eventually, or worse, chase after her in his hospital gown and get arrested for indecent exposure.
Why did she care? She didn’t want his company on this trip.
She stepped outside his hospital room and waited for him to dress. Maybe she didn’t welcome Bobby’s company, but she’d promised Dad. And in return he’d promised that he’d back off after this trip.
Most twenty-six-year-olds wouldn’t care about what their fathers thought, they would have moved far away by now—to the West Coast, or another country even. But Grace has always wanted to please her father, desperate to make him happy because for the longest time he’d always seemed so sad.
Because Mom had died.
Grace couldn’t bear to make him angry, to see that disappointment on his face. He’d frowned at her quite a bit during high school. Even though she’d kept her grades up, she’d had some fun, experimenting with alcohol and boys. She’d had her heart broken in high school when, behind Dad’s back, she’d managed to date bad boy Andy Peters. But instead of rubbing it in her face, when Dad found out he only said he was sorry and that although this was her first heartbreak, it would probably not be the last. He held her and told her it would be okay.
Thinking back, he’d always been there for her, when she’d succeeded and when she’d failed, and he’d never made her feel bad about her mistakes.
He’d been a great dad and still was.
Bobby stepped into the doorway and grabbed the frame to steady himself. “Let’s go.”
He took a few steps and wavered, so she placed his arm around her shoulder and steadied him.
“I can manage,” he said, looking down at her.
“I’m sure.” She pushed the elevator button and eyed the hallway. No one seemed to notice their escape.
“Did you find him?” Bobby said.
“Who?”
“Your boyfriend.”
“No.” The elevator door opened.
“Why do you think you keep seeing him?”
“Because I’m a nut. Who knows?” They rode the elevator to the first floor.
Not only was she nuts but she was a liar. She was lying to herself. She kept saying she wanted her independence, wanted to be her own woman and live her own life. Yet even now, in another country, she imagined Steven close by. Why? Because it made her feel more secure.
She’d never be a strong, independent woman this way. Damn, how had she ended up here?
She hailed a cab and they took off for the inn. The charges against Bobby had been dropped once she’d paid for the outfit and explained to the retailer what had happened. She studied him as he stared out the cab window, a dazed expression on his face.
They pulled up to the inn and she helped Bobby upstairs to her room. He kept shaking his head as if he were trying to clear it. She couldn’t very well make him sleep on the floor tonight. Maybe she’d get lucky and Mrs. McCarthy would have an opening.
They got to her room and he sat on the floor, tipping his head back against the flowered wallpaper.
She pulled down the covers and turned to him. “Come on, get in bed.”
“I’m fine,” he said, his eyes closed.
“Right. You could barely make it up the stairs.”
He got to his feet and stood firm for a second, then stumbled to the bed. “Bloody hell.”
She pulled the covers up to his shoulders, realizing they hadn’t found him a change of clothes, save the wild pants and shirt he’d worn out of the store. She doubted he’d put those on again.
Sprawled across the double mattress, Bobby looked like a giant in a junior bed. He rolled onto his side, away from her, and she decided this was the perfect time to make her escape.
She opened the door.
“Don’t go,” he said.
She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “What?”
“Don’t…leave.”
“I’m just going to get us something to eat. Okay? I’m hungry, it’s nearly supper time.”
“Grace,” he muttered
.
Then nothing. She waited a minute.
“Bobby?”
No response. Good, she could zip out and buy him some clothes, then pick up dinner. She left the room, making sure the door was locked.
She walked a few blocks and found a cab to take her to the shopping district. In record time she picked up three pair of jeans and a few plain black shirts. She also picked up underwear and socks, and thought how odd it felt to shop for Bobby. She’d never shopped for Steven.
She picked up a green shirt on sale. Wouldn’t hurt to try something different, she thought.
On the way back to the inn she stopped at a pub hoping for some fast, hot food to take back.
Surely food would make Bobby feel better.
Why are you worried about him, girl? He’s an employee, not a friend. Heck, she didn’t even know him that well.
But she certainly felt ashamed about the incident at the store today. She felt responsible. That’s what this was about—making things right. Things were still not quite right with Grace, and they wouldn’t be until she finished her quest and found peace.
Sitting on a pub stool, she thought about her plans for tomorrow: Edinburgh Castle. Mom had written about it in her diary, about its great strength and history, about its integrity.
About how she wanted to take Grace there someday.
“I’m here, Mom,” she whispered. “I wish you were.”
The waitress brought over two boxes of fish and chips, and Grace headed back to the inn. Since it was a beautiful night and not dark yet, she decided to walk to clear her head.
As she walked down Newington Street, she wondered if she could really accomplish what she’d set out to do with Bobby as her shadow. Sure she could. If he’d loosen up a bit, not panic and chase after her wearing a store’s merchandise. What was he so worried about, anyway? What could happen to her on a public street in broad daylight?
“Miss?” a male voice said behind her.
She reached for her can of pepper spray, tucked safely in her pocket. Heck, she didn’t even know if the thing shot more than once. In any case, she was ready.
Cripes. Now Bobby was making her paranoid.
She turned and froze at the sight of Harry Franklin smiling back at her.
Chapter Seven
“Didn’t expect to see me again, did you now?” Franklin grabbed her wrist.