Miss Fairmont and The Gentleman Investigator

by Pat White

  Maybe then Grace could find peace.

  BOBBY SPLASHED cold water on his face, needing to shock himself back to reality. Studying his reflection in the mirror he noted the few day’s growth of beard, rough to the touch.

  Yet she’d kissed him anyway.

  Splash. Splash. He tried to wash the memory out of his mind.

  He could tell she’d wanted to kiss him again just now as they stood by the window overlooking the countryside. She’d wanted to kiss him and he’d barely held on to his self-control.

  Not good. Need to get your perspective back, mate.

  He had to get control of this thing.

  “She has a boyfriend,” he said to himself in the mirror.

  A boyfriend and she’s an emotional wreck. She’d be attracted to any male who offered a shoulder. It’s not like she wants you, Bobby Finn.

  No, she had a straight-up bloke waiting for her back home; a boring financial analyst with a daily routine of workouts at his club and fresh salads for lunch. He probably rotated his mattress regularly and bought a new toothbrush every few weeks.

  Then there was Bobby, who lived in a constant state of chaos, not knowing where he’d be going next, which murderer he’d be tracking.

  For a second he wondered what it would be like to wake up every morning to a fresh-faced girl like Grace, to go to a boring job and come home to share dinner with her.

  The second passed.

  “It’s a bit fancy for a bloke like me,” Bobby said, coming out of the hoity-toity bathroom.

  The bedroom was empty. “Bloody Nora,” he muttered.

  They’d only been apart five minutes, couldn’t have been more.

  “Grace,” he called, hoping she’d materialize from under the bed.

  He went into the hallway. “Grace!”

  His voice echoed back at him. Racing downstairs, his mind rattled off possibilities. She’s gone down for tea with her cousin, mate. Nothing life-threatening.

  He tried to check the office but it was locked. He poked his head into the empty study, then went to the kitchen. He swung the door open and found Lydia kneading dough.

  “Have you seen Grace?” he asked.

  “I’ve seen her.”

  “Where has she gone?”

  With an icy glare, she looked up at him. “She should have gone back to the States. If you really cared about her you’d take her back. This afternoon.”

  “I tried that already. She needs to find answers.”

  “She’s going to find trouble is what she’s going to find. Her mother was trouble and paid for it with her life. Tell the girl to go home and enjoy her nice, safe life. She won’t like what she finds here.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I sent her out to the barn.” She went back to wrestling with the dough. “She wants answers? She’ll find them out there, in her mother’s trunk.”

  “She’s not like her mother,” Bobby said. “Grace is a sweet girl.”

  “That will change when she finds out the truth.”

  Bobby went out the back door and raced to the barn.

  That will change when she finds out the truth.

  He wouldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let her mother’s past dim Grace’s sparkling personality. She was a sweet, intelligent girl with a warm heart and no ulterior motives. Whatever her mother’s sins, Bobby wouldn’t let Grace take those on herself.

  He pushed open the barn door. “Grace?”

  “I’m here.”

  A shaft of sunlight streamed through a top window, lighting Grace as she sat on the floor. Photographs and papers filled her lap. A black trunk lay open in front of her.

  He approached and she glanced up, a lost expression on her face. “Mom’s stuff.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  She didn’t answer, but held up a newspaper clipping from 1972. The headline read, Bloody Sunday.

  “That was a very bad day,” he said.

  “But why would she have this in her trunk?”

  He knelt next to her. He could tell from the look in her eyes that the possibility of her mum being involved with the PIRA was starting to sink in.

  “I don’t believe it,” she whispered.

  “It’s nice outside, Grace. Let’s take a drive,” he suggested, afraid of what else she would find.

  “And there’s this.” She handed him a photograph of a group of young people.

  “That’s my mom.” She pointed to a girl, her hair in a ponytail, wearing a big smile.

  “She’s almost as cute as you.”

  “Her friend, the boy on the right? He was arrested.” She handed him another newspaper clipping featuring a mug shot of the same dark-haired boy.

  “That doesn’t mean anything, Grace.”

  “Thanks for trying.” She glanced back at the pile of clippings and photographs.

  He took her hands in his. “You can make up stories in your mind or you can wait to speak with your aunt and uncle tonight at dinner. They’ll tell you the truth, good or bad. This—” he motioned to the trunk and its contents “—is just torturing yourself. Come on, luv, it’s an excellent day for a hike.”

  He placed the photographs and clippings back in the trunk and shut it, then pulled her to her feet.

  “I don’t get you,” she said.

  “What, you don’t think I’m the out-of-doors type?”

  “You act like…”

  “Like a bossy wanker? I know. It’s a bad habit of mine, always ordering people around.” He started walking, hanging on to her hand, taking pleasure in its warmth. Her warmth. He would not let this girl be destroyed by her mother’s sins.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said, as they stepped out of the barn into the sunshine.

  “I don’t have to take you out to see the countryside? What else would you have us do? Sit in our room and read all afternoon? How bloody boring.”

  “I meant you don’t have to keep trying to cheer me up,” she clarified.

  He squeezed her hand and kept walking. “Do you need anything from the room?”

  “No,” she said. “I could use something to eat, though.”

  “We’ll grab lunch on the way out of town.”

  “Where are you taking me today, Mr. Finn?”

  “Well, Miss Fairmont.” He smiled at her. “I hear there’s a spectacular place just north of town called the Pass of Killiecrankie.”

  They walked to the car and he opened the door for her. She hesitated and looked into his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.” She smiled and slid into the passenger seat.

  He shut the door, struggling with the thought of an entire afternoon walking the countryside with Grace beside him, because, truth was, he was more than glad to be with her.

  He felt whole when helping her, as though all his past failings were washed away every bloody moment he looked into her crystal-blue eyes.

  Don’t look too much, Finn. It’s only an illusion.

  “IT’S AMAZING,” she said, her eyes widening as they started up the trail, her camera bag over her shoulder.

  They were surrounded by lush green forest. The sound of the River Garry rushing through a deep gorge below echoed through the pine and birch trees.

  He was glad he’d brought her here. It seemed to have brightened her spirits a bit. She’d eaten little of her sandwich at lunch, even with his encouragement. There was too much going on, she’d said. Too much upheaval.

  Like the upheaval in his chest whenever he let his gaze linger too long on her beautiful face?

  They strolled along the trail, the sounds of nature making this a serene experience, surreal even. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a forest; his work always kept him in crowded, noisy cities.

  “There’s an attraction up ahead called Soldier’s Leap,” he said. “The story goes that a fleeing soldier leapt between two rocks and eluded his enemy.”

  She nodded, smiled. He wished she’d say something.

  Now, there�
�s a first. Bobby Finn actually wanting a woman to speak.

  They walked a bit and reached The Pass.

  “Wow,” she said, standing on the very rock the soldier had jumped from. “It’s so quiet out here.”

  He was thinking the same thing. Quiet and peaceful.

  Actually perfect, with Grace standing slightly above him, the thick forest framing her face, the slight wind tossing her hair about her cheeks.

  “What?” she said with a laugh.

  “Nothing,” he said, embarrassed that he’d been caught again so obviously admiring her. “There are other places like this close by, Blair Castle, for instance. Here, let me take your photograph.”

  She handed him her camera bag and he snapped a few shots. He wanted to ask for copies, but didn’t.

  She stared into the water below and took a deep breath. “It’s so peaceful.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Does your job keep you in the city?”

  “Mostly, but our last case took us to a small coastal town off the Pacific Ocean.”

  “What was it about?”

  “A boy had gone missing. Authorities thought he’d drowned, but our team wanted to pursue the kidnapping angle.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask, did it turn out okay?”

  “Yes, actually. We found the boy, no thanks to me.”

  “Sore subject?”

  “A bit. I looked right into the eyes of the man who was blackmailing the family and didn’t have a clue he was the culprit. I hate being fooled like that.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  He eyed her. “Who fooled you?”

  “My father, for one. He should have told me about Mom’s dark past long before now.”

  “He was trying to protect you.”

  “He lied.”

  “He didn’t lie exactly, he just withheld information. There’s a difference.”

  “Sure, okay, if you say so.” She turned to look across the river.

  “I’ve made you cross,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  She had enough to deal with, poor girl. His job was to protect her and keep her happy.

  Admit it, mate, keeping her happy has little to do with this job at this point.

  A sound echoed from a mass of trees behind him. He jumped in front of Grace, shielding her.

  “What was that?” she said.

  “Probably a fox.” He eyed the dense grove. “Ready to go back?”

  “Sure,” she said, as if she sensed danger beyond the trees.

  He led her up the path to the rental.

  “My camera,” she said. “I left it back there.”

  “Get in the car. I’ll go fetch it.”

  “But—”

  “Stay in the car, Grace. I’ll be right back.”

  “Bobby—”

  He shut the door on her protest. Walking back to retrieve the camera, he scanned the woods looking for anything out of place: bright colors, something reflective.

  Don’t see danger where there isn’t any, mate.

  Yet Bobby could feel the threat, be it human or wild animal. He grabbed hold of the camera-bag strap and straightened.

  A click echoed behind him. “Don’t turn around.”

  Blast, he was right to trust his instincts. Bobby raised his hands.

  “Good chap.” A set of hands patted him down, searching, he presumed, for a weapon, while the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head.

  “I’m not armed,” Bobby said.

  Someone affixed a blindfold to his eyes. They were terrorists, out to kidnap him? No, he couldn’t be taken away from Grace. They’re probably going to take her, too, mate.

  He grabbed the bastard’s wrist and spun around, but the gunman knocked Bobby across the back of the head and he went face-down to the wet earth.

  He couldn’t see, didn’t know how close they were, where the barrel of the gun was pointed.

  But he could guess.

  Stupid, bloody fool. You never should have left her.

  “Can we be gentlemen about this, Mr. Finn?”

  “What do you want?” Bobby said.

  “The girl, what does she know about her mother?” It was a woman’s voice this time.

  “You’re with the PIRA?” Bobby said.

  Someone kicked him in the gut. “Don’t ask questions. Answer them,” the man said.

  “She doesn’t know anything,” Bobby coughed. “She didn’t even know her mother.”

  “Then why is she here?” the woman asked.

  “It’s a bloody soul-searching mission.”

  Silence.

  “She’s trying to find herself, to find some sort of emotional peace before she moves on with her life,” he continued.

  “She’s in danger,” the woman said.

  “No bloody kidding.”

  He thought he’d get another kick for that, but didn’t.

  “That smart-aleck attitude could get you killed.”

  “Bobby!” Grace called from the car.

  “Don’t answer her,” the man ordered.

  “Leave her alone,” Bobby said. “She doesn’t know anything.”

  The barrel of the gun pressed against his temple. “And neither do you. You didn’t see us, this didn’t happen.”

  “I understand.”

  “Smart chap. Now, if you’re really that smart, you’ll lie quite still and keep your eyes closed.” The blindfold was ripped off. “If you move, we’ll track you down and kill you both.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Stay in the car, he’d ordered her.

  Ordered. And Grace wasn’t taking orders anymore. She could go back and get her own darned camera. She’d forgotten it. “He’s just trying to be a gentleman,” she whispered.

  She headed back up the trail, pepper spray in hand. “Bobby?” He didn’t answer. He surely had to hear her. “Bobby, answer me!”

  She was getting angry, worried and a bit scared.

  Her pulse raced as she forged farther up the trail, paying close attention to her surroundings; the birds chirping, the wind whistling through the trees. She heard a man and woman chatting up ahead. They were off in the distance, and she could only see their backs as they continued along the trail. Is that what she and Bobby had heard? Other tourists?

  A few hundred feet down the trail she spotted something bright green in the woods. The shirt she’d bought Bobby as a joke. He’d put it on this morning.

  “Bobby,” she whispered and went to his side.

  She kneeled beside him and noticed a bump at the base of his skull. “My God, what happened?”

  He opened his eyes, squinting at first. Then he sat up and glanced around. “I—” He looked at her, then to their surroundings. “I’m not sure.”

  “Let’s get you up.” Gripping his arm she helped him stand. His hair was mussed, his eyes glassy and his clothes were covered with mud. “Did you fall or—”

  “I don’t remember.” Panic edged his voice.

  Now he seemed shaken, spooked.

  “Let’s go. I’ll drive.” She led him to the car.

  With a deep, fortifying breath she focused on getting him back to the bed-and-breakfast and settling him down. But if he had a concussion, should he rest or be taken to a clinic?

  “We’ll find a doctor,” she said.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t going to argue and upset him further, not now, anyway. They drove back to the house and she helped him to the room. He changed into fresh clothes.

  “Lie down,” she ordered.

  “Don’t leave,” he said as she tucked the blanket over his fully clothed body.

  She touched his forehead. He burned.

  “I’m always hot, remember?” he explained with a smile.

  “I’m worried about you,” she admitted.

  A second passed. Her hand still touched his face. She wished she could crawl into bed with him, but he’d object for sure.

  “I’m going
downstairs to get you some ice for the nasty bump on your head.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand. “A cool cloth from the bathroom will be fine. Don’t leave, please?”

  She went to the bathroom and ran a washcloth under cold water. Glancing into the mirror, she realized she could probably use a rest herself. Her eyes were bloodshot and worry lines creased her forehead.

  Walking back into the room, she noticed the clouds had masked the sun outside.

  “I think I remember,” he said.

  She sat on the bed and pressed the cloth to base of his head.

  “I lost my footing and slipped. Must have hit my head.”

  She eyed him. Something didn’t feel right. He was lying to her. But why?

  “I’ve got some aspirin,” she offered.

  “Maybe later. I need to rest. You…you can lie down, as well, if you’d like.”

  She stretched out beside him, staring at the plaster ceiling and wondering why this felt so comfortable, especially when she knew he was keeping something from her.

  “Can I ask a favor?” she said.

  “What kind of favor?”

  “Please, don’t lie to me. Ever. Can you do that?”

  “No.”

  “No?” She turned and their faces nearly touched. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  “My first priority is to keep you safe. If I must lie to do that, then I will.”

  “But I need to be able to trust you.”

  “You can. Just know I’m always looking out for your best interest.”

  “My best interest is the truth,” she said, her gaze drifting to his full lips.

  “Your best interest is staying safe.”

  “I’ve been safe my whole life,” she whispered. “But have I lived?”

  He glanced back at the ceiling.

  She reached out and guided his eyes to meet hers. “Why are you so afraid of me?”

  He didn’t answer, just stared at her with that lost expression. She pressed her cheek to his chest and closed her eyes.

  BOBBY AWAKENED a few hours later. Something ached inside his chest as he felt Grace’s body against his. He couldn’t believe she’d snuggled up to him with such complete trust, especially since he sensed she knew he was hiding something.

  No one had had that much faith in him. Well, no one besides, maybe, Max Templeton.

  Not telling her about the assault by the mysterious couple was the right thing to do, at least until he determined who had attacked him, who had asked questions about Grace. Terrorists would have killed him for sure, which meant they were MI5 agents, didn’t it? He needed more help from the Blackwell Group, more background information to help him piece this together.