by Emma Slate
“Yes.”
“Could it be possible that someone knew about their patrol? Times, changing of the guard, their route?”
“Have you told anyone else about this? Ash?”
I shook my head. “I wanted to tell you first. Flynn, do you believe me?”
“Where’s the note,” he asked instead of answering me.
“What note?”
“The note that you found on Mrs. Keith’s lap.”
I went to the bedside table and opened the drawer. I pulled out the folded piece of paper, not even wanting to look at it, knowing what it signified.
He took it and looked it over. His brow furrowed as he tried to work something out. “Where’s Duncan?” he asked.
“I think he’s still watching Ramsey interrogate Elliot.” I used the term ‘interrogate’ loosely.
He let out a curse in Gaelic. “I need to get down there before Ramsey renders Elliot unconscious. Do you want to come with me?”
I paused. “Will it be squeamish?”
“Probably.”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Because we were in a castle, and though it was restored and modernized, there was still a dungeon. Not actually a dungeon, but there was a stairwell that led to a basement of sorts. The dungeon area was equipped with a holding room, very much like a room in a police station, with two-way glass and cameras.
Duncan sat in a chair peering into the interrogation room. I watched him shift position, and he wasn’t able to conceal the grimace. When was the last time he’d taken a pain pill? Then again, they rendered him nearly comatose, and he was trying to remain alert.
“How’s it going down here?” Flynn asked Duncan.
“Man won’t talk. Damn soldiers. I thought we’d be able to break him, but…” he trailed off as he looked at me.
I shrugged. This was no place for nerves or disgust, so I shut it all down so I could focus on what was ahead of us.
“He hasn’t said anything? Nothing?” I wondered, finally looking towards the glass. Ramsey loomed over a bloody, bruised Elliot who was tied to a chair. His wrist was broken from falling out of his library window; I didn’t know how he was still conscious. His eyes were nearly swollen shut.
“Nothing. As you can see Ramsey’s been as persuasive as possible, but Elliot doesn’t care, doesn’t even engage.”
“Did you threaten his daughter?” I asked coldly.
I saw Flynn and Duncan exchange a look out of the corner of my eye, but I kept my gaze on the two men in the room. The violence should’ve turned my stomach, but I’d lived through a lot. I’d killed men. I could handle unusual things.
“Aye,” Duncan said. “But it didn’t make him talk. He says we can’t be trusted not to harm her even after we have the information we want.”
“Let me talk to him,” I said suddenly.
“Barrett—” Flynn began.
“Ramsey’s obviously not getting anywhere. Let me try. What do we have to lose?”
“This is not how things are done,” Duncan said softly, addressing Flynn, but it was me who answered.
“My son was stolen out of his crib from my home. Shit changes. Roll with it,” I snapped.
My eyes met Flynn’s. He was acting leader and my husband. Would he give me this? Did he trust me enough?
Finally, he nodded.
Duncan pressed a button and spoke into a microphone, “Ramsey. We need you.”
Ramsey dropped his arm to his side. He’d been ready to dole out another punch to Elliot’s already beaten form. Ramsey exited the cell door and shut it.
“Why’d I have to stop?” Ramsey asked. He looked at me, his face registering surprise. “Barrett. Hello.”
“Hello,” I greeted back. I looked at Flynn. “Do you have a knife?”
He frowned. “Aye.”
“May I have it?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to cut his hands loose.”
“You can’t—” Ramsey began.
“He’s about to lose consciousness. I want him awake and alert. Well, alert as possible. Please?” I asked, once again deferring to Flynn.
With a sigh, Flynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. He handed it to me.
“Thank you. Promise me something,” I said. Flynn raised an eyebrow and waited. “Don’t come in there unless my life is in danger. Unless he comes at me.”
“What are you going to do?” Flynn demanded.
“Promise me,” I commanded again.
He sighed, but then nodded once. “Aye. I promise.”
I paused but a moment, holding the switchblade in my hand before heading towards the cell door.
Chapter 17
The cell door was heavy, but I managed to open it. It slammed shut, a loud noise in the quiet. Elliot didn’t even look to see who had come for him. I moved to stand in his sight line, waiting until he lifted his head to look at me.
I could detect a smattering of surprise lurking in his brown eyes, but he remained silent.
“I’m going to cut your hands free,” I said, holding up the switchblade. “You promise you won’t try anything? They’ll be in here in a moment if you do.”
He nodded and I noted the exhaustion, the tension he tried to keep in his body. He was losing steam, and he was dangerously close to that place where he said anything just to end his pain. We wouldn’t be able to trust him then.
I went to the back of his chair and crouched. One wrist was purple and bruised. I gently placed my hand on his good wrist and quickly managed to free his hands.
He couldn’t stifle the moan of pain mixed with relief as he cradled his injured hand. He looked pale, even through the bruises on his face.
“If you think I’m going to tell you anything because you’re being nice to me, think again.”
“I don’t think that at all,” I said truthfully. There was another chair in the corner of the room; I dragged it in front of Elliot and took a seat.
We sat in silence for a long moment while we looked at each other, measuring.
“Do you remember Jane’s first smile?” I asked, shattering the quiet.
Elliot appeared surprised for a moment before quickly hiding his emotions. “Yes.”
“What was it like?” I wondered, leaning forward.
“It’s one of those moments you remember forever,” he said.
I nodded. “And one of those moments you never get back. Someone kidnapped Hawk.”
Elliot didn’t reply or react.
“I made my peace with it, you know.”
“Peace with what?” he asked.
“Peace with missing out on his milestones. If I miss his first smile, I’ll get over it. Just as long as I know he’s safe and happy. Just as long as I know I’ll get him back. Because, I can handle someone else seeing him smile for the first time, but I can’t reconcile a life where I don’t get to raise my son. See him become an exuberant toddler, a sullen and angry teenager, a man who finds the woman of his dreams. I can’t let go of all the hopes I have for him.”
Elliot’s jaw had unclenched during my speech, but still he didn’t say anything.
I stood up and pushed the chair away. My hands went to my jeans, and I undid the snap so I could shimmy out of them. And then I raised my shirt to show him my body.
“Look at me,” I commanded.
Elliot’s eyes trained on my stomach, to where I pointed.
“Do you see these marks? They tell a story. They remind me of the baby I carried inside me. You don’t know what it’s like, to feel your body being torn apart before getting the greatest gift the world has to offer. You’re a father, and that’s magic in its own right, but I’m a mother. I’m a mother and my arms are empty because my baby has been stolen from me.”
I let my shirt drop. “So I’m asking you, from one parent to another, for you to help me get my son back. And in return, I will see that your daughter comes to no harm.”
Elli
ot didn’t speak for a very long time; I continued to stand before him, waiting, hoping.
Praying. Something I hadn’t done in a very long time, if ever.
Finally, he spoke. “I want one more thing.”
“What?”
“Make sure my death is quick.”
I dragged my eyes from Elliot’s face to stare at the men I couldn’t see behind the glass. “I promise you a quick death.”
Through the rest of the interrogation, I held my anger in as Elliot explained how deep this all went. Four hours later, Elliot was asleep in his cell, and the rest of us—Ash, Duncan, Ramsey, Flynn, and I—were in the sitting room, trying to wrap our heads around all that we now knew.
Ramsey shot up from his seat and began to pace, his face a mask of righteous fury when he looked at me. “You had no right to make those promises!”
Everyone began speaking over each other in an attempt to placate him and calm him down, but Ramsey was having none of it. He was like a tornado and the angrier he became, the bigger the cyclone. He wouldn’t listen to reason and I was sick and tired of men dictating everything.
I stood up and without hesitation threw my glass of scotch at the stone hearth. Ramsey shut up mid rant and all eyes turned to me. Ash’s mouth gaped, Duncan looked resigned, but Flynn didn’t look at all shocked.
“Was your way working?” I asked calmly.
Ramsey glowered but stayed silent.
“Was it your son who was taken from you?”
“It was my father who was killed.”
I nodded. “We have the same goal. Punish those that stole from us. Retribution, revenge. Elliot is a pawn. There’s a bigger picture, here.”
Some of Ramsey’s anger drained away and reluctantly he nodded. “Aye, you’re right.” He came to me and wrapped me in his arms. He leaned in close to my ear and whispered so that no one else could hear, “You’re incredible, Barrett. Flynn’s a lucky man to have you.”
He released me and took a step back.
“Another drink?” Ash asked, needing something to do.
I nodded.
We all retook our seats before I ventured to ask, “Jane? How is she?”
“Alive,” Ramsey said with a snarky tone.
“There’s the Ramsey I know and love,” I said in a droll tone. “I meant, how is she dealing with things?”
I knew what it was like to be kept in a gorgeous prison, unsure of my place, unsure of the game I was playing. Then again, I was seven years older than Jane and had been a little more prepared for what I’d been thrust into.
“Spitting mad,” Ramsey said, though an appreciative smile slid across his face. “Every time I go to bring her a tray of food, she throws at least one thing at me.”
If I had to venture a guess, when Jane was alone in the darkest part of the night, she finally let out the tears she held in during the day. We were her captors, and she had no way of knowing that her life wasn’t in any danger. Not at the moment. Not because of us.
“What are we going to do with her?” Ash asked, finally speaking about the issue we needed to deal with.
“She can’t go back to her life,” Duncan said. “We can’t kill her father and then send her back to London expecting her not to run her mouth.”
“And the other option? She stays here? Locked away?” Ash asked.
“Well, she wasn’t supposed to be involved at all,” Flynn said. “She was an unexpected complication.”
“One we’re not killing,” I reminded all of them. Even if I hadn’t promised Elliot that we wouldn’t kill his daughter, I never had plans to allow that to happen. She was an innocent bystander.
“We can’t do anything about her at the moment,” Flynn said. “So let’s get to discussing what we learned from Elliot. Also, Barrett has brought to my attention something that needs to be addressed.”
He looked at me and nodded. I told the rest of the occupants that I believed there was a member of the SINS who had turned against us and who had orchestrated Hawk’s kidnapping.
“It makes sense,” Flynn said, resigned.
“How do you figure?” Ramsey challenged.
“The note they left,” Flynn went on. “‘The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children’. Sins, in all caps.”
“No,” Ash said with a shake of her head. “Is it really that obvious? I thought it was a biblical reference. Sins of the father and all that.”
“It is,” Flynn said, “but this specific quote is from Shakespeare. Merchant of Venice. If it were quoting the actual bible, I would’ve assumed there was a religious tone behind Hawk’s kidnapping. Some other faction upset because the SINS aren’t affiliated with any religion.”
Ramsey nodded. “Makes sense.”
“I think I have a vague idea how this is all fitting together,” Flynn said slowly.
We all stared at him, waiting while he gathered his thoughts. “Let’s assume a member of the SINS has turned on his own brothers and is working with the English.”
“Elliot?” Ramsey asked.
Flynn shook his head. “No. As Barrett said, he’s just a pawn. He took his orders from someone else.”
“The FBI,” Ash said. “But they’re American.”
“They’re all working together,” I said suddenly. “The FBI isn’t behind Hawk’s kidnapping and neither are the English. Not directly.”
“You’re losing me,” Ash said.
“The FBI hired Italian mercenaries to have Malcolm and Duncan murdered. Italian mercenaries so they couldn’t be traced back to the Americans,” I explained. “The SINS member wants the leader—that’s Flynn—occupied searching for his son.”
“But Elliot told us about the mercenaries, right? And why would an Englishman in the House of Lords be working for the FBI?” Ash asked, looking like she was about to go cross-eyed.
“Because Elliot’s working for both the English and the Americans,” Duncan said in realization. “Without knowing it because they have the same agenda for different end goals.”
“Exactly,” Flynn said with a nod. “Let’s think about this for a moment: the FBI is still pissed that we’re bringing illegal guns into the U.S. The English don’t want Scotland free because that would be a major loss of revenue and taxation. If the Americans and the English work together to get rid of the SINS, then poof, no more problems.”
“But why would a SINS member give up his own leaders and cause for a free Scotland?” Ash asked in frustration. “That part doesn’t fit.”
“Not yet,” Flynn agreed. “So until we find him, we won’t know how or why he is involved.”
“Another problem,” Ramsey voiced. “We still don’t know who has Hawk.”
“You’re right, we don’t. But I’ve got a plan,” Flynn said, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. “I’ve got a plan to get our son back.”
Chapter 18
Flynn’s head was between my legs. Moonlight caressed him as he caressed my skin. Heat, fire, passion. There was nothing except this moment with this man. We could die tomorrow and I still wouldn’t have had my fill.
He lapped and laved, teased and sucked. He made me beg, whimper, plead. He chained me to him, enslaving me in chains of my own desire. I bucked against his mouth, coming hard, needing the release, knowing I’d need it again in a few hours.
Lifting his head, he grinned at me. I chuckled softly, raising my eyes to the ceiling.
“I think they heard you in the west wing,” Flynn said.
“It’s your fault,” I teased, feeling somehow light and revived.
“I’ll do it again. In fact, I promise to do it again. Later.” He scooted up my body and rested his head on my naked stomach. My hands went to his hair while I watched him trace his fingers across my stretch marks.
“When you spoke with Elliot,” he began quietly, “I…”
“What?” I asked when he trailed off.
He lifted his head to look at me. “I was so fucking proud of you. I knew what you were c
apable of. But I think Duncan and Ramsey needed to see it for themselves. You could’ve knocked them over with a feather when you began unbuttoning your pants.”
I chuckled and Flynn put his cheek to my belly.
“You eclipse every other woman,” he whispered against my skin. “You make men yearn for greatness, just so they feel like they deserve you.”
“I don’t need greatness,” I said truthfully. “I just need my son. I won’t sleep well until he’s back with us. At least we know he’s safe.”
“So you believe Elliot?” Flynn asked. “He was so gone with pain he would’ve said anything.”
“Maybe,” I allowed. “But yes, I believe him. I believe him when he said he doesn’t know where Hawk is, but he gave us something and he knows that if he lied about it—and we learned the truth, because he knew we would, his death would no longer be quick and we would have no obligation to honor sparing his daughter.”
“Elliot’s on a need to know basis,” Flynn said. “When you’re not at the top, you only know enough that those above you deem enough.”
“Are you surprised? That Elliot finally broke and told us about Hawk?”
“No. Ramsey couldn’t get anything out of him. But you, you walked in there, freed his hands, showed him your body, and pleaded from your heart. No man can resist that.”
“I’d like to assume that most of us, who live this kind of life, agree that children are off limits. But that’s not really true, is it? We threatened Elliot’s daughter. Someone stole Hawk. No real code of honor anymore, huh?”
“But we didn’t really threaten Jane’s life. Elliot just thinks we did,” he said. “You’re willing to protect that girl.” He shook his head.
“What? What is it?”
“The SINS. We’re changing. You’re changing us. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
“Tradition is good,” I said. “But I was never a fan of the archaic. If we want to succeed, we’ve got to evolve. The SINS must evolve if we have any hope of winning our freedom from England.”
“Spoken like a true Scotsman,” he said gruffly.
We fell silent and then he spoke, “He’d come. If you called him.”