A Highlander for Christmas

by Christina Skye

  Maggie gasped as she was tossed against him. She heard the puppy yip. “If I die in here, I’m going to murder you, MacNeill. Both Max and I will.”

  His hands closed on her waist, pulling her closer, and Maggie was infinitely thankful for his strength as the cement pipe rocked again, tossing them about like matchsticks.

  “Any other great plans?” she said through gritted teeth, as she struggled to stay upright.

  “One.” Jared twisted, scanning the mouth of the pipe. “We jump.”

  “Jump?”

  Fear jangled Maggie’s nerves, but there was no time to protest. She hit the end of the pipe, Jared’s body wedged protectively beneath her. Her shoulder struck the rough cement, rocked her sideways, and then Jared pulled her into a roll just before he struck the ground, protecting her and the puppy.

  “Run.” he ordered, scrambling to his feet and tugging her over the rutted soil.

  Maggie followed, ignoring the stabbing pain in her right arm. Acrid smoke filled her lungs. She was only dimly aware of Jared, charging on toward the empty guardhouse while the ground rumbled behind them, dirt and debris heaving up in the backhoe’s wake.

  Jared yanked her over a hill of cobblestones. “Almost there.”

  “Almost where?” she panted.

  “Here.” Metal groaned as Jared scrambled onto the ragged seat of a rusting forklift. He pulled her in front of him, wedged between his thighs and a row of gears.

  Maggie bit back hysterical laughter. They were going into some crazy automotive duel, mano a mano? “Jared, I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “You have something better in mind?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Then hold on, because we’re moving.” He shoved at the gears, and the huge forklift lumbered forward. The two machines circled clumsily. The backhoe turned sharply, its metal jaws snapping. There was no question that their unknown pursuer meant them serious harm.

  Pebbles flew past Maggie’s head. They veered uphill toward a makeshift metal guardhouse.

  “Hold on. We’re going to see if anyone’s in there.”

  They lurched over the ground, and all Maggie could hear was the whine of the motor and the panicked race of her own pulse. She wasn’t ready to die. She had two emeralds she’d promised to Chessa for a pair of heart-stopping earrings. She had her rent to pay, her library books to return, her yearly dental checkup to complete.

  But it looked as if someone was determined to see her grounded permanently, and Jared’s suspicions about her father were starting to seem less fantastic.

  Something smashed against the vehicle’s metal arms, breaking her grim reverie. They slammed into the guardhouse, banging open the door. Maggie winced as a flashlight beam struck her face.

  A burly figure in a khaki uniform stalked through the open door. “What in bloody hell’s going on here?”

  Jared managed to turn the forklift and slam to a halt. “We need your help.”

  “That’s quite enough nonsense from you lot. Burglary. Destruction of property.” The guard waved a heavy, military-issue flashlight “You’ll be held accountable for that.”

  Jared swung to the ground. “You should be following the man in that backhoe.”

  “Now is that a fact?”

  “The Metropolitan Police will want a word with him.”

  The guard shoved his hands on his hips. “And just where would that man be?”

  “Behind us.”

  “An inventive story, so it is, except there’s no one at all behind you two.”

  Maggie turned. To her shock the pitted earth behind them was empty. The backhoe stood dark and silent beside the cement pipe.

  “But he was there,” she rasped. “He tried to run us down.”

  “A fine tale, Miss. You can tell the nice constables all about it.” As the watchman spoke, two police cars roared into the yard, sirens wailing.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Just what I always wanted to do,” Maggie muttered. “Spend a night in a cold, crowded London jail cell. You really know how to show a girl a good time, MacNeill.”

  Too bad he wasn’t anywhere close to hear her.

  Maggie stared at a pair of constables doing what appeared to be exquisitely boring paperwork. Her shoulder ached, and her tongue felt like shoe leather. The cup of tea she’d just been given could have eaten through carbon steel.

  But she was lucky to be unharmed. If Jared hadn’t been so sharp-witted, they might be decorating the pavement in that new housing tract. Meanwhile, their pursuer had slipped away without a trace. After their protests, the two officers had searched the field, coming up with nothing. Despite the fresh tracks and long furrows in the dirt, the constables had shown little interest in their story.

  Maggie knew there was no possibility of coincidence now. Someone wanted her badly frightened—or worse. She sat back and tried to think, but every question only seemed to bring more questions.

  She gave a prayer of thanks at the sight of Lord Draycott striding toward the constable in charge. Behind the viscount, a gaunt man with white hair and a military bearing moved quietly across to Jared. Despite her exhaustion, Maggie noticed Jared’s restless pacing and the tension in his shoulders.

  Two hours of confinement had left him scowling with barely contained frustration. He was a man who liked control and order. He would hate being caught unprepared almost as much as he hated the knowledge that their pursuer had escaped without a trace. Maggie had a fairly good idea how he was berating himself right now.

  But there was more than anger in his tense body. Something was wrong, Maggie realized.

  Behind her the door creaked open.

  “You’re free to go, miss.” A female officer in a starched uniform held out Maggie’s handbag. “And here’s someone who’s been missing you.” With the slightest curve of her lips, the officer slid the yipping puppy into Maggie’s arms.

  “Poor Max.”

  “Poor, nothing. The brute nearly took off my thumb. Still, a bit of milk and a bone should soon put him to rights. And a bath wouldn’t hurt.”

  Maggie felt a rush of pleasure as the cold, wet nose pressed against her neck. She looked up as Nicholas Draycott walked toward her, worry in his eyes. “What a night. How are you holding up?”

  “Other than the fact that my stockings are history and I probably look like a zombie, I’m fine. So is Max.” She gave a crooked smile. “Jared doesn’t look so good though. Thanks for coming down to bail us out.”

  “Actually, Jared had that fairly well in hand. I’m merely here to lend moral support.”

  “Fools,” Jared muttered as he crossed toward them. “They still don’t believe anyone else was there. Do we need pictures to convince them?” He lifted Max from Maggie’s arms and shook his head as the puppy nuzzled his neck. “Down, you filthy creature.” Stroking Max’s head, Jared strode off to confer once more with the man at the constable’s desk.

  Maggie watched a white-haired man walk through the back of the station. He signed a paper and then crossed the hall toward the door. “He’s someone important, isn’t he?”

  Nicholas said nothing.

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “All I can say is that your father’s disappearance left unanswered questions. Your encounter tonight seems to have reopened many of them.”

  “So this is about me?”

  “You are part of it.”

  “They still haven’t found the driver?”

  “I’m afraid he made a clean escape during all the fuss. Very professional.”

  “What about the tracks from the backhoe?”

  Nicholas shrugged.

  “Then what about the security guard? He saw no one?”

  “Only you two.” Nicholas rubbed his neck, frowning. “Unfortunately, he’s a family man with eight years on the job. The police are inclined to believe him.”

  Maggie fought a wave of anger. “Someone had to be driving that backhoe. When he lifted the pipe he could h
ave killed us. How do they explain that?”

  Nicholas watched Jared arguing with one of the constables. “The construction people say that they’ve been having trouble with that particular backhoe. Lights shorting out, motor stalling—that sort of thing.”

  “The last I heard, motors didn’t start themselves.”

  “You know that and I know that. Unfortunately, there is little more we can do without concrete evidence.”

  “Would a videotape of Jared and me lying dead beneath a backhoe do well enough?”

  Nicholas looked grim. “Jared and I will see that doesn’t happen.”

  Maggie shoved her hands deep into her pockets, hating the fear that threatened to choke her. “How do you know this has anything to do with my father? Jared was there, too. Maybe this man had some old grudge and I just happened to get in the way. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jared MacNeill has a whole address book full of people who’d like to run him over with a backhoe.”

  Nicholas didn’t move. “What makes you say that?”

  “Something in his face. He’s always watching other people and scanning the street as if he’s waiting for something to happen. Something bad.”

  “A good description.” Nicholas smiled grimly. “He’d be irritated as hell to be caught so accurately.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you both convinced that this has to do with my father?”

  “Information to that effect has been received. A government investigation has been initiated.” The viscount looked down with distaste at the cup of cold tea in his hands.

  “Initiated by whom?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Then tell me about Jared. Who is he?” Maggie felt an odd tightening in her throat. “What is he?”

  The cup tipped. “He’s someone who wants to help. We both are.” Nicholas nodded his head slightly as the man with white hair strode past, his bearing erect and military.

  “I’m starting to wonder if staying in London is a good idea. New York was noisy, but at least demented strangers weren’t trying to run me down.”

  “Don’t you want to catch this man?”

  Maggie gnawed at her lip. “I have no evidence to show that my father is not dead, Lord Draycott. For me that’s all that matters. I think it might be best for everyone if I leave.”

  Nicholas watched the man with white hair hand a card to the officer at the outer door. “If you left England now, it might be … misconstrued.”

  Maggie stiffened “Misconstrued how?”

  “When your father disappeared, a fortune in gems went missing. Some of those gems were on loan from your government, but some were part of a traveling collection taken from the royal family’s own vaults. I think you can understand why there is still a feverish curiosity about where those stones ended up.”

  “So it all goes back to the missing jewels. Funny how my father always turns up as the villain.” Maggie rubbed her throbbing forehead. Her shoulder was on fire, and she was drifting into complete exhaustion. “There’s no point in discussing it. I want to go back to my hotel. Or am I still being held for attempted theft of a rusting forklift truck?”

  “You’re free.” Jared appeared beside her, his eyes dark and angry. “We both are.”

  “I suppose I should be glad for small favors.” Maggie had to fight the urge to brush Jared’s cheek. He looked edgy, his nerves stretched taut.

  “Nicholas is right, however.” Jared glanced at Nicholas. “Leaving England now wouldn’t be the wisest idea.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Marston is expecting you,” Nicholas said flatly. “It’s the best place for you right now.”

  “We’ll leave as soon as she checks out of the hotel.” Jared gave a distracted look at Max, who was once again drooling on his bow tie. “Down, Max.”

  Maggie didn’t move. She wasn’t a puppy or a chess piece to be pushed around on a board, no matter how nicely they might arrange it. “You mean back to the abbey?”

  Nicholas cleared his throat. “Think it through. Whoever was driving that backhoe is still wandering free. It will be a great deal harder for him to reach you at the abbey.”

  Something cold skittered over Maggie’s neck. “Not there.”

  “It’s not open for discussion,” Jared said flatly. “I’m taking you back for your clothes, and then we’re leaving.” He looked tired, Maggie thought. Worse than tired. His face was pale and drawn, and he moved restlessly with every breath, as if he was struggling to keep his control.

  Maggie started to protest, then gave up. For now she needed to do exactly what they said. Even if going back to those tall granite walls was nearly as frightening as being pursued by a backhoe.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Nice hotel.” Jared studied the plaster dangling from the elevator wall. “Great atmosphere.”

  A section of the elevator door was missing, and Maggie watched in sickening fascination as the floors lurched past, inches away. She was nearly dead on her feet, and spurts of color kept blurring her vision.

  Jared, on the other hand, seemed more composed and controlled with every passing second. In fact, it was downright galling how good he looked with his evening jacket slung over one shoulder, and Max snoring comfortably in his arms.

  Not that she was going to think about Jared MacNeill in any personal sense, Maggie vowed. Things were already too complicated. She didn’t need any additional entanglements.

  The elevator rumbled to a halt at the sixth floor, and Jared heaved open the door. The hallway was dark, lit by a single grimy lamp. He eased Max under his arm. “Stay behind me.”

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort,” Maggie said. “This isn’t a dark alley, and I highly doubt that a team of wild-eyed assassins is going to jump us between here and my room.” Punchy with exhaustion, she dug in the mud-spattered pocket of her handbag for the room key and stumbled, landing on a shoe that was missing its heel.

  “Steady.” Jared grasped her elbow. “Better?”

  “Just perfect. Actually, I enjoy being pursued and arrested. All in all, it’s been a fascinating evening.”

  His fingers opened over her wrist. “I’m serious. How are you holding up?”

  Maggie blinked, struck by the odd sensation that he was … reading her somehow. At least he was trying to.

  Which made about as much sense as the idea that her father was still alive, or that someone had decided to come after her for the missing jewels.

  She pulled away and jammed her key into the lock. “There’s nothing wrong that a hot shower and a decent night’s sleep won’t cure.” The door opened with a creak. “In fact, I intend to take care of both just as soon as I—”

  She stopped, frozen on the threshold.

  One by one, tiny details began to sink in.

  Her closet door wasn’t quite closed, and her hairbrush had been moved. The phone directory on her desk was face up, instead of facedown as she’d left it.

  Fear gripped her in cold, swift waves. “It can’t be.”

  “What is it, Maggie?”

  “The room. Everything’s wrong. He must have been here, too.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jared measured the room quickly, expertly, as if assessing a threat. As he did, he stepped in front of Maggie.

  To protect me, she thought. Using his own body as a shield. No matter the risk.

  “Why do you say everything’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s been here.” Maggie swallowed hard. “In my closet. In my clothes.”

  He pulled her against his shoulder, and Maggie was glad for the reassuring warmth of his body, even for the sleeping presence of Max.

  “Are you certain?” Jared stared at the small room. “Nothing looks out of place to me.”

  Maggie closed her hands tightly. “Recognizing patterns is my profession, remember? I happen to have something the experts call spatial memory.”

  “Which means?”

  “When I see an arrangement of objects,
I remember them in perfect detail. Trust me, someone’s been here.”

  “Is anything missing?”

  “I’ll have to check.”

  Jared moved silently in front of her. “Let me have a look at the bathroom first.”

  This time Maggie didn’t protest.

  He emerged moments later, shaking his head. “No sign of anyone there. What about your clothes?”

  A quick check of the warped oak dresser revealed that her stockings were neatly folded, but not in the order she had left them. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. She ran a hand over her lingerie and frowned. The lacy camisole had been moved, along with a matching slip.

  For a moment she couldn’t speak, swept with panic. She felt trapped, violated by the hands of a stranger. “He—he’s been in here, too.”

  “I’ll help you pack,” Jared said grimly. “We’re leaving right now.”

  Maggie didn’t argue. Suddenly it didn’t matter where she went as long as it was away from this place.

  “What about your tools and jewelry materials? You must have some valuable pieces with you.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Not here. I-I didn’t like the look of the clerk on duty.”

  “Who, Don Juan with the greasy tie?”

  She managed a shaky laugh. “That’s the one. I have a small work case here, but I took all my good stones to a local bank and rented a short-term box. I only kept my wire and a few tools.”

  “Good. We’ll collect the rest tomorrow.” He pulled a suitcase from the closet and began slipping clothes from their hangers, while Maggie opened a drawer and tossed a stack of lacy underclothes into the open suitcase.

  On top of the stack went her last three pair of stockings. “Chessa will murder me if I ruin all her work.”

  “Chessa?” He was nearly done with the closet.

  “My cousin. You met her in New York. Fashion image expert extraordinaire.” Her lips curved in a rueful smile. “Whether I like it or not.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’d need any assistance with your image.” There was a rough note in his voice. Maggie turned to find Jared staring at her.