by Sarah Hoss
The brothers nodded.
“I doona believe that Hamish is involved, but I must say that his disappearance is strange and there will be talk amongst the clan.
Cluny held out his arm. James remained seated for a moment, his jaw working overtime with thought and contemplation, then he stood and clasped arms with his chief.
“We will find who is doing this and we will find yer brother.”
Rebecca stood behind the door and peeked through the crack at the men. Her heart ached at the knowledge that Hamish hadn’t been found. She turned slightly and placed her back against the wall and her hands on her stomach as tears fell. She loved him. She loved that he stood tall and proud. His body was strong and shaped by years of hard work. Shoulders broad and narrowing down to his waist and his legs were long. He was, in her mind, the epitome of what a man and husband should be and she wanted Hamish to be hers. Her heart ached with the knowledge that he was gone. The nights she’d spent with him were amazing, he was a fabulous lover, but she wanted more. Now, if he was gone or dead, she would never have him and her heart broke.
She began to walk down the hallway when she heard the sound of chairs scooting on the floor. The last thing she needed was to get caught eavesdropping on a meeting with the chief. When a hand reached out and tapped her on the back, she yelped and jumped, her hand flying to her heart. “Ye scared me to death. What do ye want?”
Agnes giggled, and placed her hand over her mouth. “Sorry.” She studied her. “What were ye doing, or should I ask?”
“Shh,” she said and motioned for her best friend to follow her. They entered the library and headed straight for the chair near the window. The library was her favorite place in the castle and she could often be found here. Slowly, she had taught herself to read with the help of Agnes. She’d made it her goal to read every book in the room.
Rebecca sighed. “They can’t find Hamish.”
“I heard such talk amongst the servants. I’m so sorry.”
Rebecca felt Agnes’s hand rest on her shoulder and she laid her cheek on it as tears fell. Her hand came to rest on her stomach as she cried for the loss of her one true love. He would always hold her heart and if he was truly dead, then she wanted to die, too.
Chapter 6
“You find her and bring her back to me, now!” Antonio Salvator tapped his pen on his desk as he stood in his office in the back of the restaurant and thought what to do next.
He’d only meant to confront the lying bitch-of-a-girlfriend about her cheating. Taking her into the alley, his plan was to demand answers, then leave her. But the more they talked, the more infuriated he’d become, until it boiled inside of him like a raging volcano about to explode.
Yes, he’d struck her. She’d deserved it, too. Hadn’t he given her everything? Yet, still, she’d skirted around his back. And when she’d told him who it was with, he couldn’t listen to her deceitful mouth any longer. That volcano erupted. He’d pulled his gun, pointed, and shot her. He was calm about it; it had felt good. No woman of his would cheat on him with rival, Stefano, and live to talk about it. The humiliation was too much to bear.
That night, he’d turned to walk away, to leave her cheating body lying in the dirty alley where it belonged, when he’d seen the woman. She stood there, her gasp echoing through the alley like a loud scream.
She’d gotten away and he’d vowed to find her, but what were the odds that she would walk right into his restaurant the very next day? Luck was on his side and he smiled.
Feeling satisfied, Antonio walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink.
The bourbon left a fiery trail down his throat and he hissed, lips drawn tightly together. Staring at the picture of a villa in Italy that hung on his wall, he got lost in the scene. His mind turned over the events of the last two days again.
Another sip and he sat the glass down on the counter. The sound of glass hitting wood echoed in the room. Things were going well for him. His business was thriving and had just been listed in the New York Times as the top restaurant of the year. He shifted his gaze to the plaque that hung on his wall. Pride filled him.
And his other little adventure . . . well, that was coming along, too. His smile deepened as an idea came to mind.
Exactly!
Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
A woman of her beauty and coloring, men would pay a lot of money for her services. First, he would sample her for himself before putting her deep within his prostitution ring . . . He laughed loudly. Things were going to work out perfectly.
Chapter 7
Hands gripped her shoulders tightly and spun her around, knocking her off balance. Gillian stumbled to the left but the rough hands kept her from falling. Her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing as she struggled to get out of the man’s hold. He pushed her up against her living room wall. The impact caused her head to hit the wooden door facing. She pushed, with all her might, to get him back into the middle of the room. She wasn’t going to die without a fight. She fisted her hands which landed on his chest, pummeling and punching. She raised her arm and twisted, trying to get in a position where she could elbow him in the ribs and make a run for it.
She let out small gasps of breath as she and her assailant lost their balance and tumbled to the floor. A loud scream escaped her as the man landed on top of her, knocking away all the breath she had left. Tears flooded her eyes making the world blurry. Her elbow burned where she’d scraped it in the fall. Desperation took over and she clawed at the man’s face, trying anything to get him off her so she could escape and breathe. She kicked her legs wildly at the floor. Nothing, nothing she could use as leverage and push against. There was only air.
Her body halted and became very still as cold metal touched the skin at her neck. Tears continued to stream from the corners of her eyes to land in her ears and hair. This was it. This was how she was going to die, alone in her apartment in the middle of the living room floor. He would slit her throat and leave her here.
“You gave me quite a chase, blackbird,” he said as he ran his hand through her hair. “I told you I would get you, didn’t I?” He gave her a tight-lipped smile as if telling her he only tolerated her because he had too and she knew that toleration would expire in mere moments.
The cold metal of the knife slid down her cheek, down her neck, and across her breasts.
“What I wouldn’t give to taste what you have to offer.” He clicked his tongue several times. Taking the knife, he used it to slit her shirt open. Then, with the tip of the blade, he cut the little ribbon in the center of her bra that held the two cups together. The blade nicked her and she could see a tiny spot of blood appear between her breasts. He was straddling her by this time, slightly leaning over with the blade back at her neck. Now, his free hand fondled her firm, plump breast. “I did have plans for you, but now . . .” He tilted his head as he pinched her nipple in his hand. “. . . I’ve had enough. You’re more trouble than your worth.” The blade came to rest with the pointed end poking at the dip between her collar bones.
“Arrivederci, bitch!” With a quick push, he sent the blade through her neck.
Gillian woke with a scream. Her heart thumped so hard, it ached in her chest and she fought for control over her breathing. Running her hand over her forehead, she wiped the sweat from her brow, then her hand on the bed sheet.
Hamish came running into the room, the door banging on the wall. She glanced over at him.
“What’s the matter?”
She took long, deep breaths, slowly trying to quiet her racing heart. She swallowed several times to moisten her dry mouth and throat. The dream had been so real. She brought her knees up, laying her arms and head on them.
She heard his approach, then felt the weight of the bed as he sat next to her. His hand ran down the back of her head and came ar
ound to her cheek.
“Look at me, lass.”
She raised her pounding head and took a deep, shuddering breath as he pulled her into his embrace and rocked her gently. She let the tears flow.
“Twas a nightmare.”
She nodded.
There was silence for what seemed like minutes as he comforted her with his hand lightly rubbing up and down her back. Finally, he leaned away. Grasping her face in his hands, he said, “I doona want ye to have fear. While I’m here, I will protect ye.”
“Thank you.”
What had become a moment of comfort was now taking a new direction as they sat on her bed and stared at each other. She was drawn to him. Maybe it was because he was the savior she’d called forward, combined with his words declaring to protect her. Maybe it was the fact that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen and he was looking at her as if he wanted to kiss her.
Unable to stay in the bed any longer, she drew back out of his hands and threw the covers off her legs. She was dressed in a short, silk nightgown that had ridden up to her thighs, so she rushed to the bathroom. After splashing cold water on her face, she rested her hands on the sides of the sink, reveling in the coolness of it. She kept her eyes closed as the water dripped from her face.
That was one hell of a nightmare.
She couldn’t keep living this way. She hadn’t left her apartment in three days. Something had to be done. Her biggest fear was that eventually even her apartment wouldn’t be safe.
A knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. Putting her hand to her chest, she took a deep breath, then returned to the bedroom. She glanced at her alarm clock; nine in the morning. Another knock. Could it be them?
“This is the police.”
She leaned her head out of the bedroom door and hollered, “I’ll be right there.” She grabbed the bottom of her nightgown and began to lift it over her head, when she turned around and saw Hamish still sitting there. Thank goodness she’d only gotten as high as her belly button. He stood quickly. She smiled at the faint blush that rose in his cheeks.
She coughed. “That’s the police and I need to change. Would you mind waiting in your room, please?”
“Och, aye,” he said as he ducked his head and immediately left. The moment he was out the door, she changed her clothes and ran from the room as another knock came.
Peering through the peephole, relief filled her as she spotted two men. One wore a navy blue suit with a light blue tie and the other wore a police uniform. Caution still kept her from opening the door.
“Hold up some I.D., please.”
The man dressed as a cop rolled his eyes as the other gentleman reached for his wallet and held it to the peephole.
She unlocked the deadbolt and released the chain, then opened it, still keeping the door between her and the cops. “What do you want?”
The tall one in the suit smiled at her. “I’m Detective Roberts and this . . .” he said as he pointed to the other cop, “. . . is Officer Anderson. I apologize for bothering you, ma’am. We’re investigating a murder in the alley near the Mystic Bar. I have a report here . . .” He held up a manila folder for her to see, “. . . stating that the night of the murder, a cab driver called the thirty-first precinct saying his cab window had been shot out. He then stated that the shooter was aiming at a woman whom he delivered to this address with your name.” They waited for a confirmation.
“That’s right.”
“What I would like to do is get a statement from you about that night. Would that be okay?”
She eyed the two men again, then motioned for them to come in. They stood back as she closed the door, then followed her to the living room.
“Would you like to sit?”
They took a seat in the two armchairs across from her. At the sound of a door opening behind her, she turned to see Hamish. He took a chair from the kitchen and sat beside her. She was thankful for his support.
When two hours had passed and she’d repeated that night’s events three times, she rose from her seat. “I’m tired. I think I’ve told you everything there is to tell. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to call it a day.”
After the door closed behind them and she firmly locked the deadbolt in place, she walked to the kitchen. Something tugged at her. This is what she wanted. The police to take her statement so they could arrest this guy and her life could get back to normal. So why did it feel so wrong? She sat down at the table, her fingers tapping as she let her thoughts take hold.
When she felt a hand on hers, she turned and was surprised to realize she hadn’t heard him walk into the room, let alone sit down at the table.
“I’m sorry that ye had to go through such an event.”
She stared at him, then smiled, weakly. He seemed so earnest in his remark. She rested her elbows on the table and her one hand covered her mouth as she yawned.
“Tis good that the authorities have come to speak to ye and now they can find this man who tracks ye.”
She nodded.
He tilted his head and watched her. “What’s wrong?”
She shrugged, then lowered her hands to the table, fingering the decorative runner. She picked up a salt shaker and tilted it back and forth, watching the salt slide side to side. “I’m hoping it’ll be that easy. I won’t let my guard down until I see him in jail and I don’t know how long that will be.”
He sat quietly. She stood and went to her pantry. Pulling open the door, she grabbed the flour, sugar, and a bag of chocolate chips. She wanted to change the subject and started to tell him about herself. Then she turned the oven on and began to make cookies as she talked.
“My mother and father are both Cherokee.” With a look of confusion on his face, she proceeded to explain to him about Native Americans.
“Where is yer family? Why are they not here with ye?”
She grabbed the mixer. “My mother passed away and my father lives in another state. It takes about ten hours to get to him.”
He sat back in his chair, one arm draped over the back. “So, he doesna know about this?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to worry him. He can’t travel and he’d want to be here.” She added the chips, then stirred. “Tell me about you.” She took a spoon and dropped mounds of dough onto a cookie sheet.
“My parents are deceased. I have two brothers and . . .” he paused and his expression went from easy calm to sadness.
She slowly closed the door to the oven. “And?”
He clenched his hands. “And a sister.”
“Margaret?”
He stood abruptly, causing the chair to fall backward, startling her. He walked out of the room and when he slammed the bedroom door, she flinched.
Hamish paced in the small room, which didn’t take very many steps to get from one side to the other. The more steps he took, the more anger and sadness engulfed him until he couldn’t take it any longer. He growled and turning, punched the wall. The release felt good and he did it again. The second time, he made a hole.
Gillian came running into the room and after giving her a brief glance, he picked up his pacing.
“Hey, what’s going on in here?”
He ignored her, his thoughts trapped in one moment—seeing his sister lying in his house as flames danced around them. He was near the bedroom window and he turned, gripped the curtains, and growled, pouring all of his anger into the green fabric he so tightly clung to.
“Hamish, you punched a hole in my wall.”
As he took a step past her, she grabbed his arm, stopping him. She blocked his path, then reached up to touch his face. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
He wasn’t able to hold it in any longer and tears began to fall.
“Hey . . .” She cradled his fa
ce in both hands. “. . . it’s all right. You can tell me. We can be here for each other.”
“Margaret is my sister and the night ye brought me here, I was trying to save her from a fire.”
She covered her mouth. “Oh, Hamish, I’m so sorry. That explains the smell and how you looked when you appeared.” She stepped away from him. “Did you save her?”
He shook his head. “I doona know if she lives or not.”
The precinct was unusually quiet this time of evening and the two officers walked over to their commander’s office and knocked on the door. Blinds had been pulled closed and they waited. Both were tired from working all day. It was nine o’clock and they still had two hours left on their shift.
“Who is it?”
“Roberts and Anderson.”
They heard a rustling of papers, then a chair scooted back across the wooden floor. The door opened and the commander invited them in. Blinds slapped back and forth on the door as it was closed. Someone sat in a chair at the right corner of the desk and even though they couldn’t see the person’s face, they knew who it was.
Commander Petty sat down in his chair and laid his elbows on his desk. “So?”
Anderson placed his thumbs in his belt. “We went to the girl’s apartment as you requested, sir. We did a quick look around of the place and there was nothing unusual, except she wasn’t alone.”
“Who’s with her?” The commander took a drink from his coffee cup.
“I don’t know who he is, but he‘s Scottish and very large. He never spoke.”