Healing Heather
by Aiki Flinthart
Published by CAT Press
Copyright © 2020 Aiki Flinthart
Cover by Lou Harper Designs
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations) without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder concerned, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A Cataloguing-in-Publications entry for this title is available from the National Library of Australia.
Print copies available from major online retailers.
ISBN-13: 978-0-6487736-3-4 (Trade Paperback)
ISBN-13: 978-0-6487736-2-7 (e-book)
NOTE:
This book is written with AUSTRALIAN SPELLING/ENGLISH,
not USA spelling/English.
Don’t panic.
Discover other titles by Aiki Flinthart at: www.aikiflinthart.com
Or
Blackbirds Sing (Historical fantasy)
The 80AD series (YA Adventure/Fantasy)
80AD Book 1: The Jewel of Asgard
80AD Book 2: The Hammer of Thor
80AD Book 3: The Tekhen of Anuket
80AD Book 4: The Sudarshana
80AD Book 5: The Yu Dragon
The Ruadhán Sidhe novels (YA Urban fantasy)
Shadows Wake (Bk1)
Shadows Bane (Bk2)
Shadows Fate (Bk 3)
Healing Heather (Bk 4)
The Kalima Chronicles (YA Sci/Fantasy)
IRON (#1)
FIRE (#2)
STEEL (#3)
A Future, Forged (Prequel)
The Ruadhan Sidhe novels (YA Urban Fantasy)
Shadows Wake (#1)
Shadows Bane (#2)
Shadows Fate (#3)
Healing Heather (#4)(Romance)
Sold! (Contemporary Romance/Adventure)
Short Story Anthologies
Zookeeper’s Tales of Interstellar Oddities
Return
Like a Woman
Elemental
Rogues’ Gallery
Non-Fiction – Author writing resources
Fight Like A Girl – Writing Fight Scenes for Female (and male) Characters
Connect with her on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/aikiflinthartauthor
Twitter: @aikiflinthart
Instagram: Aikiflinthart
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
About the Author
NOTE:
This book is written with AUSTRALIAN SPELLING/ENGLISH,
not USA spelling/English.
Don’t panic.
Healing Heather
Book 4 of the Ruadhan Sidhe Shadows Series
Aiki Flinthart
2020
CHAPTER ONE
TORIN O’CONNOR
‘So, you’ll take the case, I assume?’
The boarding-school accented voice made Torin O’Connor glance up from his perusal of the document. In his doorway stood a tall, swarthy man. Andrew Carleton’s dark blue suit, though tailored, couldn’t disguise a thickened middle. Nor could a gleaming Rolex and several large, gold rings distract from fingers swollen with rich living. Flanked by flat-eyed bodyguards, Carleton seated himself opposite Torin without awaiting an invitation. The chair’s leather creaked beneath his bulk.
He pulled a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end and spat onto the polished timber floor. His dark eyes, calculating beneath thick brows, reviewed Torin. He pincered the cigar and pointed it at Torin. A guard produced a lighter and stepped forward.
Torin frowned. The guard seemed familiar, somehow. Big, light-footed, broken nose, blue eyes.
‘Thank you, Baker,’ Carleton said, bending forward to light the cigar.
Torin controlled his annoyance. ‘Light that, Mr Carleton, and you can leave now.’
Carleton’s lips thinned, then he rolled his wrist, inscribing a circle in the air with the cigar. ‘As you wish. You read the file?’
Baker edged back, watching Torin narrowly.
Torin lifted one corner of the grey suede folder in front of him. ‘I’ve read it.’ He waited a moment to see if Carleton would speak and continued when he didn’t. ‘Why do you need to find her?’
Carleton stretched his mouth wide, his teeth white against tanned skin. He waved the cigar dismissively. ‘I don’t think that’s relevant, is it?’
Torin allowed his heels to hit the wooden floor.
‘Yes.’ He clasped his hands together on the folder. ‘With fifteen branches around the world, O’Connor Inc. has a reputation to maintain. We don’t kidnap young women with no reason given.’ He allowed ice into his expression, unintimidated by Carleton’s sneer.
‘So, I repeat,’ he said, ‘what do you need her for?’
Carleton shrugged. His expensive Armani jacket rucked up around his ears until his head appeared neckless.
‘She’s connected to the death of my youngest daughter, Amali. I want…information. I need to know how and why my daughter died, and where her husband is now.’
Torin stilled. ‘Surely that’s a matter for the police?’ There was something more; something withheld. He was never wrong. That nose for lies was what made him good at being a private investigator.
‘I do not want the authorities involved. This is a personal matter.’
‘But if your daughter’s dead—’
‘They are aware of it. They believe it was natural causes. And my daughter, and her husband…’ For a moment Carleton hardened and his jaw worked. ‘…are my affair.’ He regained control and relaxed into a thin imitation of amusement. ‘I simply wish to ask the lady whose details are in that folder you hold, what Amali’s last words and wishes were. And to extend my condolences to my daughter’s husband. I’m hoping this woman can tell me where to find him.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Please. Indulge a grieving father and find her? Surely, you understand how important family is.’ He indicated the picture Torin kept on his desk: a twenty year old photo of Torin, his father, mother and sister.
Torin laid the photo face down. His family were long-dead but he di
sliked Carleton even mentioning them, for some reason.
‘I will pay well,’ Carleton said.
Torin hesitated, still not liking the feel of this interview. He’d learned to trust his feelings over the last thirty-three years and something about Carleton didn’t sit right. Still…. He considered the file on his desk. The young woman in question, if the information was true, was dangerous. Someone needed to rein her in before she killed anyone else.
‘I’ll put my best man on it,’ he conceded, rising and extending a hand.
‘I trust so.’ Carleton ignored the offer to shake. ‘When he finds her, have them meet me here, in New York. Here’s my card.’ He tossed a gold-embossed business card onto Torin’s desk and swept from the office.
The guard, Baker, saluted with a hint of a smirk on his lips.
Torin texted his partner.
#
Twenty minutes later Kade Miller sauntered into the room, energetic, careless, throwing a laughing rejoinder to Torin’s secretary over his shoulder as he flicked the door shut. He strolled to the desk, his sneakers soundless, hands jammed into the pockets of faded jeans, plain grey tshirt hanging loose across his lean shoulders. He seemed comfortable. Relaxed. A lopsided smile was echoed by ironic humour in his grey eyes.
Torin examined him speculatively. Was it wise to give him this case? It had taken years for the bitter withdrawal to fade into acceptance and for Kade’s natural humour to resurface. Was Kade ready to take on something that hit so close to the bone? There was no-one else available. Besides, something about the case made Torin determined to give it to someone he trusted.
Settling into a chair, Kade rested his feet on the desk and stifled a yawn. ‘What’s up, oh great leader?’
With an eye-roll, Torin sat. ‘We’re equal partners.’
Kade’s grin twisted into smugness. ‘But you like the leader thing. I much prefer the road.’ He gestured at the leather-and-timber office with its dark wooden furniture and earth-tone colours. ‘You get off on running this place. And you’re good at it. Let me do what I’m good at.’
‘And that is?’ Torin tapped his fingertips on the folder. He knew what the answer would be.
‘Finding people for money,’ Kade replied. ‘Isn’t that why you called me? What’ve you got?’
‘Not sure it’s a good idea to give you this one. But I don’t have anyone else available.’
Kade grabbed the folder and opened it. ‘Reverse psychology? Bit obvious for you. What’s so…’ He flipped a page. ‘Ah. Not reverse psychology. You were serious. Shit, Tor. You know how I feel about people like this woman.’ The humour slipped from his mobile face, leaving it blank. He finished skimming the written file. The eyes he raised to Torin’s were haunted by old pain and Torin cursed his own stupidity. He should have turned the job down rather than inflict it on Kade.
‘No one else at all?’ Kade’s voice was flat.
‘Sorry. I should have told him to get lost. It’s just…’ Torin spun the grainy photo and flicked it across the desk. ‘There’s something about this girl. And something about the client. I think we need to take this job. I don’t know why.’
Kade picked up the photo and stilled. Slowly, he lowered the image, then examined it again. Nodding, he stood. There was a hint of bewilderment in his expression when he tucked the photo into the folder and patted it.
‘Alright,’ he said, ‘I’ll do it. You’ve always had good instincts about people. It’s how we’re still alive, after all. Get me a meeting with this Carleton. I have a few questions.’
Taken aback by his ready acquiescence, Torin could do no more than agree. Kade left, the folder under one arm.
Torin noted the lack of spring in his step, and swore. Hopefully he wasn’t putting Kade in danger.
Again.
CHAPTER TWO
TORIN
Ten minutes after Kade left Cathy admitted Torin’s next clients. He got to his feet and assessed the two strangers when they entered. Both young, late teens perhaps; early twenties by the confidence with which they carried themselves. The girl was slender and graceful with blonde hair that seemed subtly wrong against her olive skin. Her brown eyes flicked about his office, touching on his gun cabinet.
She winced when sunlight, reflected off a window opposite, flashed across her eyes. She ignored Torin’s offer to shake hands, instead seating herself in the chair vacated by Carleton. She shifted so her back was to the wall, both exits from the office in sight.
The man also walked with the lithe confidence of someone with body-training; movements under control; aware of his surroundings. He shook Torin’s hand and inclined his head at his partner.
‘Thankyou for seeing us. I’m sorry about Rowan.’ He smiled at her and she returned cool resignation. ‘She’s never liked shaking hands. I’m Logan.’ His accent was neutral but with hints of British. Interesting.
Torin studied them both. Why did they seem familiar? Had he met them somewhere before?
Waving Logan toward the second chair, Torin seated himself behind the desk.
‘What can I do for you folks?’ He steepled his fingertips and waited.
Logan angled forward, intense, all humour gone. ‘We need you to find someone.’ He pulled a thin, yellow folder out of a knapsack and slid it across the desk. A usb device was clipped to it. ‘This is everything we have on him. Last we saw him was in Florence, Italy, about two weeks ago. His jet’s flight plan was logged as coming to New York but we can’t find a record of his landing.’
Spinning the folder, Torin flipped it open and perused the front page. ‘Finn Andvarisson. Why are you trying to find him?’
Rowan, who’d slouched in silence, sat up. ‘He’s wanted for murder. Of Logan’s mother.’
‘Shouldn’t you be talking to the police?’
‘No. He’ll run if he finds we’ve spoken to the police, or that we’re following him.’ She stood, wiping her palms down the front of her jeans and green tshirt.
Torin plugged the USB into his laptop and skimmed the files. ‘Impressive military training history. But why does it stop over a decade ago? Where’s he been in that time?’
‘Not important,’ Logan said.
‘How about you let me decide that? Knowing his work contacts from the last decade will give us a place to start.’
Logan exchanged a look with Rowan, who shrugged and strode to the window.
‘He’s been working for an organisation called the Mors Ferrum,’ Logan said. His jaw clenched and his fingers whitened where they rested on his chair arms. ‘We…closed their branch in Italy, but someone here in the US must have offered Finn a place to hide.’
Tapping at his keyboard, Torin frowned. ‘Nothing on a Mors Ferrum but a few crackpot sites on conspiracy theories. Who are they?’
Logan raised flat eyes, his lips pressed thin. ‘People the conspiracy theorists were right about. There’s a file on that usb listing as many known members in the US as we could find. But it’s unlikely he’ll contact them. He knows we have the list. Try the dark web.’
‘Twisty kind of place,’ Torin replied. What would these two kids know about the dark web? ‘Hard to find what you’re after without the right contacts. Not giving me much to go on, are you? Even a photo?’ Torin spotted an image file and opened it. Surprised, he inspected Logan, who was pale but returned only steady calm. ‘A relative?’ Torin asked. The similarities were unmissable.
‘My father,’ Logan replied, his voice harsh.
‘Ah.’ Torin knew better than to make any other response.
Rowan moved to stand behind Logan’s chair, her hands on his shoulders. ‘Let your people know he’ll wear a disguise, but a photo will show his real image.’
‘Some sort of holographic projection?’
‘Something like that,’ she said. ‘But if they find him, do not let them engage. He will show your people no mercy. Make sure they observe and report only. Find him and we’ll take over.’
Torin folded his arms, q
uashing a flare of irritation that this girl-child presumed to take such a tone of command to someone a decade older than herself.
Logan cast her a resigned eyeroll. ‘Rowan. Behave.’
She shot Torin a small, half-smile. ‘Sorry. Logan keeps telling me I don’t play well with others. I apologise for telling you how to do your job. I know how dangerous Finn can be and I don’t want your people to get hurt.’
Logan rose. ‘I might not agree with Rowan’s diplomacy, Mr O’Connor, but she is right. Find him, but be careful. Money isn’t an issue. Here’s my number.’ He passed over a card with nothing but a phone number and a generic, numeric email address.
Torin looked up at them. He accepted the card. ‘Alright, but if you’re intending something illegal I can’t be an accessory.’ Something about this couple pulled at him. He’d met a lot of distraught relatives but few as composed as this pair.
‘We aren’t intending anything illegal,’ Logan’s reply was wry. ‘He usually is, though. We just want to bring him to justice.’ He glanced at Rowan. ‘Be aware, though, even working outside the Mors Ferrum, he’s got…connections. He won’t be easy to find.’
‘Mob? Russian? Yakuza?’ Torin asked. ‘What kind of connections? Where should I start?’
‘A little less mainstream.’ Rowan pursed her lips. ‘Think in terms of human trafficking, perhaps. Medical experiments.’
Torin ground his teeth. ‘Unpleasant. I’ll see what I can do.’
‘He’ll have money and resources,’ Logan warned.
‘Understood,’ Torin agreed. ‘I have several ex-military who’d jump at the chance to do something other than insurance claims and unfaithful spouses.’
Logan offered a hand and Torin shook it, impressed with the boy’s level-headed calm.
Torin held out a hand to Rowan, keeping it there even when she resisted. Sighing, she gripped it, ignoring Logan’s abortive negatory gesture.
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