Ginny looked at the implacable expressions on their faces and decided she would get no further with them. She sighed, apologized for the disturbance, and turned to go. As she did so, her eye fell on a pair of men coming down the corridor toward the office, one bearing a striking resemblance to the picture of Father Ignacio she had seen online.
She stepped into their path and waited to be acknowledged, her eye drawn automatically to the second man, seeing one shoulder higher than the other, and tentatively diagnosing it as scoliosis. She let the thought slip from her mind as he moved back the way he had come. She turned her attention to the priest.
The two men from the office hurried to get between her and her quarry. They spoke rapidly in Spanish and Ginny saw the padre frown, his eyes on her. She saw also that the two minions were frightened. They were apologizing, pleading, excusing themselves. She did not need to understand the language to read the message. With an impatient wave of his hand, he stopped them and sent them away, then approached her.
“Father Ignacio Allende?” She introduced herself, apologized for the intrusion, and described her errand. At first he was as unhelpful as his staff, but when she explained there was a child involved, one who needed to be reunited with his mother, Father Ignacio seemed to become interested. He invited her into his office.
“This child was abandoned at the hospital?”
“With a note from his mother saying she would be back, but we were beginning to be afraid she was dead.”
“Why have you changed your mind?”
“She telephoned yesterday.”
“She is alive, then.”
“Or was, twenty-four hours ago.” Ginny explained again how urgent it was to coax Maria Perez out of hiding so she could be protected from whatever it was that was threatening her. “Will you help us?”
Father Ignacio smiled and nodded. “Willingly, my child. What do you need from me?”
A half hour later, Ginny took her leave, convinced she had never met a more charming clergyman in her life. Once he grasped the situation, Father Ignacio could not have been more understanding, more full of useful suggestions, more concerned for his parishioner. Yes, Maria was one of his flock and of course she must be rescued. That’s what a shepherd did.
Ginny got into her car and headed home. DeSoto first, then Tran would need to be notified and both would probably want to meet Father Ignacio, but it could work. If Maria would just cooperate, they could get her back and Luis back into her arms. Suddenly, the promise of Saint Michael’s upraised hand seemed to reach out to touch the endeavor. With the Lord’s help, he seemed to be saying, anything was possible.
* * *
Chapter 42
Day 18 – Monday noon, Feast of Stephen
Forbes residence
Ginny parked the car, let herself in, and made her way to the kitchen, following the voices.
“Hello!” She smiled at Himself, then at her mother, who rose and gave her a hug.
“Thank goodness! We had begun to worry.”
Ginny looked from her mother to the Laird, then to the stranger seated at the kitchen table.
“Sit down, lass.” The Laird indicated a chair.
Sinia Forbes kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I have some Christmas presents to deliver. Call me if you need me.” She headed for the garage.
Ginny took off her coat, then sat down facing the two men. She waited for Himself to begin.
“Ye disobeyed me. Ye’ve been oot by yerself.”
Oh, so that was the problem. She nodded.
He leaned toward her. “Ye decided, on yer own, tae approach a man ye didna know, in a place ye’ve never been afore.”
Ginny had been looking forward to telling everyone about her success. Now it looked as if she was going to be punished for her initiative. Her brows drew together. “I didn’t realize I was under house arrest.”
“I didnae realize ye would tak’ such a chance, sae soon after Saturday nicht.” He indicated the stranger. “This is yer second cousin, Fergus Stewart.”
She turned her eyes on the other man and saw that he did resemble her mother, a bit.
“He’s a gallóglaigh and here at my askin’, tae keep ye frae bein’ killed.”
Ginny started at his words. “Is that really necessary?”
The Laird gave her a hard look. “Aye and ye owe it tae him and tae me tae do as he asks.”
So far, the stranger hadn’t said a thing. Ginny looked at him and frowned. Was he a guest here? Should he be treated as family? He looked hard as stone and disinclined to conversation.
“Second cousins means we share an ancestor.”
The stranger nodded.
Ginny tried again. “Presumably that means my Stewart great-grandfather.”
Again, he nodded.
She studied him for a moment. He was darker than her mother, with chestnut hair cut very short and hazel eyes that seemed to bore right into her skull. Good bones, clean lines, maybe a year or two younger than herself. Not a soft spot on him. She turned back to Himself.
“He’s a bodyguard.”
“Aye.”
Ginny knew the history of the gallóglaigh. They were mercenaries from the west of Scotland, arising in the mid-thirteenth century, and famous for their expertise and courage. The modern version was armed differently, but of the same mettle.
“I assume there are rules of some sort.”
The Laird nodded. “Yer tae stay home, wi’ the doors locked. Stay awa fra th’ windows. Tell no one where ye are or tha’ there’s a concern.”
“How am I supposed to get to work?”
“Yer off th’ schedule ’til further notice.”
Ginny blinked. She knew Angus had a great deal of power where the hospital was concerned, but they were short two ICU nurses and she had expected to be needed at her post.
“’Twill gie ye a chance tae catch up on yer sleep.”
Ginny felt a stab of irritation. She didn’t need any more Mackenzie males telling her she looked tired, and this one wasn’t even a physician. “Is Jim going to be treated the same way?”
“Yer no tae concern yerself aboot Jim. We’ll see tae him as weel.”
Ginny found herself frowning. “I need to speak to DeSoto.”
“He’ll come tae ye.”
“And Detective Tran.”
“The same, or ye may use th’ phone.”
“I thought my phone wasn’t secure?”
“We’ve taken steps.” The gallóglaigh’s voice resonated with quiet strength.
Ginny looked over at the bodyguard. His eyes were fixed on her, as if memorizing her appearance, or estimating how hard his job was going to be. She addressed her next question to him. “For how long?”
Himself answered. “Until th’ crisis is past.”
Ginny swung toward the Laird. “That could be months, years! I will not go into hiding for the rest of my life.”
“’Tis wha’ ye’ve suggested fer Maria Perez and wee Luis. Why them an’ no yerself?”
“You know perfectly well why. Maria knows something. I don’t.”
The Laird leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If I were th’ cartel, I’d no believe it. Yer a nosy, interfering woman, and ye ha'e a history wi’ th’ police.”
Ginny felt her cheeks flush, but Angus Mackenzie had been the Laird of Loch Lonach all her life. He knew his charges better than they knew themselves. She conceded the point.
“I can’t leave the house?”
Himself shook his head.
“At all?”
She saw the Laird exchange glances with the bodyguard.
“If th’ need arises, we’ll deal wi’ it then.” He rose from his chair. “I’ll leave the twa o’ ye tae get acquainted.” He pulled on his Inverness cape, picked up his walking stick, and turned to face Ginny. “Ha’e ye any further questions?”
“Not at the moment.”
His eyes lingered on her face, no doubt remembering every rebe
llious moment she’d ever had in her life. “I’ll expect a good report o’ ye, Ginny Forbes,” he said.
She had risen when the Laird did and stood facing him, unhappy with the strictures, but knowing she would obey to the best of her ability. She took a breath, then curtsied as she’d been taught to do. “Aye, Mackenzie.”
He nodded, then let himself out. Ginny stood where she was for a full minute, thinking about the scene on the hospital rooftop, then sighed, turned to the gallóglaigh, and addressed him. “Well, Cousin Fergus, where do we begin?”
* * *
Monday afternoon, Feast of Stephen
Brochaber
Jim put down his professional journal and picked up the phone, smiling as he recognized Ginny’s number. “Hello!”
“Jim! Come rescue me!”
He sat up abruptly. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m trapped in my own house.”
Jim relaxed. “Oh, is that all?”
“All? Is that ALL? Do you have any idea how boring it is to sit and stare at the walls—and don’t tell me to sleep. I can’t.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“Out making Christmas calls and I wish I was with her.”
“And your gallóglaigh?”
“You know about that, do you?”
Jim nodded into the phone. “Grandfather introduced me.”
“Do you have one?”
“No.”
“Then jump in your car and come get me.”
“I’m not going to do that, Ginny. First, because I’ve promised not to, and second, because I like the idea of you safe at home until this is resolved.”
“Then at least come over and entertain me.”
Jim shook his head. “Can’t do that, either.”
“Why not?”
Jim couldn’t help laughing at her tone of voice. “Because I’m not at home, either. I’m in residence at Grandfather’s until this is over.”
“Oh! So, house arrest for you, too.”
“Sort of, only I have to go to work. Tell me about your cousin.”
“I can’t! I can’t get him to talk to me. He’s spoken eight words—I counted them—since he got here. Might as well be a brick wall.”
Jim smiled. A bodyguard who couldn’t be drawn into idle conversation sounded like a good thing. “Let him do his job, Ginny. Speaking of which, have you talked to DeSoto?”
“Yes. Did Himself tell you about my visit to Father Ignacio this morning?”
“You figured that out all by yourself?”
“Don’t be snide. It was an obvious thing to try, once I eliminated all the other possibilities.”
“The thing that sets you apart, Virginia Forbes, is how logical your mind is. It’s most unwomanly.”
“There you go, sneering at me again. I have half a mind to hang up on you.”
“Don’t do that! I promise I’ll be nice. Tell me what DeSoto said.”
Jim listened for the next twenty minutes to a description of Ginny’s report to Agent DeSoto, his suggestions on how to set up the trap, Detective Tran’s contributions, and a long string of things that could go wrong with the scheme.
“And the worst of it is, I can’t go.”
“It would be foolish to risk you. A female agent will do the job much better. I’m sure they’ve got one fluent in Spanish.”
“Maybe so, but I wanted to see Luis’ face when his mother appears. I promised we’d find her. I want to make good on that promise.”
Jim felt his heart melt. “I know.”
“Besides, all we expect is that Maria will try to sneak into the church, grab Luis, then sneak out again.”
Jim shook his head. “No, what we expect is that the cartel will see our message to Maria, realize what it means and come prepared to kill her on sight. There’s quite likely to be gunfire.” Jim heard Ginny sigh.
“It’s just so frustrating to be stuck here while all the action is going on somewhere else.”
“How are you coming with the murder investigation? Have you figured out who killed Phyllis, yet?”
“The front runner is Marjorie Hawkins, but now that she’s dead, I don’t know how we’re going to prove it.”
“Can I help?”
“Not if you can’t do errands for me. I can make my own telephone calls.”
“If you need something, let me know and I’ll run it past Grandfather.”
“Okay.” There was a pause. “Jim?”
“Yes?”
“You’ll be careful? At work?”
“Of course, and DeSoto still has agents on my tail, so I’m not without help if I need it.”
“Okay. Wish me luck with Cousin Fergus.”
“You let him do his job!”
“Oh, I will, but I’m going to get more than eight words out of that man if it’s the last thing I do!”
“Ginny—”
“Bye!”
Jim hung up the phone, a half smile on his face. That she sounded more like her old self again was a good thing. That she had decided to force the bodyguard to talk probably wasn’t. Jim wished he could be a fly on the wall watching her try. Stubborn as Ginny was, Cousin Fergus had struck him as more so. It would be interesting to see who won that battle.
* * *
Chapter 43
Day 18 – Monday afternoon, Feast of Stephen
Ginny’s residence
Ginny set down the phone feeling frustrated. She wandered over to the window and peeked out, being careful not to disturb the blinds. The gallóglaigh had spent the afternoon inspecting the house, making adjustments both inside and out, behaving almost as if she wasn’t there.
“Step back from the window.”
Ginny started, turning guiltily to find the man also moved like a cat, silent even on the staircase, which should have creaked to warn her of his approach. She stared at him, breathing hard, then moved to her computer and sat down, pulling up the genealogy files.
“Fergus Stewart.” She dug into her database, but ten minutes of searching failed to find the man who stood absolutely still, absolutely silent in the doorway. She turned to face him.
“What am I overlooking?”
He lifted an eyebrow, but did not answer. She turned back to her machine.
“Starting with the shared ancestor, James Edward Stewart, my mother’s grandfather, I find three boys and two girls. Of the three boys, the eldest died without male heirs. The second is my mother’s father, my grandfather, Alasdair Stewart. The third is his youngest brother, Donald Mor Stewart.” Ginny looked over at the gallóglaigh. “Your grandfather.”
A nod.
Her eyes narrowed. “Mor, in Scots, means ‘great.’ I never met him. Was he a great man?”
“He was.”
“What made him great? He wasn’t christened ‘Great,’ was he?” She saw the man’s mouth twitch.
“He weighed nine pounds at birth.”
“Oh!” Well, that made sense. A baby that big might impress his mother as being worthy of the epithet. Ginny turned back to her files. “Donald Mor Stewart had three sons, John Edward, Alasdair Mor, and Donald Brian. Which of them was your father?”
“John Edward.”
Ginny focused on John Edward Stewart. “No Fergus here.” She spent another fifteen minutes sifting through the online databases, looking for a link, finding nothing. She swung around and faced the gallóglaigh. “If you're an imposter, Himself will have to be told.”
The man smiled at her, then turned his back and went downstairs. Ginny frowned. Neither Himself nor her mother could make a mistake on a family connection so close to Sinia Stewart Forbes. There was a secret there, and he wasn’t telling, and the others might not know.
Ginny crossed to the window again, in defiance of orders, but lingered for only a moment, then retreated into the center of the room. Her eyes ranged over the four walls and came to rest on a photograph of herself at one of the Scottish Country Dance Balls. It was full dress. She was in a floor-length ball g
own of dark green velvet with her Forbes tartan flying behind her as she turned. Her partner was in dress kilt, complete with lace jabot, and looked good enough to eat. The next Tartan Ball was this Friday, followed promptly by the Hogmanay celebrations on Saturday night.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. She was not going to miss those parties! Even if she had to bring down the drug cartel by herself, she was NOT going to be locked up this weekend!
She metaphorically rolled up her sleeves, and went back to work. If the only way to be free was to do the professionals’ job for them, then she’d better get busy. There was a lot to be done and not a lot of time left to do it in.
* * *
Monday evening, Feast of Stephen
Grace Edward’s Residence and beyond
“NO! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you, but I can’t come in tonight. You’ll have to find someone else to cover for Ginny.” Grace Edwards shook her head at the phone. “Personal business. No, I can’t move it. Look, I’m sorry, but I CAN’T. Goodbye.”
She hung up the phone wondering if they dared fire her. It wasn’t as if she was just hanging around, doing nothing. She had to meet her supplier, then take the drugs to the curandera.
It would be full dark in another twenty minutes. She had just enough time to wolf down a sandwich, then get in the car and get over to the rendezvous point.
An hour later she was headed back, the precious drugs in the special bag she used for such things. It already had the rest of the items they would need: chemo gloves, IV supplies, antihistamine, antiemetic, more fluids. The latest supplies had been ‘liberated’ from the Hillcrest Medical ICU stock. She would have to find a way to replace them, but the need was great and urgent and the hospital could afford to lose one or two things. They could consider it a charitable donation.
She drove slowly along the narrow street, giving the neighborhood ample opportunity to look her over and identify the car. Just as she was about to run out of paved surface, a shadowy figure detached himself from a tree and sauntered over. She slowed to a stop, then reached up, and turned on the inside light, so he could see her clearly. He looked, then gestured for her to park the car and get out.
“Por aquí.”
She followed him across the yard, along a dry creek bed, and into the shelter of a dense stand of old oaks. A few minutes walking brought her into the presence of a very old farm house. She hadn’t been here before, and it was a mark of respect that she was being allowed to see this place. Her guide held the ancient door open for her.
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