Can't Tie Me Down!
Page 20
“It’s well known he’s dangerous,” Agnes said. “Old man McKay used to tell everyone that his grandson was deadly. He was in the Special Forces. He knows about dead bodies.”
“Plus,” Mairi said, “there’s a security company watching him—covertly.” She whispered the last word as though it had special powers. “That must mean he’s on the other side of the law now, which means he won’t report us to the cops.”
“I didn’t know he was being watched.” Donna’s eyes went wide. “Maybe talking to him isn’t such a good idea.”
“I spoke to the woman who was setting up cameras,” Isobel said. Of course she was going to grill a stranger who was setting up CCTV in the street, in the dark. “She showed me her ID and said he wasn’t dangerous to the town. He isn’t a criminal. She said he’s only dangerous to bad guys.” And then the blue-haired woman had laughed. It wasn’t reassuring. Neither was the fact she was wearing a Wonder Woman T-shirt and a pair of pink, glittery Doc Marten boots. “She gave me her business card, in case I was ever worried about anything.”
“Maybe we should call the security company instead?” Mairi said. “We can ask them what to do.”
Agnes groaned. “I can just imagine that conversation— ‘Hello, we have the body of a stranger in our freezer and we’re looking for suggestions on what to do with it.’ Aye, that would go well.”
“It was only an idea.” Mairi frowned at Agnes.
“Whatever,” Agnes said. “I think our best bet is the outlaw. You said he’s huge and there are weapons lying around in his house. He’s obviously used to dangerous situations. I bet he’d know what to do with the body. You need to ask him for help.”
“No.”
Isobel had been delivering groceries to Callum McKay’s house for almost four months, and she’d only seen the man three times. All three times, he’d scared the life out of her. Rage covered him like a shroud. But there was also something about him that made her heart ache. Maybe it was the utter desolation in his eyes, or the fact that the only people she’d seen near him had been from a security company that was hiding in the dark. She’d never met someone so completely alone. And so brutally raw. He was the embodiment of her own personal weakness—the tortured bad boy, with muscles like Thor. She didn’t have to be massively self-aware to realise that he was the last person she should approach for help. No, for the sake of her sanity, it was best to keep far, far away from the man.
“Honey,” Agnes said, “we don’t have a lot of options here. Either you get help from someone who knows what to do with a body, or you keep the guy frozen in your old chest freezer for the foreseeable future.”
“Aye,” Donna said. “And what if this is just the beginning? What if the boat people dump more bodies? We need a plan. We need advice.”
“Or we need to start our own crematorium business,” Mairi said.
“Think of your kids,” Agnes said. “This is getting worse every month. We’re in way over our heads. We need help. If this guy can help, then great. If not, we’ll try something else.”
Isobel’s heart sank. Agnes was right. They were out of options. Staying away from Callum McKay had become a luxury she couldn’t afford. And it wasn’t as if she wanted to start a relationship with him. No, she just wanted advice on what to do with the dead stranger who’d been dumped on her beach.
“You can do it,” Donna said softly. “We have your back.”
Isobel blinked back tears, as love for her sisters overwhelmed her. She didn’t know how she’d survive without them. She needed to talk to Callum for their sakes. This situation with the mysterious boat was well past the point of being dangerous, and they were getting in deeper every month. No, they weren’t—she was. And she was dragging her sisters down with her.
“Okay, I’ll talk to him.”
“You’ll be okay, honey,” Agnes said.
“Just keep your hands off him,” Mairi said. “Maybe you could call him instead of talking to him face to face.”
That caused Agnes to smack her again. “She isn’t going to jump the man, idiot.”
There was a pause as all three sisters gave her speculative looks. Isobel threw up her hands in disgust. “So I have a type. So what? It’s not like I’m going to throw myself at him and offer to sleep with him in return for his help.”
There was a shuffling of feet as her sisters cast sideward glances at each other.
“Thanks a lot,” Isobel said. “Good to know you have so much faith in me.”
“You tend to get physical without thinking it through,” Donna said gently.
“I only did that once,” Isobel protested. And ended up pregnant and alone at seventeen because of it.
Her sisters stared at her.
“Fine. Twice.” And she had the ex-husband from hell to show for that little slip in self-control.
“If it’s any consolation,” Mairi said, “I’ve totally learned from your mistakes.”
“No. It’s no consolation. Now do you three think you could stop analysing my past mistakes long enough to help me get this body off the beach?” She looked at the sliver of light on the horizon. “Sun’s coming. We need to get him to the garage and into the freezer before the kids wake up.”
“This is going to be gross,” Mairi said. “I’ll need to burn my clothes after this.”
“I might vomit again,” Donna said.
“Get a grip,” Agnes snapped, “and take an arm or a leg each.”
With each of them clutching a limb, the four sisters carried the dead man up the hill to Isobel’s house. Donna and Agnes were only sick twice.
BUY RAGE NOW
About the Author
I grew up in Scotland, but after I met my Dutch husband in America we decided to move to New Zealand and that's where we've settled. We bought a patch of land that we've filled with other people's unwanted animals—we didn't advertise for them, they found us! So far, we have three miniature horses (we took in two and were surprised eleven months later when a third appeared—yep, we know nothing about horses), three anti-social alpacas, a grumpy cow, one pet sheep who wants to live in the house, a crazy goat who keeps eating my manuscripts and an escape artist chicken who breaks into our house through the cat flap. And that's just the pets who live outside the house—don't even get me started on the demented, farting dog who keeps burying my shoes! On top of this I have two small girls, one DIY obsessed husband (I said "obsessed" not "skilled") and a 92-year-old neighbour who thinks she lives with us.
You can use this contact form to get in touch or email me at janet@janetelizabethhenderson.com
copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Janet Kortlever
ISBN 978-0-473-41082-7
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful privacy and theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior permission can be obtained by contacting the author through her website. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.
Author's website:
www.janetelizabethhenderson.com