Ghosts of Culloden Moor 23 - Brodrick

by L. L. Muir

  She’d come full circle, really—shoes were back to being a necessity. At that moment, what she needed was a pair of shoes she could run in, could climb a hill in, could dodge bullets in if necessary.

  She found a 2XL black t-shirt with a boring decal on it, then went looking for the jeans. She had to guess his size by holding open the waistband. In the end, she settled for the largest waist and longest legs she could find on the shelves. A 40x40. Square pants.

  She sighed. She was finally in a position to buy clothing for a man and he wasn’t even a boyfriend.

  Socks. Tennis shoes for him. Size 14 would have to do. Underwear. Holy crap, she’d nearly forgotten underwear! She got him boxer briefs because…well, just because.

  And since she was finally feeling a little normal, she decided to take a few more minutes to buy some stuff for her. If they were going to be on the run, she had to have clothes too. And a hair dye. Didn’t refugees from the law always dye their hair? Hers was a light brown. She wanted to try red, but decided that a darker brown would be change enough. She’d never thought she could afford a dye job before. When she saw how cheap they were, she wondered why she’d never tried it earlier.

  With bags piled high, she exited the store and pushed her cart around the corner opposite the one she’d come from. Then she abandoned the basket and took her sacks into the shadows beside a loading dock in the rear. She looked for cameras, ducked behind a large metal bin marked for cardboard recycling, and changed her clothes.

  A blue and white tie-dyed shirt with points that draped to her thighs was nothing like Larkin Nash would wear. Neither were the white leggings with eyelet around the ankles. Justice Payette could drive right past her and not recognize her, even without the white baseball cap with a bedazzled peace sign on the front. Of course, if someone were to scan the store footage, they’d know exactly what to look for, but hopefully, by the time that happened, it would all be over.

  How it would end, however, she had no idea. She just hoped she could come up with a solid plan that would keep everyone calm and alive.

  She donned a fresh pair of socks and the tennis shoes. The rest of her stash she packed inside a large purse shaped like a duffle bag, then headed back toward the Paul Bunyan Trail. She was just entering the official path when she was jolted out of her skin by the high-pitched bleep of a cop’s siren immediately behind her. She turned slowly with her one hand in plain sight and the elbow of her other arm lifted since she was unable to release her terrified grip on the bag’s long cotton handle.

  “Ma’am? Step over to the car, please.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The cop expected her to walk? She was scared stiff! But she forced herself to breathe and step. Breathe and step.

  He was seated inside the vehicle, his window down, his flashlight directed at her stomach even though the sun was coming up. No gun.

  “Ma’am? Ya might want to reconsider taking the trail this morning. We’ve got a cop-killer on the loose. A mental patient dressed in a Scottish kilt, if he hasn’t changed out of it. We presume he’s in the hills north of the hospital, but until he’s caught, ya need to be careful.”

  He suddenly opened his car door and jumped out.

  This is it. He recognizes me. Calm and alive. Stay calm and alive.

  She was just about to get down on her knees when he patted her on the shoulder. “Oh, look what I’ve done. I’ve scared ya, eh? I’m sorry, ma’am.” He opened the back door and gestured for her to climb inside the car. “The least I can do is give ya a ride home, or wherever you’re headed, so ya don’t have to bother with the trail. I’m truly sorry I upset ya. But what I said is true. The man and his accomplice are dangerous, and walking the Paul Bunyan at this hour is—”

  “You… You didn’t say anything about an accomplice.”

  “Yeah. The woman that helped him escape the psych ward at the hospital, don’t ya know. They had somethin’ to do with the murder of the Cass County Sheriff yesterday—”

  “That’s okay,” she said, backing away. “I’m not worried about the trail, eh?” She laid the accent on thick herself. “Plenty of joggers at this time of morning. Besides, I’ve got to get my steps in, don’t ya know.” She smiled and gave him a little wave. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  He frowned at her. “You do that, eh?”

  She nodded and headed up the trail, giving him no more chances to look at her face and maybe remember it later.

  ~

  Larkin felt like Hansel and Gretel when they realized their bread crumbs had been a bad idea. Only she hadn’t even thought to leave bread crumbs to mark the spot where she’d left her Highlander!

  Her Highlander? She could just imagine how he’d laugh if he heard that.

  She stopped and looked back, trying to remember the point where he’d stepped into the landscape and disappeared. Couldn’t he see her? Was he teasing? Was he asleep? Or maybe he didn’t recognize her in her new clothes.

  Whatever the reason, he needed to snap out of it and give her a signal. Because as soon as she was safely reunited with the Scottish god who could watch her back for a little while, she was going to fall apart—just as soon as she finished telling him how Justice Payette had completely and utterly betrayed her.

  She wasn’t a victim anymore. She was a wanted criminal.

  “Come on, Brodrick,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

  The trees ignored her. Not a leaf rustled.

  There was a fifth possibility, she realized. What if Brodrick had decided his chances were better without the baggage of her slowing him down?

  The prospect left her physically weak. Her lungs deflated along with her emotional state. It didn’t matter that she might be better off alone so she could turn herself in and try to clear her name. The truth was she’d be more devastated by Brodrick Shaw abandoning her than she had been by Justice’s betrayal, and that was pretty significant considering Justice had essentially put a target on her back and ensured she would have to go through Hell itself just to stay out of jail—if she survived at all.

  It was stupid, really, to feel so utterly alone when she’d been pretty alone since high school. Up until about three hours ago… Maybe it was God who was teasing her. “Here’s what is it like to have someone to lean on. Here’s what you’re missing. Oh, sorry. All you get is a taste.”

  I should have never left him.

  A couple of runners came around the corner. She stepped aside for them, then started dragging herself back up the trail. The gazebo was the destination she had in mind. At least she might be able to rest for a while, clear her head, make a plan. She hadn’t gone more than twenty yards when a large, familiar figure stepped into view, his arms held out to his sides in a universal gesture that could only mean what the hell?

  She was so overcome with relief that she ran to him and flung her arms around his middle. And before she had a chance to feel stupid about it, his arms settled on her back and he held her tight.

  “In and out, ye said.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought of some things we needed.”

  “Forgive me.”

  She stepped back automatically, trained now, like Pavlov’s dog, to believe that whenever he said forgive me something bad was about to happen. “Forgive you for what?”

  “For losing faith. I worried ye wouldn’t return, especially after I heard that strange noise. I thought perhaps the authorities had taken ye away from me.”

  She searched his face and could tell that he’d been just as upset as she’d been when she thought he’d left her. And she honestly couldn’t remember an instance when Justice had been that emotional. In fact, whenever she had imagined him proposing to her, even her fantasized version of Justice Payette had been calm and cool.

  Well, she could stop wondering if that day would ever come.

  “An officer stopped me,” she said, “but he just warned me to be on the lookout for men in kilts.” She waved him back into the trees, then followed. “T
his path is about to get crowded.” She made sure they were well hidden before she dropped the bag off her shoulder and started digging through it.

  “What manner of clothing have ye found for me?”

  She bounced her eyebrows a couple of times and grinned. “Square pants.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Standing right next to a man while he was getting dressed was an odd type of torture, especially with her back turned to him. She heard every rustle, every strained breath, every grunt. Her imagination got away from her at one point and she decided it would be better if she drowned out the noises with some quiet conversation.

  “By the way,” she said, “the cops believe I’m your accomplice now, that I came to the hospital to break you out, and that I was involved with Robert’s murder too.”

  A hand wrapped around her arm and turned her. Brodrick appeared to be more alarmed by the news than by anything else that had happened to him that morning, while she was a little distressed by the black t-shirt and how it squeezed his arms and chest.

  A nervous, laugh escaped her, and to cover for it, she tried to think of something funny to say. “I think… I think you could classify this as the all-time worst way to break up with a girl. I mean, if he’d texted me, it would have been kinder.”

  Brodrick pulled her against his body and wrapped his arms around her. The embrace was as sincere as the one she’d given him when he’d stepped out of the trees. And once again, she was struck by the fact that he didn’t let his pride keep him from expressing himself. It was becoming her favorite trait in a man.

  “I should have kept my hands off of ye, lass. Forgive me.”

  Careful not to pull away, she said, “It’s true. If you’d never used me as a shield, never taken me along, my life might have gone along the way I’d planned. I might have been forgiven for opening that door and inadvertently letting you escape. I might not. But you might have been killed, and I might have gone on to marry a corrupt sheriff.” With no emotions at all, she might have added. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your hands exactly where they are.”

  “Will wonders never cease,” he said.

  She leaned back to look at his face. “Why do you say that?”

  He smiled into her eyes and stroked a thumb across her bottom lip. “Ye may have a drop or two of liar’s blood in ye after all.”

  He lowered his head toward her, but she pulled back and he retreated.

  He let his hands fall away, then took a half step back. “So. Now that we have new camouflage, we should see about clearing yer good name, aye?”

  “My good name? What about yours?”

  He shrugged a shoulder and picked up his pile of folded plaid topped with yards of leather belts. Then he nodded his chin at her bag and held his stuff out while she made room for it. “I will be content if I can but keep from spending the next day or so behind bars. I’ve had my fill of confinement. I want to feel the air in my lungs, the grass beneath my feet. I want to eat and swive and…

  “Swive? What’s that?”

  “Never ye mind, lass. I misspoke is all.”

  “A Scottish thing?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk as he turned his head away, but he said nothing.

  “Well, I guess we’d better find you something to eat, then. Maybe, if you chopped off your hair, you wouldn’t look so Sco—”

  His head swung back around and the look he gave her was pure threat. It warned her not to insult his Highland-ness again. So she bit her lip to keep the word Scottish from falling past her teeth and stepped away from him.

  “It never fails to surprise me when an American with all the money in the world kens nothing of that world. Have ye never thought to step foot outside yer land of plenty? Sail across the sea just to learn what lies on the other side?” He stuck his head out of the trees and looked up and down the trail before gesturing for her to follow him out.

  She hurried onto the track, hoping no one would wonder what they’d been doing in the bushes. And they hit a comfortable stride before the next runner came around the bend. After she passed, Larkin picked up the conversation where they’d left off.

  “That was quite a rant—all because I’m not familiar with the difference between Highlanders and Scotsmen. And just because I don’t know anything about Scottish politics doesn’t mean I believe the world is flat.”

  He nodded sharply. “What other languages do ye speak?”

  “I took Spanish in Junior High,” she said defensively.

  “Pero se puede hablar con fluidez?”

  She scowled. “What does that mean?”

  “I asked if you could speak it fluently.”

  “All I remember is how to say kiss me, I speak Spanish.”

  He glanced at her lips again, then away. “That’s what they taught you in school?”

  She shook her head and looked down at the path, not wanting to see his reaction when she confessed she’d seen it on a t-shirt. He didn’t laugh.

  “Look. Most Americans can’t afford to go to Disneyland, let alone Scotland. If they’re visiting your home town, they’ve either got money or they saved up a helluva long time to be able to leave the country. What did your flight cost you? A thousand? Fifteen hundred?”

  He actually looked embarrassed. “A lass sent me—”

  “You mean someone paid your way?”

  “Something like that.”

  Larkin groaned inwardly. Of course he had a girlfriend. How could he look like he did and not have a dozen of them at any given time? She’d been right not to let him kiss her in the trees. Yes, his arms around her had helped bring her down off an emotional roller coaster, had helped her feel like she wasn’t alone in all this, but it didn’t mean they were a couple. In fact, she should have never allowed him to kiss her in the first place.

  And in the second…and third.

  They came along an opening that would put them on a real road. “Come on. We need to steal a car and get out of Minnesota if we can. The local police will be the most trigger happy. And I might be able to think clearer if we can stop running.”

  And kissing, said Jiminy.

  The playboy hurried to keep up with her. “Earlier, ye insisted ye were no thief.”

  “Yeah, well. That was before I was a murderer.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They left Paul Bunyan Trail and walked along Cypress Drive. There were enough gawkers—drooling after the playboy, of course—that she considered going back into the shelter of the trees and maybe hiding there for a month or two. If the news channels were showing any footage from the hospital cameras, however, passersby would have a hard time believing that the wildly dressed Scottish god was the same guy stuffing Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups in his mouth and wearing jeans, a tight t-shirt, and a pony tail—made with the elastic that used to be in her hair.

  So she soldiered on and settled for the role of the lucky chick holding his hand. It was all for the part she was playing, of course—just like he’d been playing all morning, she was sure of it.

  They turned onto Clearwater Road that lead to the freeway and peeked into cars when they could, looking for forgotten keys and unlocked doors. It was hard to tell, most of the time, but they couldn’t look too closely with so many cars passing by. At the corner, they cut through the parking lot around the Days Inn, but there were cameras there, so they couldn’t try any handles. She thought she could hotwire an ignition if they could just find an older car. Unfortunately, they saw none of those at the hotel.

  “We’re just going to have to hijack someone.”

  He gave her a warning look. “If we do that, we canna let them loose again. Ye do realize—”

  “Never mind. No hijacking. But maybe we can hitchhike.” She pointed to the Superamerica just down the block. At least half the stalls between gas pumps were full of people who might be convinced to give them a lift. A couple hundred-dollar bills might be tempting enough.

  “Come on.” She swung his hand and
smiled like a loon while she tried to extract a bill from her pocket without pulling out every penny she now had to her name. As they neared the pumps, her nerves failed and she pulled Brodrick toward the building instead. They walked around to the far side and she knelt down to fiddle with her shoe while she tried to get her courage up.

  On that side of the station, there were only two outfits getting gas. A minivan full of kids and a pickup with a nice camping trailer hitched to the back. The man returning the nozzle to its resting place looked about sixty. He screwed the cap on his tank and he and his wife headed for the building.

  “Perfect,” she whispered. She told the playboy to act casual and pulled him in toward the minivan. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the glass door close behind the couple. She intended to tug Brodrick toward the RV, but he’d already figured out her plan. They strolled around the end of the trailer and up to the door like they owned it.

  “Please be unlocked.”

  It was.

  Two hands grabbed her around the waist and hefted her up through the doorway, then Brodrick gave her a little shove and climbed in behind her as smooth as a cat, like he took giant steps like that a hundred times a day. He closed the door gently, then followed her to the back. They stepped inside the tiny bathroom, locked the door, and waited. When they braced themselves with a hand on the miniature sink and another on the wall, they were face to face all over again.

  She started to turn around, but he stopped her with a warm hand on her elbow. “Dinna move about, lassie. The caravan shakes with but a deep breath. They’ll ken we’re inside.”

  She breathed deeply and flared her nostrils, making it clear she wasn’t happy to stand close to him again, and that his brogue wasn’t going to affect her anymore.

  “Come now. Spit it out. How have I ruffled those lovely tail feathers, hm?” With a single finger, he stroked the edge of her collarbone and sent shivers through her. When he realized it made the trailer shake, he grimaced an apology and put his hand behind his back.