Memphis turned the engine over and slid the shifter into gear. “We should have just enough time to have luncheon at the Dores Inn before we take a drive down the loch. Fish and chips suit you? They have some of the best in the Highlands.”
“Mmm.”
They drove back out to the main road in silence. She was starting to sense Memphis’s moods, and noticed that they were mercurial, at best. There was something bothering him. The joking, jovial, sensitive man from the bridge was gone. Not that she was surprised. It was probably her fault. She’d given in to temptation, then yanked it away. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but had he any right to be upset about it? He’d taken advantage, too.
The silence grew too loud for her to bear.
Are you mad?
“At you? No. Of course not.” There was no sarcasm in his tone, but he didn’t look at her, kept his blue eyes firmly forward on the road.
You’re awfully quiet.
He sighed deeply, both hands gripping the steering wheel of the Aston. “I don’t know if I should tell you this.”
Tell me what, Memphis?
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was strained, and he wouldn’t look at her.
“Taylor. I am hopelessly, desperately in love with you. Everything about you. And I know you feel something for me as well. You can’t deny that.”
She didn’t bother. Her body had given away all her secrets when they kissed. Yes, she did want him. But love? No. Not that. Not ever that.
She shook her head. He took that as a sign that she was agreeing with him, reached over and took her hand. Damn Brit, misinterpreting everything.
“If this was a mistake, I’m very sorry. I hadn’t planned it at all, to be honest. We had tickets for the noon ferry tour around Loch Ness. I was driving by the roundabout and stopping at the bridge seemed like…the right thing to do.”
She sensed he was telling the truth, that he hadn’t planned to make a move on her. She didn’t care what he said, he wasn’t over Evan, not by a long shot. And she was afraid he was going to try to make her a substitute. She’d be a poor one, at that, but safe. And very much alive, as she’d proven less than a quarter hour ago.
You’re forgiven. But Memphis, I’m engaged. We can’t do this.
God, she was going to have to burn these pages as soon as she got back to the castle.
“You’re wrong, Taylor. We most certainly can. But it’s not right for me to take advantage of your situation, either. So you’ll accept my apology, my lady. Please.”
Of course.
She touched him on the back of the hand, briefly, amazed at the shock that ran through her body.
You stupid, stupid girl.
*
Memphis changed the subject as they drew closer to Inverness, talking of the history of the land they were driving through. The Jacobites had fought and died here, on Culloden field, which appeared on her left. Taylor knew the sad history of that battle. The last stand of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s men, ragged, wounded, starving. They fought for their freedom on the moor, died there, nearly all of them, and were buried where they lay. She saw the blue and the red flags from the road—the lines demarking where the British and Scots had stood, facing one another across Drumossie Moor in the cold dawn, before the final charge that would end so many lives.
She felt her skin crawl, goose bumps parading up and down her arms. She was surrounded by death. All she wanted to do was get back to the castle, away from this sadness.
But Memphis was determined, and fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Dores Inn, on the northernmost tip of Loch Ness. It was eerily beautiful, mist rising off the water, the gray skies lending themselves to her introspection. A rosebush outside the door still sported the remnants of heavy pink roses.
The building was warm and cozy, a fireplace pouring out heat. The staff was obviously happy to see them; it was certainly too chilly to be doing much besides staying inside, warm by a fire. This wasn’t exactly high tourist season, though there were people out sailing the loch—Taylor could see the tour boats powering down the murky water. It must be freezing out there, especially with the breeze.
Taylor needed a little something to take the edge off, so she ordered a Guinness. Took a Percocet. Let the edges blur. Tried to stop watching his hands. Tried to forget the bridge.
Memphis made an effort to be cheerful, but he too was distracted. They ate in silence, a strange veil of discomfort surrounding them. The food was delicious, though she couldn’t finish it all. After an interminable thirty minutes, they bundled up and went back into the cold to drive down the loch a bit then head home. Taylor was more than ready for this side trip to be over.
Memphis turned the car south, pointed out a few landmarks, then grew quiet. After a few moments, he said, “I’m sorry. I should never have taken you to the bridge. I’m not quite sure what I was thinking.”
She didn’t know what she was thinking, either. Or what she’d been thinking when she succumbed to his charms. She rubbed her forehead, feeling the small scar on her temple. Her headache was worsening. She slipped another Percocet into her hand, and a Fioricet. There was a bottle of Highland Spring in her bag. She downed the pills and grabbed her notebook.
Memphis, I’m getting tired. Why don’t we just head back?
He smiled in relief, as if he’d needed her permission to abort their journey.
“Of course. Let’s go home.”
They were down near Fort Augustus. It took over an hour to make it back to Dulsie Castle.
They passed the time on a much safer topic. The case Memphis was working on, the enigmatic Urq, and the three missing girls. Crime was the one place Memphis and Taylor truly had common ground.
When he pulled through the gate that led to the castle grounds, it was three o’clock. The snow had held off, and pink streaks of sunset were burgeoning through the clouds to the west.
“Let me make it up to you,” Memphis said suddenly.
Taylor just wanted to go lie down and let the aching stop. She wasn’t all that sure she wanted to indulge him anymore, but good manners and a bit of curiosity won out.
All right. What do you have in mind?
“Follow me.” He jumped out of the car, rushed around to her side and got the door open. “Button up your coat, it’s getting cold now.”
Cold was an understatement. It was downright frigid, and damp to boot. She felt it through the coat, carefully put her hands in the pockets, gun-shy after the morning’s adventure. In answer, her finger gave a dull throb.
“We’re heading up here,” he said, then strolled across the gravel forecourt onto a small path. Fifteen feet in, there was a large arched wooden gate, over eight feet tall. Memphis unlocked it and beckoned for her to step inside so he could lock it behind them. The path widened and started up a slight incline. Taylor could see a statue ahead, probably a football field length away. She looked back at the house, realized that there was a straight shot from the front door up this rise.
What’s that?
“You’ll see,” Memphis replied.
She was a little tired of surprises, but followed dutifully anyhow. There was a seven-foot-high stone wall to her left. She couldn’t figure out what was inside. A graveyard, maybe? That uneasy feeling she had from the afternoon returned with a vengeance.
A few minutes later they were at the top of the hill. The statue was of a woman, holding a bow and arrow in one hand. A small owl perched on her right shoulder. It only took Taylor a moment to place her; the plaque at the woman’s feet gave it away.
Athena?
“Yes. She is my father’s favorite. And mine, of course. The sixth earl had this statue commissioned from a minor sculptor, Rama Nardi, in Florence back in the 1500s. He apprenticed with Niccolò di Piero Lamberti, but never lived up to his initial promise. He had a problem with scale that he couldn’t overcome. Look at her feet. They’re much too large for her body. Nardi died before his twenty-fifth birthd
ay, sadly. This is only one of ten pieces of his known to exist in the world. There are four more inside the wall.”
The statue was old, weathered. Small cracks at the base had been repaired.
Doesn’t that make it valuable?
“Certainly. But Nardi wasn’t terribly famous, or good, for that matter. And we’re in a private area of the estate. It would be hard to walk off with her. She weighs quite a bit.”
What is all this?
“Come see,” Memphis said, and steered her around the statue, back to the stone wall.
She was able to see over the edge now. Extensive, beautiful gardens, bordering a small lake in the center.
A secret garden.
It’s lovely.
She could tell he was pleased to surprise her with something good this time.
“Isn’t it? There are several sections, tiers, really. The public is allowed to enter at the bottom but can only come up halfway. There is a small house on the grounds, back over here, where the gardeners live. They’re a couple. Suited to it. It’s been in his family for a couple of centuries. He’s a Dulsie legacy—Oh, see the swans?”
She could, three of them. Two white and one gray, all three big.
“Mute swans. That’s William and Harry. Harry’s short for Harriet, of course. And the gray one, that’s their cygnet, Charles. He’s not quite full-grown, he’s just starting to turn. They’ve been here for years. I like to visit them while I’m home, though Harry tried to bite me once when I went in the water.”
He was trying to distract her. She smiled at him, nodded. She understood. She wasn’t comfortable, either.
The sun was setting now, nearly gone, and the first flakes of snow started to fall. He turned her around and pointed out the view from the other side of Athena, a glorious spill into the valley below. Taylor took a deep breath, and felt the flakes hit her tongue.
I love it.
Memphis pressed something into her hand. It was an iron skeleton key, big and old-fashioned. “Then you must come here anytime you’d like. As you’ve no doubt realized, your rooms face the mountains, not the gardens, which is why you hadn’t seen them yet. But it’s yours to explore. Taylor, I think it’s best… I’m afraid I need to head back to London tomorrow. I have work to do. Will you be all right here on your own?”
Her emotions split in two. She didn’t want him to go, yet she didn’t want him to stay. It would be easier without him around, she was sure of it. She shoved the key in her back pocket and wrote quickly, heedless of her degenerating scrawl. Got it on paper before she changed her mind.
Of course. That’s why I came, isn’t it? To work with Maddee and heal. This is perfect. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done, Memphis. I’m sorry today was so…difficult.
He shook his head. “That was my fault. I don’t know what possessed me to take you to the bridge.” He brushed a piece of snow from her hair. “It wasn’t all bad. No sense in pretending it didn’t happen. Are you sorry?”
She looked at the ground. Am I?
We stopped. Nothing to be sorry for.
Was that true? Would Baldwin feel that way if he knew? The thought of him, his disappointment in her—another person disappointed in her—stabbed her heart. He will never know, Taylor. You will not hurt him like that. This is between you and Memphis.
They were at the bottom of the path now, and the snow was picking up. Memphis borrowed the key from Taylor, let them out and locked the gate behind them. The castle lights were dimmed, only a few private quarters lit up. Saving electricity, Taylor supposed. They both stopped and looked at it, so forlorn, so alone, so stoic. Just like the family contained inside.
Memphis broke the spell. “You’re just not the kind of woman people get over easily,” he said, shrugging. “So, let’s see what Cook has prepared for dinner.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dear Sam,
I am a fool.
I know what you’re thinking. I can hear you in my head right now, giving me what for. And I’ve always been able to count on you for sound advice.
Memphis kissed me today, on Dulsie Bridge. It’s part of his family lands. Beautiful place. I can’t say that it took me by surprise. We’ve been dancing around the attraction for a while now.
Sam, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. I don’t love him. Not in the way he wants me to. Or needs me to. That’s the thing, he needs me, so much. It’s so different from Baldwin. Baldwin has never needed me. He adores me—that I have no doubt about. But if something happened to me, he could go on, and be happy with another woman.
Memphis has already experienced that loss. And I know I’m just a substitute for Evan. But when he kissed me, I felt something I’d never felt before. And I don’t know what to make of it.
Write me back. Say something wise.
Love,
Taylor
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Baldwin liked Sir Nigel. He was down-to-earth, pragmatic, and not a bit of help.
“I checked all of our files. We don’t have a record of ever using Julius, anywhere. Granted, that’s not much of a surprise. These kind of men are best left off paper.”
“Isn’t that the truth. Well, I appreciate your help.”
“There is someone who might know, though. I’ve got a call in to him. As soon as I hear back, I’ll ring.”
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
“Certainly. Till then.”
Julius. Where the hell are you, man?
Atlantic insisted Julius had simply gone off the reservation, but Baldwin wasn’t so sure. Julius had always been so reluctant. Terribly good at his job, a world-class sniper, but with a code. He wasn’t like many of the guns for hire. Julius was a thinking man’s assassin. Baldwin actually liked the man.
If anything, Julius had decided enough was enough and had dropped off the grid because he was tired of the job. He’d done this before. Baldwin had talked him into coming back.
That time, he’d tracked him to a cozy hidey-hole in Amsterdam, but so far he hadn’t shown up there.
Baldwin closed his laptop and sat back in the chair. The house was too quiet without Taylor. He missed her. God, he missed her.
If he found Julius, he was going to have to go talk him off the ledge and bring him back home, make sure he wasn’t going to lose his edge. But all he really wanted to do was catch the next plane to Edinburgh.
The texts had arrived in the middle of the night, polite and noncommittal. And he, not wanting to look like he was desperately awaiting word, had waited to respond. He got out his BlackBerry and read them again.
Tried to imagine where she was right now, what she was doing. What ridiculously charming event Memphis had planned for her.
He was being petty. He knew Taylor wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their relationship. He understood her desire to get away. Hell, if it had been him, he’d have collapsed long ago. She’d find her way back to him. Didn’t they always say that if you loved someone to set them free?
The phone rang. He hoped to see the 615 area code, but no luck. It was Ainsley again.
He answered on the second ring.
“That was fast.”
Ainsley didn’t waste any time. “He went to Argentina.”
“Are you kidding? What’s in Argentina?”
“Wine and alpacas. Probably a woman, too. Who knows why they choose these places. I’ll send you the specifics. With any luck, you’ll catch up to him.”
“With any luck. Thank you, again. I appreciate the information.”
“Be well, Dr. Baldwin.”
“And you.”
He hung up the phone. Fuck. Argentina? Julius, you asshole.
His email dinged. The information from Ainsley. He read it, forwarded it to Atlantic.
The reply came back almost immediately.
Just received the same information. He’s not there anymore. We got a hit on one of his identities. He took a flight from Buenos Aires to Amsterdam l
ast night. Hope your passport’s ready.
Perfect. Amsterdam he could handle. It would get him closer to Taylor, anyway.
Atlantic’s people would arrange his flights. With any luck, he could be in Europe by nightfall. He’d be met by someone from Angelmaker; they’d grab up Julius and he’d be finished before Christmas.
Then he could get his focus back. On his missing son. On Taylor.
He banged out a text before he went to pack.
Taylor, that’s good news. I’m glad your meeting went so well. I am leaving shortly for the airport. I’ll do my best to be in touch, but if you don’t hear from me, don’t worry. I’ll call as soon as I can. Be good. I love you.
He just hoped she’d be willing to have him when he got back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dinner was another elegant affair. Taylor knew she was going to gain at least five pounds on this trip if she didn’t watch it. Memphis was cheerful, vigilantly avoiding talk of their indiscretions on the bridge. Instead he regaled her with talk of his escapades as a young boy, of his brother’s wine-making venture in South Africa, and Jacobite lore. She was thoroughly entertained.
After dinner, she loaded up on meds and explored the castle with him. He showed her all the little bits and pieces that strangers paid hard-earned cash to see. He told stories in each room as if he were a tour director. She was relieved when they visited the billiards room, at last. It turned out the room was only three doors down the hall from her bedroom, so she would be able to sneak in to play a game here and there if she got bored or couldn’t sleep.
There were two snooker tables and one for regular pool. The table was grand, traditional green baize, heavy wooden lion legs, the pockets made of excellent well-broken-in leather. They assembled their cues, flipped a coin, and Memphis won. Ever the gentleman, he ceded his turn to Taylor, who, feeling frisky, ran the table.
The next game, Memphis got serious. He was a competitive man by nature, and Taylor wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. They began laying bets, a pound a game. They played late into the night, the score moving back and forth, until Taylor got on a major roll and won seven pounds off him. Not a bad night’s work.
Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 2 Page 111
