“I’d love to get far away from this mess. I can be ready to leave in an hour.”
Serge stood at the window and scanned the area around the hotel’s entrance with binoculars capable of spotting a strand of hair two hundred yards away. Mackinnon had left a while ago, but with Diego and Alex’s presence no longer a secret, he had to be sure that one of his accomplices hadn’t continued the old man’s surveillance. It was risky to expose them like this, but the bodyguard was confident that it was too soon for a tail to have been arranged. They’d be safer in the countryside, but until they were out of sight he would remain vigilant.
“Go!” he instructed Diego without turning away from his post once he was sure the area was clear. He kept his eyes on the two of them as Diego tossed two overnight bags in the Mini Cooper and then held the passenger door open for Alex. But the woman didn’t get in. Instead she folded her arms and said something to Diego. Serge would have liked to hear what they were saying, but Alex had her back to him so he couldn’t read her lips. It was entertaining to watch her challenge Diego’s usual role as the dominant partner.
“Give me the keys, Navarro. You said you don’t like to drive here...roundabouts...wrong side...remember?”
“That was yesterday. This is now,” he stated. Alex didn’t have the energy to argue and it didn’t seem like this would be a fight she could win. Maybe driving would calm him down and if they got lost, so what? They had no schedule or destination anyway.
Minutes later Diego sped past a sign pointing to the road north. “You missed the turnoff for the motorway. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”
“I have to make a stop before we leave Inverness.”
“Oh?” she said, afraid to hear where that stop would be.
“I should buy a small gift for my parents. And you’ll want to bring something home for Francie. I’m told there’s a nice souvenir shop around here somewhere,” he said with the innocence of a choirboy.
Alex grabbed the wheel, but Diego righted the car before they careened into a lamppost.
“Are you crazy? Do you want to get us killed?”
“No, but you do! You heard Serge. We’re absolutely, positively not going to Mackinnon’s or at least I’m not. Stop the car.”
“He already knows we’re here, so why hide? Come on, Alex. He saw us when we went for a run this morning.”
“Diego, this isn’t smart. You know it and I know it. What if he has a gun and shoots both of us? Has that possibility even entered your pea brain?”
“You worry too much. Mackinnon isn’t going to kill us. When he sees me, he’ll be afraid that I’m going to kill him.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because my reflexes are better than his could ever be,” he said as he patted the holster under his arm.
He gave Alex what she recognized as “the look,” indicating that nothing and no one could change his mind. So what if an expert had trained him in self-defense, she thought. That wouldn’t make what they were about to do any less risky. She could refuse to go along with whatever asinine scheme he’d come up with, but she couldn’t let him face Mackinnon alone. “What are you going to do when we get there?”
“I’m not sure yet. We’ll improvise. Just follow my lead,” he blithely said as he swung the car into a parking space near Mackinnon’s store. His eyes met her scowl as he gallantly extended a hand — which she rejected — to help her out of the low-slung car.
“I still think this is idiotic and Serge will be furious. You’re the most stubborn, arrogant, foolish, egotistical…” she sputtered. When Diego tried to end her outburst with a kiss, she shoved him away.
“Didn’t I tell you in Miami that you’re safe with me? I meant that. I only want to play a little game with our friend, nothing more.”
It was obvious that one of them was looking forward to the face-off and Alex knew it wasn’t her.
The bell jangled as they opened the door to Mackinnon’s store and the old man glanced up from the newspaper he’d been reading at his perch behind the counter. If he was surprised to see them, he did a good job of hiding it.
“Good afternoon. And how may I be of help to you today?” Mackinnon asked innocently.
Alex was overwhelmed by an eerie sense of déjà vu as her eyes scanned the store she’d last visited with Will. That memory made her as incapable of speech as someone whose tongue has been shot full of Novocain. Diego had no such problem.
“I recently learned that my father is Scottish so I’m trying to find out more about my family,” Diego began. “I was told that your store has this area’s best collection of books on the various clans. I hope that’s true.”
Alex regained her focus and reluctantly admired Diego for both his acting and his cojones. Besides, there was no stopping him now. Mackinnon was playing his own hand like a world-class poker champ too.
“I’ll be happy to help you young man, if you’ll tell me your family name. Are you American by any chance?”
“Well, technically, yes, but you probably mean the United States when you say American. I’m from South America. Argentina.”
“Well, then, this is a remarkable day. Scots from around the world visit to find their roots, but you, sir, are the first person from your country to grace my wee shop. What did you say your family name is?”
“Our name is Navarro. But that’s not the Scottish part.”
“Ah, so it’s your mother who’s Scottish?”
“No. Her people are Sicilian.”
“I’m puzzled, young man, truly I am. Didn’t you say that your father is Scottish? I’m old and easily confused, but my ears still work fine.” He chuckled and raised bushy, gray eyebrows that resembled aging caterpillars resting above each eye.
Diego laughed and shook his head. He leaned toward Mackinnon as if to impart some vital information. “If you think you’re confused, imagine how I felt when I found out that my father isn’t really my father, but that’s a story for another day. The family I want to know more about is named Cameron. It’s especially important to me now, because I seem to be the last of our line. Well, except for my so-called father, that is. My brother died recently.”
“God rest his soul.” Mackinnon said and made the sign of the cross.
I can’t believe the fucking hypocrite just crossed himself, Alex seethed and she turned her face away to hide her anger. She rested a hand on Diego’s back to prevent him from exploding, but he seemed calm, although he’d shifted his body slightly to put himself between her and Mackinnon.
“Cameron is it, you say?” Mackinnon continued. Despite his composed demeanor, there was a definite tremor in the proprietor’s hand as he finally laid the newspaper on the counter. Diego’s face reddened as if he was having a hot flash. Alex decided that her tag team partner needed a break before he lost it. It was her turn to climb into the ring whether she wanted to or not.
“Hello again, Mr. Mackinnon,” she said, deliberately adopting an unthreatening, girlish voice to offset the quiet menace in Diego’s. “I don’t expect you to remember me, but my husband and I visited your store almost two years ago. I’m Alexandra Cameron,” she said and extended her hand. When he grasped hers, she noticed his was damp.
“I can’t say as I recall you or not, but welcome back, Mrs. Cameron. I must say that I’m quite confused so let me be sure I understand. Is this handsome lad who wants to know more about Clan Cameron your husband?” he asked and seemed to be genuinely perplexed.
“Oh, no. This is my brother-in-law, Diego. Will…my husband...is dead.” The words raised goose bumps on her arms and sent a chill down her spine despite the summer day.
“Ah, so that’s the man your...brother-in-law here made mention of? I’m sorry to hear that, lass. My condolences. Was your man ill?”
“He was murdered. Stabbed to death by some madman.” She fought the impulse to jump over the counter and squeeze the man’s fat, wobbly neck until his eyes popped. Or she could grab one of the gleamin
g sgian dubhs from the glass display and plunge the blade into his heart. Instead, she smiled and dabbed a tear from her eye. I can give a performance at least as good as his, she thought as she glanced at Diego and saw him casually reach beneath his arm as if to scratch an itch. She hoped he was just assuring himself that the gun holstered there was within easy reach and not that he was getting ready to use it. She had no doubt that he was battling the same murderous impulses as she was and prayed they could maintain their composure.
“My God! Stabbed you say!” the old man exclaimed. “We hear about American violence, but that’s terrible. Have the police caught the brute who did this awful thing to your husband?”
Mackinnon said this guilelessly and Alex dug her nails into her palms to keep from screaming. So this is what it’s like to be in the presence of pure evil, she thought. She wanted to run away, but couldn’t. She touched Diego’s arm in an effort to ground herself and he drew her close.
“Are you all right?” he murmured and pressed his lips to her temple.
“Yes...fine,” but she remained glued to his side, comforted by his body’s strength and its warmth.
“My brother’s wife still grieves for him,” Diego said, by way of explanation. “To answer your question, some very solid leads are being pursued. You can be sure that the people who murdered my brother will be identified — very soon, in fact — and punished.”
Diego leaned toward Mackinnon and quietly hissed the next words. “I believe your countrymen used to draw and quarter their worst criminals — hang them until not quite dead, then undo the noose, lay them out, cut their entrails and beating heart from the body and hack off their head to be displayed in the public square. I understand this kind of punishment. I want the people who killed my brother, my blood, to suffer like that.” He said the words with such icy malice that Mackinnon shivered and paled.
“I can see I’ve upset you. Please accept my apology,” Diego said as he patted the old man’s hand. “And now can you recommend a book for me about the Cameron clan so I can learn about my ancestors?”
“Of course, of course,” said Mackinnon, as he quickly pulled a couple of books off his well-stocked shelves and placed them on the counter. He was desperate for a drink and wanted these two out of his shop. “These should provide you with your family’s history. And you’re welcome to ask me about the Camerons as well,” he said as he charged the sale to Diego’s credit card.
“I do have one question that won’t be answered in those books,” Diego said coolly as he fixed his glittering eyes on Mackinnon like a cougar about to spring upon its prey. “Can you tell me what kind of monster could hate my brother enough to end his life? Answer that one for me,” said Diego as he turned, clasped Alex’s hand and left the shop.
Mackinnon’s body was vibrating with fright and it took a few minutes for him to notice that Diego had left the bag of books he’d bought on the counter. He took a long swig and then another from the flask of whiskey he kept under the counter and hoped he’d stop shaking before Michael Graham arrived for the lunch meeting they’d arranged the night before.
Chapter 31
“Son of a bitch! That fucking stupid jackass!” Serge shouted his fury into the suite’s emptiness as soon as his headphones picked up the exchange between Mackinnon, Diego and Alex. He fought the impulse to race to his own car, find Diego, and break both of his arms and maybe his legs and then strangle the headstrong prick.
Slowly, slowly, he steered his thoughts back to his original task. Anger clouded the mind and there was no time to indulge his emotions. Perhaps he’d been wrong to teach a man like Diego to defend himself. How was he supposed to protect someone whose courage, confidence and bullheaded determination made him behave like he was invincible?
Since it couldn’t be undone, he’d have to devise a way to use Diego’s move to their advantage. For the moment there was only silence coming from Mackinnon’s and a quick check of the tracker he’d stuck to Diego’s car showed it finally heading north out of Inverness. “Thank God,” he sighed.
The silence from the shop was suddenly broken when Michael Graham’s voice came booming through Serge’s earpieces.
“James! James! What happened, man? Are you all right?” Graham shouted. When he’d let himself into the store through the back door, he found that the shop was dark and the front door locked. Mackinnon was on the floor, fast asleep, an empty flask of whiskey beside his snoring body. The old man raised his bleary eyes and smiled foolishly at Michael.
“You’re pissed!” exclaimed Graham.
“Aye, I am that. And with good reason,” slurred Mackinnon as he sagged to the floor. “Shite! Help me up and you’ll soon understand why I needed a wee nip.”
Graham dragged a chair across the room and groaned loudly as he hefted the old man’s bulk into it. “All right. Out with it,” he ordered, “or shall I pour a bucket of ice water down your wrinkled neck to sober you up? You know I’d do it!”
“No, Michael, just leave me be for a minute. I slept off the worst of it,” said Mackinnon irritably, but Graham wasn’t one to wait when he wanted an answer.
“What happened here? Start talking. Now!” he demanded. Graham’s hands were on his hips, his legs spread as he tapped one foot impatiently and glared at the pathetic figure.
The old man scrubbed his trembling hands over his face and concentrated on the day’s events. He needed to have his wits about him to be sure Michael understood the threat. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, his speech hesitant.
“You’ll remember a call I made to you, Michael...oh, I believe it was some two years ago, in which I said, ‘You’ll never believe who walked into my shop today?’ Do ye recall that?”
“Aye, of course I do. You rang me up the day the American Judas’s son came to see you.”
“Right.”
“The lad’s dead, so what in hell does that have to do with what happened here today?”
“Patience, Michael. Let me think for a minute. I’m old and tired and a wee bit tight yet and I need to get this right.”
Graham was annoyed, but decided to give Mackinnon a chance to gather his thoughts.
“Ah, well,” he resumed. “I can say the very same words to you now. ‘You’ll never believe who walked into my shop today.’”
“What are you babbling about you old fool? You said those words the day Cameron’s son came to your shop. The traitorous swine had but the one son and he’s dead. Young Jamie showed us a photo of the body after he killed the man and brought back news clippings as proof.”
“Yes, the lad did a braw job, but we didn’t do our part nearly as well. It turns out Mr. John Cameron spread his seed in more than one garden. The man fathered another son.”
Graham’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
“It was this second Cameron son who visited my shop today. He was with the dead man’s widow.” Good Christ, his head hurt. He reached for the flask that Michael had taken from him, but the younger man slapped his hand and tossed the container away with enough force to knock over a display of postcards.
“What exactly did this man say? I want to know every word!”
Mackinnon watched Graham warily. Maybe if he didn’t speak of it, it wouldn’t be so. But he knew deep in his soul that it was. Michael and the others had to be warned.
“He knows.”
“He knows what? Damn it to Christ, what does he know?”
“He knows his brother was murdered and he has a good idea who did it. He said…he said,” the man had trouble getting the sinister words out. “He said he wants to watch those responsible for his kin’s death drawn and quartered the way he saw it done to William Wallace in that blasted Braveheart film. You should have seen the way he looked at me, eyes black as coal, shooting fire like some kind of demon.” Mackinnon shivered as his voice trailed off.
“Come on, man. Perhaps he has suspicions, but he can’t be certain unless you were daft enough to...to,” he sputtered. “You didn�
��t, did you?” Michael grabbed the sweating man by the front of his shirt and pulled him to his feet until they were nose-to-nose. “Did you?” he snarled, shaking Mackinnon hard enough to make his jowls jiggle, an action that helped the older man to completely sober up.
“You’ll take your hands off me, Michael Graham, and you’ll do so now,” he said indignantly. “You may be running this operation, laddie, but I am still your elder.”
“I was wrong to lay hands on you, but I must have answers. Start with this man’s name.”
“He said he’s Diego Navarro, the very same rich and powerful friend of the dead lad who we’d been warned about. The one I told you about last night and the one I saw kissing the widow Cameron this morning outside the hotel. He’s from South America, he said...Argentina to be precise.”
“And are you so easily fooled that you believe a South American named Navarro is John Cameron’s son? Is it just that he said so? Perhaps he was spinning a tale to see how you’d react. Did you think of that, James?”
“If he was lying, the lad should go to Hollywood. He offered no proof, but neither did I ask for any. I was too befuddled to think.”
“It could be that the widow Cameron is more clever than we thought and brought this man here to scare us. Look at the facts. The investigation by the police in America has come to naught so it’s natural that the family wants someone to pay for the lad’s murder. We understand that need for vengeance. It’s what drove us to do what we did to Cameron’s son.
“Aye,” agreed Mackinnon. “If that gobshite hadn’t spilled his guts to the blasted English about the scheme to set off bombs in London, my son would be home with his family instead of in some stinking prison and my grandson wouldn’t be a murderer on the run.”
“At least you know young Jamie’s out of harm’s way.”
“He’s at the next safe house as I told you. After Mairi’s visit, I was afraid they might somehow be on to him too, which reminds me…in all of the excitement I almost forgot the original reason for our meeting today and the news I had for you. I tell you Michael, my head’s too old for this sort of thing.”
Legacy of the Highlands Page 25
