“I don’t know. I’m not a bloody doctor.”
“And did you have to bind and gag her?”
Mac grabbed Grant’s shoulder and spun him round. “Stop whining, for God’s sake! I got her out of the way, didn’t I? It wasn’t easy you know, not with the glen crawling with police and searchers. Besides, you don’t want her waking up and screaming her head off, do you?”
“No, but I didn’t expect you to hurt her so badly.”
“Hurt her? I should have killed her.”
Alistair flinched. “Good God, man! Isn’t one death enough?”
“If she wakes up and recognizes you, the game is up. Then what? Think of that while you feel pity for her,” Mac said.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Trust me. I know what I’m doing. She’s out of the picture for now.” Mac nudged Anna’s leg. “See? No reaction.”
Alistair flinched.
“Well, well,” Mac sneered. “Look who’s found his heart. Disgusting.”
“I never wanted her dead, you damned fool, only out of the croft. What happens when she comes round?”
“She won’t, at least not yet. Come on, your Lairdship. Best get back to the house before anyone misses you. After all, you need to sign those papers and get my money. Don’t do anything stupid like contacting the police. You’ll regret it.”
The door slammed behind them.
The key turned in the lock.
Anna’s eyes flickered open. Was this a nightmare? She struggled uselessly. Her hands and feet were bound. Her mouth was full of something, cloth?
She lifted her head, and agony seized her brain, sending her spiralling into the void. Occasionally, she thought she heard voices and footsteps. Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed—then silence as blackness descended once more.
She woke once again, more alert, but with no sense of time. Where was she? Anna pulled against the ropes and tried to spit out the rag in her mouth. With the room spinning around her, she dragged herself across the floor until she felt a wall and thrashed into a sitting position. Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard, pushing the acid back into her stomach, determined not to vomit. Everything hurt. The ropes were too tight. The pulsating headache bled her dry of strength.
Breathe in. Breathe Out. Repeat, she told herself. Fight the panic. You’ll get out of this. Little by little, her eyes grew used to the dimness. Her heart rate slowed.
The dank room was tiny, no more than six feet square. Weak strands of light filtered in through a tiny frosted window high above her head. No furniture, no carpet. Bare concrete. A cellar? A pantry perhaps? A faint scratching sound. Mice? Rats? She shivered. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She had to stay alive.
***
With Morag safely on her way to hospital, Luke hurried back to the hotel. He pushed open the swing door and ran headlong into a departing guest, carrying a holdall.
“Gee, I’m sorry. Are you okay, buddy?” he asked, and picked up the bag.
“Thank you. How do you say…it is nothing?” Outside, a car horn sounded. The man snatched it out of Luke’s hand and left the hotel.
Luke stared at the man’s back. Something about the way he carried himself made the hairs on Luke’s neck stand on end. He continued to watch as the guy opened the trunk and slung his bag inside. Lying next to it was a leather rifle case. Luke was just about to chase after the guy when the bar of the door opened.
He heard a cheer. Ewan stepped forward out of the crowd and slapped him heartily on the back.
“Well done, laddie. Well done. Here,” he thrust a pint glass into Luke’s hand. “Drink this. You deserve it. You’re quite the hero.”
The ice-cold beer tasted like nectar. “Thanks, Ewan. I was lucky, that’s all. Save your thanks for the guys from the mountain rescue team. They’re the ones who deserve it.”
“Aye. You’re right, but all the same, if you hadn’t spotted those tracks—say, where’s Anna? Is she not with you?”
The glass paused in mid-air. “You mean she’s not here.”
“I haven’t seen her.”
Luke held his breath for a moment. Something was very wrong. “I thought she came back with some of the other guys.”
“Malcolm! Charlie!” Ewan shouted over the noise of the crowd. “Did you see Anna MacDonald down by the river?”
Malcolm Fraser pushed his way through the mob to where Luke and Ewan stood. “No. And we didn’t pass her on the road either.”
“Now I’m really worried,” Luke said.
“Could she met up with some of the mountain rescue guys and hitched a lift back to Killilan House or Tigh na Cladach, with one of them?” Charlie asked.
Luke played with his watch. “I doubt it. She wouldn’t leave the dogs behind. You know how she feels about them.”
“Aye. I do,” replied Ewan. “I wouldn’t worry. There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation. In the meantime, finish your pint. There’s food too, if you’re feeling hungry.”
Luke pushed away his glass. “No thanks. I’m going back to the croft. I hope she’s there.”
“All right. If she shows up here in the meantime, I’ll tell her where you are.”
“Thanks, Ewan. I appreciate it.”
Luke drove like a mad man. Scarcely fifteen minutes later, he unlocked the door to Tigh na Cladach and stepped into the hallway. The small cottage was eerily silent. He went into the kitchen and dropped his keys on the table. The breakfast dishes were still in the sink waiting to be washed. Anna’s manuscript lay on the table next to her laptop.
He climbed the stairs and pushed open the door of Anna’s bedroom. It was empty—the bed unmade, the sheets in a tangled heap from their lovemaking earlier that morning. He closed the door and hurried back downstairs.
He gave the dogs a bowl of water and some food and grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, then sat down at the table and started scribbling on a page from Anna’s manuscript.
If he wasn’t the target, who was?
There was something bad happening in the Glen. That much was obvious.
Morag’s disappearance, the attempted break-in at the croft, and the shooting incident all had to be connected.
But how?
The hairs on the back of his neck tingled. Rage seared through his veins. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Not since Nicole had died. Then he’d wanted to go out and murder the bastard who had run her down and deprived him of the one person who mattered the most. He closed his mind. Now wasn’t the time to re-visit old wounds.
Anna had said the land was worthless. As far as he knew, there were no vast deposits of gold, precious metals or minerals in Scotland, so that ruled out someone wanting it for mining. It still didn’t explain why it was so important, and who or what was behind all these so-called accidents?
No matter how he looked at it, his mind returned to one man—Alistair Grant. What was it Anna had said about him that morning? That he’d been surprised to hear about the search. There was something else, something disturbing. If only he could remember. He picked up the can of soda and gulped down half the contents.
Then it came to him. Anna had said Grant was surprised to see her. Surprised to see her? What an odd thing to say. He drew a ring round Grant’s name on the paper and put a question mark next to it. What could possibly link him to Anna, the croft, and Morag?
The harder he tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted.
There was only one way to find out if he was right.
Dusk descended as Luke brought the pickup to a halt outside Killilan House. Unlike the night of the ceilidh, there was no welcoming piper. He climbed the half dozen steps to the front door and rang the bell. No one answered. He leaned over the ornate balustrade and peered through the window into what appeared to be the drawing room. It was empty.
He beat his fist against the door. “Grant, open the goddamned door!”
Silence.
He re-traced his steps, but instead of driving awa
y, he rested his chin on the steering wheel and stared at the house.
What the hell?
He climbed out and removed a tyre iron from the toolbox. After a quick look over his shoulder to make sure no one was in sight, he made his way round the side of the building, keeping as close to the wall as possible. The gravel pathway crunched under his feet. He cursed, and wondered why Grant couldn’t lay real sidewalks like everyone else. Every window and door he checked was bolted or nailed down tight.
With time running out, he inserted the tyre iron between the door and the frame and leaned on it with all his weight. The frame splintered and the door swung open. With a lightning-fast motion, Luke stepped inside. His heart hammering, he waited for a count of five before creeping down the dimly lit corridor.
Three rooms opened off the passage. He approached the first, but rather than enter it, he placed an ear to the wooden door and listened. When he heard nothing, he moved on to the next.
The final door opened to reveal a narrow staircase. Was he in the servants’ quarters? He neither knew nor cared. The door at the top was closed. Slowly, he turned the knob and pulled. The door hinges screamed like a woman in labour. Undeterred, he climbed the last three steps and entered the main hallway. He stood motionless, frantically trying to recall the layout of the house. Was the library on the left or the right of the grand staircase?
The door on the left was ajar, the light casting a shadow on the floor. He crept toward it, ignoring the creaking floorboards under his feet. A huge mahogany pedestal desk stood in the centre of the bay window. He crossed the room in four quick strides. Unsure of what he was looking for, Luke systematically searched the drawers, but found nothing in the first two.
The third drawer held a number of brown folders. He pulled them out and tossed them on the blotter. The topmost file was full of letters from Grant’s bankers, each one more threatening than its predecessor.
Luke let out a long low whistle. Grant wasn’t just overdrawn; he was in hock to the point that he was lucky to own the clothes on his back. The estate, the London house, everything he ‘owned’ was really owned by someone else.
Luke stared out of the window and played with the strap of his Rolex. Grant was broke. Most people would cut their losses and sold their assets, so why hadn’t Grant? What was so important to him that he’d consider anything, anything at all, including murder?
One simple word crept into his mind—pride.
That’s what this was all about. Grant was too proud to sell the family home. So how did you set about protecting that when your bank threatened to foreclose?
Luke rifled through the second file, shuffling the papers impatiently. Among them he found an article from the local newspaper. A single paragraph at the bottom of the page was circled in bright red ink. He glanced at the date. It was six months old. On the top of the page Grant had scrawled a telephone number.
Luke picked up the phone and dialled the number, waiting for it to connect.
“You have reached the offices of Proteus Surveys. I’m sorry no one is available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”
He slammed down the receiver.
He’d found the link he’d been looking for. He stuffed the papers back in the drawer as Alistair Grant appeared in the doorway.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Anna heard footsteps approaching. They grew closer and closer, until finally they stopped outside the door. She swallowed her scream. Huddled in the corner, her body trembling uncontrollably, she stared wide-eyed at the door.
There was a long brittle silence. A key grated in the lock. The handle slowly turned.
MacKinnon stepped inside.
Anna recognized him instantly. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely think.
He squatted down next to her and stroked her cheek. “Well, well, my pretty, we’re not so feisty now, are we?”
Anna flinched and kicked out with her feet, but he dodged the blow. She shuffled backwards, trying to stay out of reach. He grabbed her arm and held her steady, then backhanded her into the wall. The blood roared in her ears. She was on the verge of passing out again when he grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently.
“Ah, you want a fight! Good. ‘Cos I don’t like passive women.” He slapped her face, splitting her lip. His calloused hand closed around her throat, cutting off her breath, all but squeezing the life out of her. Just as suddenly, he released her, tossing her against the wall again. He looked at her quizzically. His wild, manic laughter echoed round the room.
“Don’t worry, I’m not ready to kill you yet.”
He sat back on his haunches.
Anna was beginning to hope her ordeal was over, but he leant forward and ripped open her shirt. He licked his lips and clawed at her breasts.
Please God; please don’t let him rape me. She bit down hard on the gag, pushing the vomit back into her stomach lest she choke. She lashed out once more with her feet, this time aiming for MacKinnon’s groin, but there was no weight behind the kick.
Then she realized the more she fought him, the more aroused and crazy he became. Terrified, and with tears welling in her eyes, she stopped thrashing about and willed herself to be still no matter what he did to her.
“Be a good girl,” he said, continuing to paw her breasts until tears ran down her cheeks, “give me what I want, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt too much when I kill you. But if you don’t, well, I’ll let you think about that.”
Anna focused her mind on Luke. Once he realized she was missing, he’d come for her. He wouldn’t leave her here to die at the hands of this lunatic.
As suddenly as it started, MacKinnon’s abuse stopped. “As much as I want to continue our little tête à tête, it’s time to move. Come on.”
He dragged Anna to her feet. Her legs buckled. He scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of oats. His arms clamped round her thighs. Already dizzy from his earlier blows, her reality slipped away.
***
“What the hell do you think you’re doing breaking into my house and going through my desk, Tallantyre?”
“Well, well, well. It’s the Laird himself. The game is up, Grant, I know all about your little scheme. It’s all here in your files.” Luke tapped the folder in front of him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you do. You’re bankrupt, Grant. The ancient family seat is mortgaged to the top of the chimneys. Your only hope rested on Anna’s grandmother selling you the croft, but she died and left it to Anna. But you weren’t going to let a mere woman stand in your way, were you?”
“I…I’m desperate!”
“I’ll bet you are. You saw the article in the paper about that company looking for a deep-water loch. They planned to fabricate drilling platforms for the oil industry. The loch’s perfect. It’s deep and wide, and remote.”
“It’s my land, damn it!”
“It’s Anna’s, and you can’t sign the contract until you make it your land. You got your lawyers to make her a huge offer for the croft, but you didn’t count on sentimentality. You hired someone to scare her off. Or did you change your mind and out and out plan to kill her?”
Grant sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. “It was MacKinnon. He was only supposed to scare her, I swear!”
Luke grabbed Grant by the collar of his jacket and hauled him to his feet.
“Oh, yeah? He did more than that. He tried to shoot her. Fortunately for Anna, I saw the sun reflect off his gun when he took aim. I pushed her out the way.”
“You’re lying.”
Luke shook his head. “I have the cartridges to prove it. How did you hook up with him?”
“A friend... a friend in the South of France recommended him.”
“Some friend! What is he? Ex-army? That would explain his choice of shell. Lynx Game King, produced solely for the African market. Africa is just a short hop across the Mediterranean from So
uthern France.”
“I…he’s…I thought he was just your typical thug, into petty crime. I had no idea—”
“Obviously beneath your social station. You’re as guilty as he is. Where’s he holding Anna?”
“I… in the cellar of one of the ruined farmhouses… but he was talking about moving her.”
“Where to?” When Grant didn’t answer, Luke belted him across the face. A piece of tooth went flying, along with a spurt of blood. “Need me to ask you again?”
“I don’t know—”
Luke pushed Grant away in disgust. “The police are on their way, I think I hear their sirens now. There’s nowhere for you to run. You’d better pray I find her alive.”
He ran out of the house as two police officers raced up the steps.
“You’ll find Grant in the library!”
“But, sir! Sir! We need—”
The police officer’s words were lost in a hail of gravel and dirt as Luke sped off down the drive.
As he reached the gates, a middle-aged, unshaven man dressed in camouflage jacket and trousers stepped out of the bushes. Luke slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt.
“You old fool! I nearly ran you down!” When the man didn’t move, Luke shouted, “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m Alexander Gordon, although most folk know me as ‘Sandy.’ I’m ghillie to the Laird.”
“The Laird? I don’t want to talk to anyone who works for that weasel. Get out of my way! Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?”
“I’m ghillie to Mr. Alistair’s father. I think you should listen to what I have to say. It concerns the lass, Anna.”
Luke froze. “What do you know about Anna?”
“That she’s not been seen since this afternoon. She’s missing, isn’t she?”
“Anyone at the hotel could have told you that.”
“Maybe. I know who’s scaring her. And I know why.”
“Get in!” Luke thrust open the passenger door and offered his hand to the old man.
Deceptively strong for his age, Sandy pushed Luke’s hand away and climbed into the passenger seat.
The House on the Shore Page 25
