Heart Melter

by Sophia Knightly

  He turned his attention back to the road. "Arthur is a wee lad of six. His mum is a poor, ignorant woman who had five children already. When she widowed suddenly, she gave Arthur up for adoption, blaming him for her husband's death.”

  “Why?” Natasha asked, startled.

  “She had some odd religious belief that Arthur’s scarred face was the curse of the devil."

  "What's wrong with his face?"

  "The left side is covered by a dark port wine stain." He glanced at her. "The head of the orphanage, Mrs. Byrne, called it grotesque,” he said in a disgusted tone. “She said the other bairns ostracize wee Arthur because of it."

  "That’s so sad. How old was he when his mother gave him up for adoption?"

  "I don't know for sure, but he was still an infant."

  "So the only home he's ever known is the orphanage? That’s tragic. Can you help him?" she said anxiously.

  "I’ll do my best to remove it. That type of port stain could get worse as Arthur grows older. In time it could become raised." He shook his head ruefully. "Mrs. Byrne told me he's been praying every night that I'll come to see him soon."

  "Aw, you have a kind heart, Ian. I admire that," she said with all sincerity, wishing they hadn’t quarreled earlier.

  He glanced at her, his eyes sharp. "Do you know that in the short time we’ve been together, I’ve been tempted on too many occasions to wring your neck?"

  "You’re not the only one," she replied smartly. “I don’t enjoy arguing with you.”

  "I don’t either, but the mere mention of Anitra makes my blood boil."

  "Then we won’t mention her. Don't you think I always wished for a different type of mother? Someone who would hug and kiss me and tell me how much she loved me? I've had to come to terms with her type of parenting…or lack of it." She touched his forearm hesitantly. "Let's call a truce. We won't talk about my mother. Or the past. No more arguing. Agreed?"

  Ian grunted. "I don't know if it's possible to spend time with you without arguing, but I'll do my bloody damnedest."

  "Good. I'll hold you to it, Dr. Who."

  He grabbed her hand and held it firmly. "If you rile me again, we’ll argue."

  "If you don't want me to rile you, then don't provoke me,” she said pleasantly. “I'll only be here a few days, Ian. Let's enjoy each other's company. As soon as the flash drive is resolved, I'll leave," she said, her heart hurting at the finality of it.

  Chapter Nine

  Ian's look of disappointment caught Natasha by surprise. "I'm not kicking you out of my home. You can stay as long as necessary," he said. It sounded as if he didn’t want her to leave yet. He slanted a rueful glance at her. “I might have been a bit hard on you these past days. But the way you resurfaced out of the blue stunned me.”

  Ian apologizing? His softening toward her made her heart lift. “Dinna fash,” she said in a lighthearted tone. “I forgive you. You made up for it last night in more ways than one.” She flashed a saucy grin and was rewarded by Ian’s incredibly appealing robust chuckle. It felt wonderful to hear him laugh.

  “Damn right I did, wench. The well isn’t dry yet.”

  She gave a mock gasp. “Ian! Are you referring to mine?” she said, having fun turning it with innuendo. “I’d say it’s definitely wet, but not bottomless.”

  “I don’t know about your well, Tasha, but your figure is not bottom-less,” he said with a roguish smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d say that part of you is nicely rounded. And firm.”

  “How do you know?” She smiled impishly. “Oh that’s right, you have first-hand knowledge, Dr. Who.”

  Ian’s silver-green eyes darkened a shade as his mouth eased into a slow smile filled with wicked intent.

  Sensual heat rose from her neck to color her cheeks and her belly did crazy flips as the possibility of Ian making love to her again became more than a hot fantasy. She loved the way he was flirting with her and she didn’t want him to stop. The tension between them was scorching; she could feel the sexual heat radiating from his strong body as he drove. Hopefully, they would run late and spend the night in Edinburgh. The prospect made her giddy with anticipation.

  When they neared the site of infamous Rob Roy MacGregor's tomb, Natasha turned to him with a teasing grin. "Do you have any honest, law-abiding relatives who might still live in the Trossachs?"

  Ian arched a brow. "Taunting me about Rob Roy again?"

  She shook her head. “Gotta watch out for those MacGregors. Your clan seems to be—” She was stopped in mid-sentence when the Rover hit something on the road. The jeep lurched to the side as one of the tires blew out.

  Ian pulled over to the side and got out. "Bloody hell! The tire’s flat.”

  Natasha joined him at the side of the car. "Do you have a spare?"

  He looked at her incredulously. "Of course I have a spare. I just can't spare the time to change it. I was planning on getting to Edinburgh with plenty of time to go to the University before I see Arthur."

  "Oh. What can I do to help?” Natasha said cheerfully. “Not that I know what to do, but I’m willing to learn. My friend Ronnie is another story. She can change a flat in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  "I don’t need help. Stand on the other side and don't distract me," he said rolling up his sleeves.

  "Why so grumpy all of a sudden? It's not my fault we got a flat. Men and their cars," she grumbled, turning away in a huff. Five minutes later, she returned to his side. “Have you finished yet?”

  Ian’s head shot up and banged against the wheel wall. He muttered an expletive and rubbed the offended part. Ignoring her question, he removed the lug nuts from the tire.

  “By the way, did you tell Maggie and Ranald about the flash drive? I’m worried about them."

  "Aye, I’ve already alerted them to be extra careful."

  Natasha breathed a sigh of relief. She squatted beside him and placed her hand on his hunched shoulder. "Do they know we have it here?"

  "I told them about it this morning before they took Evita for a walk. They understand." He dropped the wrench on his toe. "Damn it. Stop distracting me or we'll be here all afternoon," he said, retrieving the wrench.

  She straightened and walked away muttering dunderheid loud enough for him to hear.

  “I heard that.”

  “Good.”

  Ian turned his attention to changing the tire and in no time they were on the road again. "Sorry I snapped at you back there, but your chattering was slowing things down," he said.

  "I don't chatter, I speak. I sing too.” She gave him a saccharine smile. “Would you like me to sing an aria?" she asked knowing he hated opera.

  “No thanks,” he said, his dry tone eliciting a dainty snort from Natasha.

  As they neared Edinburgh, rays of sunshine bathed the city in a glow so brilliant, Natasha blinked to make sure it wasn't a mirage. It was the first time she had seen Edinburgh Castle on a sunny day. Regally situated over the massive dead volcano, Castle Rock, the castle glistened in the golden sunlight.

  "It’s breathtaking," she said, turning to see Ian’s reaction.

  Ian nodded. "I remember the first time I visited with my father when I was a wee lad. I stood there with my mouth hanging open." He glanced at his watch. "We need to go straight to the University and then stop for lunch. I called Connor and he’ll be pleased to help you with the flash drive."

  "That’s great. But what about Arthur? When are you going to see him?"

  "We'll take him to lunch with us. How's that?"

  Natasha smiled. "Perfect."

  “The business school building was recently completed in 2010,” Ian said. “All the equipment and rooms are state of the art.”

  “Is it far from here?”

  “Not at all. It’s in the core of the University’s central campus.”

  When they arrived and parked near the business school complex, a feeling of trepidation plagued Natasha. She hesitated and slowed her steps as they walked t
oward it.

  Ian rested his large hand on the small of her back and leaned toward her. "What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, wishing she could sound more convincing.

  “You look pale. Are you all right? "

  "Yes," she said, willing her overactive imagination to turn off.

  “Don’t be concerned about Connor. He’s trustworthy. I say it with complete confidence.”

  “Good to hear.” Natasha took a deep breath and straightened her spine, determined to walk into the office calmly, even if the thought of seeing what was on the flash drive gave her the willies.

  Connor McKinney was indeed much younger than Maggie. He was tall, lean and handsome in a nerdy way, with rumpled auburn hair, horn-rim glasses, warm brown eyes and a ready smile. He welcomed them and led them to his computer.

  "Natasha tried opening the flash drive, but it wouldn’t on her laptop. It’s a highly confidential and sensitive matter. One for the police,” Ian said, handing him the flash drive.

  "I understand.” Connor inserted the flash drive in the computer. His thick brows knitted as he squinted at the screen. "Hmmm. It might take a few minutes, but we’ll get it to open.”

  "Thanks, I hope so,” Natasha said, sending Ian a hopeful look.

  Connor typed in several commands and shook his head. “It looks like it’s either damaged or something else is going on."

  "Damaged?" A chill snaked up Natasha’s spine. "How is that possible?"

  “Flash drives take a lot of wear and tear,” Ian said. "It could have been tinkered with. Or maybe just knocking around in your suitcase did it. Who knows?”

  “Can it be fixed?” Natasha asked.

  Connor nodded. “Probably. Let me try something else. The USB connector seems to be intact, so that’s a good thing.”

  Natasha's mind raced with all kinds of questions. What if the mob caught up with her and demanded the flash drive? What would happen to her if they couldn’t access the information? She didn’t even want to think about it. She glanced at Ian to gauge his mood. He stood rigidly behind Connor, his eyes glued to the screen.

  After several minutes, Connor leaned back in his chair. “Done,” he said with an air of triumph. “All the files are accessible now.” He got up and rolled another chair beside the one he’d been sitting in. “You can sit here and read them.”

  “I’d rather not,” Natasha said nervously. “Would you take a look, Ian?” She walked away from the desk and let Ian sit beside Connor.

  Ian clicked on several files and gave them a quick glance. “Some of these have names, addresses and dates. And events.” He turned to look at Natasha, his expression dire. “Looks like we have a directory and timeline of Mafia activity here.”

  Natasha returned to his side and peered at the screen as he clicked on a few files. “Wait a minute. I think I see someone I recognize here,” she said, shocked. “Doesn’t gamberi mean shrimp in Italian?”

  “Yes, why?”

  She pointed to the screen. “Look, it says Rico the shrimp here. That has to be him!”

  “Who the hell is Rico the shrimp?” Ian demanded.

  “He used to own the jazz club with Tony. The irony is that Rico isn’t a shrimp, he’s pretty tall,” Natasha said. “Now I’m wondering whether it was Rico or one of the mob guys who were in my apartment.”

  “Do you want me to take it to the police?” Connor asked. “I have a friend who’s a detective—”

  “No,” Ian cut in. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather not involve Interpol. We need to get this back to the detectives in the States so they can put the word out that Natasha doesn’t have it. Her life is in danger until they do.”

  The walls of the small office seemed to close in on her as icy terror crawled up Natasha’s spine and spread over her suddenly chilled flesh. Ian was right about everything, especially the part about her life being in danger.

  Chapter Ten

  Back in the car, Natasha’s hands shook as she stared at the flash drive. “To think this tiny object holds information that’s already gotten one person killed.”

  “Tell me about this Rico guy,” Ian said, eyes on the two lane road.

  Natasha shuddered. “He’s scary. The morning after my place was ransacked he ambushed me outside my building and demanded that I give him the flash drive.”

  Ian’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to her with an exasperated look. “Why didn’t you tell me the scunner showed up at your building?” he demanded, his voice deepening with each word.

  “Hey, don’t get mad at me. There was so much going on, I forgot to mention it.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What else did you forget to mention?” he growled.

  “Nothing. I was in a state of shock…and injured, remember?” she said defensively.

  Ian shook his head and muttered a string of expletives.

  Natasha touched his biceps, the tension steely beneath her hand. “What do we do now?” she asked cautiously.

  “We can’t go to Interpol because you’ll be detained forever as they try to sort it out.” He thought for a moment. “Do you have a lawyer you trust?”

  “Yes. Her name is Saundra Armstrong. She handles all my contracts.”

  “Good. Call her first tomorrow and fill her in on everything. She can contact the detectives on your behalf. In the meantime, I’ll arrange for Ron, my pilot, to hand over the flash drive to one of the detectives.”

  “That would be great.” She stared at him in awe. “When did you come up with this?”

  His gaze flicked over her with concern. “It occurred to me while we were looking at the files. Anything to keep you safe,” he said resolutely. “Once the police have the flash drive, they’ll have to move quickly to put the word out so the mob knows you don’t have it."

  She nodded. “I just want all of this to be over with. I wonder if Detective Carson was able to identify the fingerprints of whoever ransacked my apartment.” She paused and considered it. “I guess it’s doubtful they got any prints if they were wearing gloves."

  "Don’t be too sure. Certain types of plastic gloves aren't thick enough to conceal fingerprints, especially if the fingers are deeply ridged like a man's."

  "Really? Are you certain?"

  He slanted a look that said are you kidding me? "I'm a dermatologist, I know about skin.”

  “True. You know about a lot of things. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “I won’t let any harm come to you. And you’re not going back to New York until it’s safe for you to return,” he said, turning his attention back to the road.

  She kissed his lean jaw. “Thank you, Ian. I so appreciate your help,” she said, touched he wanted to protect her, but disappointed he was already mentioning her going back to New York. She looked out the window, lost in thought as Ian drove to the orphanage.

  They arrived at the Old Edinburgh Orphanage after a short drive and entered the old stone building to find Mrs. Byrne waiting for them outside her office door. Ian introduced Natasha to the middle-aged headmistress. Mrs. Byrne wore her steel gray hair in a no-nonsense pixie cut and was dressed in a perfectly pressed, but faded blue shirtwaist dress.

  She greeted them courteously. "Wee Arthur will be verra pleased to see you, Dr. MacGregor. He has high hopes that you’ll be able to help him.”

  "I’d like to meet him. Where is he?" Ian asked.

  "Outside, playing. I'll take you there."

  They followed the tall, athletic headmistress to a birch tree-lined playground filled with run-down wooden swings and one old metal climbing gym showing signs of erosion and peeling paint. She pointed where a skinny pint-sized boy sat, tracing circles in the sand. Small shoulders slumped and dark head bent, he was alone, away from the other children his age playing and shouting happily.

  Mrs. Byrne clapped her hands briskly. "Arthur!" she called, "Dr. MacGregor is here to see you. Come quick, laddie."

  Natasha was struck by the stark
loneliness in Arthur’s eyes when he glanced up. When he saw Ian, his face blossomed with hope. He jumped up and brushed the sand from the seat of his worn, oversized jeans and ran toward them. Natasha's heart clenched with despair when she saw the vivid purple blotch that started at the boy’s left temple and swept down the whole side of his face to just below his chin. Thankfully, it didn’t cover his eye. How on earth was Ian going to be able to erase it? It would take a miracle. Adding to the tragedy, the other half of his face was beautiful, almost poetic. The boy's fair complexion and deep blue eyes contrasted vibrantly to his dark, close-cropped hair.

  Ian smiled at Arthur who stood before him, thick-lashed eyes downcast. He tilted Arthur's chin up with a gentle hand and looked into his eyes. Natasha watched them quietly, captivated by Ian’s tender expression as he gazed at Arthur's face.

  "Hello, Arthur, I'm Dr. Ian.” His big hand engulfed Arthur’s tiny one in a man-to-man handshake. “Come with me and I'll examine your face. Then I’ll explain how I'm going to erase the mark. Would you like that?" he said kindly.

  Arthur nodded, his grave face transformed by an eager grin. Natasha's heart melted as she watched Ian hold Arthur's small hand in his on the walk back to Mrs. Byrne's office. Ian would make an amazing father one day, she thought, her heart melting.

  Natasha waited beside Mrs. Byrne outside the office, while Ian examined Arthur's face. Moments later they emerged laughing together.

  "Mrs. Byrne, I've invited wee Arthur to lunch with us. Does he have your permission to join Miss White and me?" Ian said.

  "Aye, Dr. MacGregor," Mrs. Byrne said with a courteous smile. "He'll miss spelling, but he can make it up tomorrow." She turned to Arthur and fussed over him, tucking in his shirt and smoothing his hair. "Mind your manners, laddie. Remember what you've been taught here."

  "Aye, Mrs. Byrne.” Arthur looked up at Natasha and smiled shyly.

  Natasha couldn’t resist taking Arthur’s little hand in hers as they walked to the car.