The True Love Travels Series Box Set

by Poppy Pennington-Smith

Rachel tapped her fingernails on the side of her mug. “And I should...?”

  “Pretend I’m not here. Get settled in and...” Max trailed off and Rachel thought she saw the smallest glimmer of a smile on his lips. “Do what writers do, I guess.”

  Rachel sat back in her chair, wriggling her shoulders into the hard wooden slats. After years of spending all day, every day sitting at a desk and typing, over the last six months her back had become stiff and painful. She’d seen a chiropractor and an osteopath, but the only thing that helped was lots of walking. So far today, she’d spent too many hours sitting and her muscles were telling her to get moving.

  Still, she tried to savour her tea because it was familiar and sipping it made her feel something close to normal. When she’d finished, she padded through to the lounge and up the stairs.

  There were two bedrooms, one with an en-suite – thank goodness, because sharing a bathroom with Detective Frowns-A-Lot would have been far too awkward for words – and a large separate bathroom.

  The bedroom with the en-suite was above the study and looked out onto the lake. The windows were large and took up nearly the whole of the wall opposite the bed. Beneath them was a dressing table, a chest of drawers, and a wooden trunk. Rachel lifted its lid. It was empty inside, except for a very Scottish looking tartan blanket which she took out and draped over the bed.

  It was possible that they’d only be holed up in the cottage for a few days. But it was also possible that it could be weeks or – Rachel shuddered at the thought – months. So, she needed to find a way to make herself feel at home.

  She needed to get comfortable and focus on writing her next book. Her words would get her through this; they always did.

  Walking back to the window, Rachel saw Max stop in front of the lake. He reached down, picked up a stick, and threw it for Brandi. Rachel smiled. He might be gruff and intimidating but, in her experience, men who were kind to dogs were usually all right on the inside. So, she was pretty sure that if she just kept being polite and friendly, eventually they’d have a proper conversation.

  They didn’t have to be BFFs. But if Max was going to be her only company for the foreseeable future, then she needed to know that they could at least chat over breakfast or share a coffee every now and then.

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she took out her phone. She had a good signal, at least. And she quickly copied and pasted the same message to her father, her sister, her agent, and Pete.

  Here safe. Perfect place for a writing retreat. Bodyguard is standoffish but big. Very reassuring. Will keep you posted.

  As always, Pete texted her back almost instantly. Glad you’re there safe. Wherever ‘there’ is. Hope you’re not away too long, neighbour. He finished his message with a winking emoji that made Rachel laugh. She was thirty-eight years old and had always hated using emojis. But Pete, at the tender age of thirty-two, loved them.

  Putting her phone down on the bed, Rachel lay back and closed her eyes. It had been years since she’d dated anyone; she’d been so wrapped up in her writing career that she simply hadn’t had time for it. But when Pete moved in, they instantly hit it off. It was a slow burn. He’d been living next door for eighteen months before they finally swapped numbers. But he’d been very supportive since Rachel’s stalking ordeal had started, and she was pretty certain that they’d been working their way up to going on a real date.

  She sighed and whispered to herself, “Well, Rachel, that will have to wait now, won’t it?”

  After sitting up, she took her laptop and iPad out of her case and ventured back downstairs to investigate the study. It was a cold room, but big and bright. The shelves were full of classics, dictionaries, encyclopaedias, and old leather-bound volumes of novels she hadn’t heard of. It was slightly musty and reminded her of the library she’d frequented at university. But being surrounded by books comforted her.

  Sitting down in the old high-backed chair in the corner of the room, Rachel sighed. Perhaps this was a fitting place to write the last book in her series. Perhaps some of the genius from the books on the shelves would filter down into her fingertips and help her write a finale that would knock her readers’ socks off.

  After suffering from months of writers’ block, she sincerely hoped so.

  She was just starting to feel the shallow flutter of nervousness that always settled in her belly when she thought about the book, when a sharp tap-tap on the door shook her out of it.

  “Rachel? Everything okay?”

  6

  Max

  Max reached down and picked up a stick. Brandi’s ears immediately sprung up and her mouth widened into what could only be described as a grin. For a moment, she was still. Anticipation quivered in her muscles. But then her tail started to wag, and she couldn’t contain herself any longer. She let out a small whimper. Max smiled at her. “All right girl, go get it...” He threw the stick towards the lake and Brandi ran full-pelt after it.

  They did this several times but then, as she often did these days, Brandi got tired and decided to just sit down and chew the stick instead of returning it to him. Max folded his arms in front of his chest and sighed. There were worse places he could be holed up. He’d done witness protection a few times early on in his career in much less picturesque settings. But back then, he’d known precisely how long he’d be on the job for. Here, with Rachel French, he had no idea.

  In his gut, he didn’t feel as if it could go on for longer than a few weeks. But he could be wrong, and it didn’t seem as if Rachel’s father was worried about the money it was costing to hire Tyler’s team of investigators as well as Max and the cottage.

  Max looked back at the property and up at the bedroom window. A flicker of movement told him Rachel had been watching him and he sighed. How had it come to this? Over fifteen years as a detective and now all he was good for was babysitting?

  As if she could tell that he was on the verge of becoming melancholy, Brandi trotted up and nuzzled into Max’s hand. He bent down and stroked her chest. “Right. Let’s go see what Miss French is up to.”

  He found her in the study. It was oddly decorated; old-fashioned, like the rest of the cottage, and full of books. When Max had first stumbled on them, when he arrived with Brandi the day before, he’d half wondered whether this might be an opportunity for him to do some reading. Before he quit the police force, he’d dreamed of the day when all he’d do was sit around, drink extravagantly expensive coffee, and read.

  But he was finding it hard to judge precisely how relaxed he should allow himself to be. In reality, he doubted that they were in much danger. It was very unlikely that Rachel’s stalker would figure out where they were. But Max was being paid to keep her safe. So, for now, he’d decided to treat the situation as if it were, indeed, very dangerous. Stay alert, stay on-guard, stay professional.

  “Rachel? Everything okay?” Max tapped the door as he entered.

  Rachel was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. As she stood up, she braced her hand in the small of her back and winced. Noticing him watching her, she said, “Bad back. Too much sitting today. I might take a walk.”

  “Of course. I’ll fetch your coat.”

  “You don’t have to...” Rachel trailed off. “Except, you do have to. Don’t you?

  Max nodded slowly. “I think it’s best if I do, yes.”

  Outside, they followed an overgrown path through the trees beside the lake. Beneath the canopy, it was dark and cold. Max had arrived in the Highlands early the previous morning and was yet to see real sunshine. He’d never been a fan of hot weather, but he didn’t particularly want to spend the next few weeks dealing with the icy not-quite-there drizzle that showed no signs of shifting any time soon.

  It was the kind of cold that got into your bones; the kind that made you want to stay inside and drink whiskey by the fire.

  “So, how did you and Brandi find one another? Have you had her since she was a puppy?” Rachel was walking ahead but had slowed so
that she could talk to him.

  Max looked down at his canine companion. Brandi was trotting beside him. She had a collar but her lead was strung over Max’s shoulders; he trusted that she would never attempt to run away from him.

  As the path narrowed, Rachel nudged in closer to him and Max shoved his hands into the pockets of his thick grey coat. “I’ve known her since she was a pup, but she was my friend’s dog.” Max contemplated telling Rachel the rest of the story. But he could already see it leading to a series of more intimate questions. Questions he didn’t want to answer. So, he changed the subject. “You don’t have a dog?”

  Rachel shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “Nope. I live in an apartment and I’m away so much for book tours that it wouldn’t be fair. I have a cat though.”

  Max was not a cat person.

  “I know,” she said, clearly interpreting something from his expression. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love cats. But dogs are just different, aren’t they?”

  Max made a hmm sound.

  Rachel stopped and gestured in front of them. “Do you know where this path goes?”

  “There’s a map back at the cottage. I believe it goes into the village.”

  “Village? You said we were miles from anywhere.”

  “There’s a small hamlet nearby. About five miles.” Max watched Rachel’s eyes brighten and, before she had the chance to ask if they could visit, said, “If your back’s feeling better, we should return to the cottage. It’ll be dark soon.”

  “Oh,” she said, frowning. “Yes. Okay.”

  Max stepped back. “After you.”

  She smiled thinly and this time, instead of walking side-by-side with him, she strode off alone.

  When they reached the cottage, Max made her stand back so that he could open the door and let Brandi in first. She stood in the hallway and sniffed the air. For a moment, her back was straight and her tail taut. But then she relaxed, gave a little shake, and trotted into the kitchen to flop down in her bed.

  Despite getting Brandi’s all-clear, Max found himself cataloguing the appearance of each room as he passed through to the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place. Everything was the same as when they’d left.

  It was six p.m. In the short time it had taken for them to walk back from the trees, darkness had descended and the cottage was wrapped in a thick, heavy blackness that pressed up against the windows.

  Rachel had followed him into the kitchen and now, standing behind him, asked, “You said you stocked up on food?”

  Max let down the blinds over the kitchen window and shrugged off his jacket. He gestured to the fridge. “I got everything on the list that you gave Tyler, but if there’s anything missing just let me know. We can drive to Fort Kyle.”

  “That’s the nearest town?”

  Max nodded. He hung his jacket on a hook by the back door and reached out to take Rachel’s. She handed it to him and, again, kicked off her boots and let them fall into a messy heap at the side of the room.

  Carefully, she opened the fridge and nearby cupboards, sifting through the contents and nodding approvingly. “This looks great. Shall I start dinner?”

  Max frowned at her. Did she think they were going to eat together? “You don’t need my permission to eat, Miss French. Just forget I’m here and do as you please.”

  Rachel put her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet. “You want to eat separately?”

  “I think that’s best.”

  She pursed her lips as if she was about to say something sarcastic but had changed her mind. “Risotto for one, then,” she said.

  Max nodded. His stomach lurched into a growl, but he ignored it. He’d eat later. “I’ll make sure the heating is turned up in the other rooms and close all the blinds.”

  Rachel had turned her back to him and was pulling saucepans out of the cupboard beside the stove. She waved her hand at him as if to say, Fine, whatever.

  “Brandi...” Max gestured for her to follow him, but Brandi simply rested her head on her front paws and closed her eyes.

  Great. Now even his own dog didn’t want to do as she was told.

  7

  Rachel

  Determined to make Max regret his decision to eat alone, Rachel decided to cook a risotto so mouth-wateringly aromatic that he would be salivating over it for days.

  He had brought all the ingredients she’d asked for: Arborio rice; parmesan; butternut squash; bacon; onion; garlic; and chicken stock. First, she sauteed the onion with the garlic and a large spoonful of butter. Then she added the rice, with a splash of white wine from the bottle she’d found in the fridge, and began ladling in stock one spoonful at a time.

  While the rice slowly absorbed the liquid, she put her squash cubes in the oven to roast and – in a separate pan – crisped up some bacon.

  Risotto was the dish her mother had always made when they were running low on ingredients. Along with stock, rice, and parmesan, she would toss in anything else they happened to have leftover in the fridge and concoct something beautiful. She’d always said that cooking a risotto was one of the most relaxing things you could do; there was no use turning up the heat or pouring the stock in all at once because it needed time, so you just had to adjust your expectations and wait. The entire process forced you to slow down and take a breather. So, it had become Rachel’s go-to meal for when she wanted to relax, be comforted, or cook something at a leisurely pace while she chatted with her dinner guests.

  When Max informed her that they wouldn’t be eating together, Rachel’s stomach had twisted uncomfortably and she’d felt strangely emotional. It had been a long time since she’d had someone to cook for, or with, and she’d been looking forward to sharing a meal. Even if her dinner companion was lacking in the conversation department.

  But it seemed that Max Bernstein was determined not to offer her even a molecule of friendship. He was there, but he wasn’t there.

  Rachel slowly moved the risotto rice around the pan. She knew the mixture of garlic, onion, butter, and bacon would be sending a heavenly smell wafting through the cottage. And she hoped that Max’s stomach was rumbling at the idea of it.

  Taking out her phone, she opened her messages and let her thumb linger over the keyboard. She was considering texting Pete. But then she sighed and, instead, navigated to her favourite podcast and pressed play. It was a true-crime podcast. She listened to it religiously and often found that it caused snippets of ideas to float into her head.

  The episode was an hour long and lasted all the way through the cooking process until she sat down to eat. It finished just as she was taking her last mouthful of risotto. Sitting back in her chair, she sighed and looked at the still half-full pan on the stove.

  It had turned out beautifully; she’d mixed the squash cubes in with the rice, added the parmesan and – her mother’s trick – allowed the pan to rest off the heat with the lid on for five minutes. Then, when it was the perfect consistency, she finished it off by sprinkling the crispy bacon on top.

  She’d expected Max to cave in and ask if it was okay for him to join her, but he hadn’t set foot in the kitchen since he went to check the heating in the bedrooms.

  Rachel took a bowl from the shelf beside the fridge, spooned in the leftovers, and covered them with clear plastic wrap. There were a few slices of bacon left that wouldn’t be the same once they’d had a chance to soften in the fridge overnight. So, she called Brandi over and broke them up into smaller pieces. Tail wagging, Brandi sat neatly in front of Rachel and tipped her head to one side.

  “Do you do ‘paw’?” Rachel asked, extending her hand.

  Immediately, Brandi lifted her leg and put her paw into Rachel’s palm. “Good girl, good shake.” Rachel grinned and gave her the bacon. “Well,” she said, “at least I’ve got one friend around here.”

  After washing the dishes, Rachel made herself a cup of decaffeinated tea and went in search of Max. She found him standing
beside the fire in the lounge.

  “Bodyguards aren’t allowed to sit down?” she quipped, before she had the chance to stop herself.

  Max didn’t respond, simply nodded towards the kitchen and asked, “All done?”

  “There are leftovers if you’d like some.” Rachel tried to sound a little more friendly, but she was struggling. Being friendly towards Max Bernstein seemed a bit like banging your head against a brick wall – pointless and painful.

  “The bedrooms are warm. I’ve checked all the windows and I’ll lock up down here before I retire for the night.”

  Rachel’s mouth twitched into a smile. She wanted to make fun of him for saying ‘retired’ but the scowl on his face stopped her. She looked at her watch. Seven thirty. “I’ll work for a while,” she said, gesturing towards the study. “I’ll let you know when I go up.”

  Max nodded. He looked stiff and uncomfortable, and Rachel wondered if this was his normal demeanour or if it was part of some professionally polished exterior that he wanted to present to her.

  When she’d told Emma, her sister, that she was going to be hiding out in the Highlands with an ex-detective, Emma had clapped her hands and said, “Well, that’s brilliant Rach. A first-hand reference source on tap, twenty-four-seven. You’ll get your book finished in no time.” But now that she was here, and had met Max in person, it was painfully clear that he would not be amenable to answering research questions or advising on plot holes.

  Rachel sat down in front of the old wooden desk and opened up her notebook. Right now, research and plot holes weren’t an issue. She’d written eleven books in the Rogue Detective series and had never ever struggled with them. Ideas, characters, and storylines had come without her even needing to try. But this one, the last one in the series, was proving almost impossible to pin down.

  She tapped her pen up and down on the empty page, then absent-mindedly chewed the end of it. Staring at notes from previous books wasn’t helping. The podcast hadn’t helped. So, she needed to try something different.