“O-of course,” Roland replied. “Anythin' ye need.”
“Great, I'll be in touch,” Alec said.
Then, I felt his hand against the small of my back. A calming warmth encased my body, soothing my nerves and easing my rage, and I resisted the need to lean into his touch and demand he wrap his arms around me. I deeply craved that momentary reprieve and the healing salve of human compassion. But I wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I let him gently push me toward the door, with TJ by my side. Together, we left the pub, entered the car, and without a word, we began the drive to Shavon's, to face the last known man to see my sister alive.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ALEC
“Ye cannae act like that, Rosie,” I shouted, as I drove in the direction of the restaurant. “And I need to know that ye can control yer anger when confrontin’ this man, or else I cannae bring ye with me.”
Rosie’s hands were wrapped tightly in the sleeves of her sweatshirt, with only her fingers peeking out, clearly clenched in white-knuckled fists against her thighs. Her anger and frustration were evident and justified, but those emotions were also a liability, and I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t approach James Eddington with her at my side, not knowing when she was going to take a nosedive into her personal pit of emotional rage. If she was going to do this, I needed her calm and collected, the same Rosie she had been that morning, looking at the photographs of her sister’s corpse.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking beneath the weight of her grief. “I’ll be fine. I just …” She shook her head and turned to look out the window. “I don’t know, I just—”
“Ye didn’t anticipate yer reaction,” I replied, nodding patiently. “I understand. But do ye not think this man Roland isnae right now callin’ his brother, to warn him? He’s already expectin’ us, and the absolute last thing we need is for ye to give him any more reason to panic. So, I need to know right now, will ye be all right, or do ye want me to take ye to Rick’s?”
She took a moment of silence to think, sucking at her teeth and flicking at her cuticles. I was grateful for it, knowing that she was at least giving it some thought before making her decision. But then, she said, “I'll be okay. I'll leave if I think I can't handle it.”
Ye can’t argue with the woman. Ye’ll just have to trust her, and hopefully, this whole fuckin’ thing doesn’t explode in yer goddamn face.
Pulling in a deep breath, I nodded slowly. “All right. TJ, what about you?” I asked, glancing in the mirror, to see the forever scowling teenager staring right back at me. “Ye think ye can keep yer cool?”
“I'll be fine,” he muttered, before turning his attention back to the window.
“Are you sure?” Rosie pressed, looking over her shoulder into the backseat. “Because you don't have to force yourself to do something you don't want—”
“Mom,” he shouted over her. “I'm fine. Okay?”
“I know you say that, but—”
“Stop! Just stop! Okay? God …”
“But TJ, you—”
“Lass,” I cut in, reaching out to snag her wrist in my hand. She turned to me, eyes wide and startled, as I said, “He says he's fine. Don’t keep pressin' him. There isnae a person on this planet who wouldnae break under that kinda pressure.”
Without a word, she righted herself in the seat and stared out the window at the passing trees and fields of the Scottish Highlands. The sky was streaked with blue and white, like a watercolor canvas above a sea of green. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been granted a few moments to just look out and appreciate the majesty of nature, and without warning, my heart seized with the blunt force of resentment. Not toward her, her son, or even her sister, but life itself. This was the work I had chosen, and I welcomed the busyness of it, but I hadn't anticipated that every spare moment would be eaten by divorce, my ailing father, or even the burden of sleep. And suddenly, my life seemed like such a waste of time and space, even despite the peace I'd brought to so many families. What good was it all when I couldn't harness my own?
“I don't know how to stop,” Rosie finally whispered.
I glanced into the backseat, finding TJ with his earbuds in place, before asking, “What do ye mean, lass?”
“Just … the way that I am with him,” she said, her voice heavy with exhaustion and defeat. “I don't know how to stop nagging him or getting on his case. I know it drives him crazy, I know he can't stand when I do it, but I can't just stop.”
“Yer his mother. It's yer job.”
She chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, and what a great job I'm doing. He shouldn’t even be here, with the shit we’re doing right now.” Then, she glanced in my direction and said, “I guess we're both assholes, huh.”
I barked with a laugh at that. “I dinnae ken if I'd call ye an arsehole, lass. Ye’re doin’ what ye think is right, and if the time comes where he should leave, I’m sure ye’ll make the right choice.”
“Yeah,” she replied quietly. “And I don't know that I'd call you one either.”
My heart rattled gently within my chest, as I clenched my jaw and tightened my grip on the wheel. I reminded that bloody, beating organ that there was no reason to awaken from its hibernation and get excited, because there was little chance of hope for me. But still, there it was, fluttering about like a schoolboy who'd just gotten noticed by a bonnie lassie.
Knock it off, ye bleedin' bastard. We have work to do, and then, she's gone. Ye’ll never see her again, and what good’ll that do ye? Just leave it alone.
And just like that, he skulked away, to pout in his cage, and I hoped he wouldn't let his disappointment seep into our shared veins.
***
I knew Shavon's. I'd been there a time or two for lunch with the lads from work. It was a nice place, with good food and equally good staff. But those were the thoughts of a man who wasn’t aware of the possible killer within its walls. Now, I stared at the welcoming building as if it were the doorway to Hell itself.
As Rosie and TJ climbed out of the car, she asked, “Do you have a gun?”
“No,” I replied, never taking my eyes from the restaurant.
“What? What if he does? What if he—”
“If I were to carry a gun, lass, I'd be in big trouble with the law.”
“I understand that,” she said, coming to stand beside me, “but that still doesn't answer the question of, what if he has one? What are you going to do if he pulls a gun on all of us, and you only have, what? Your sharp wit and a jacket in desperate need of ironing?”
I briefly pulled my gaze from the stone building and glared at her. “Don’t underestimate what I'm capable of.”
“Well, forgive me for not thinking that what you're capable of could stand up against a man with a freakin' gun.”
“Well, let's just see if he even has a gun,” I countered, narrowing my eyes and slamming the car door shut. “Are ye both ready?”
TJ nodded confidently, as Rosie said, “Yeah, as long as he's unarmed.”
I smirked at her snarky reply and shook my head, before leading the way toward the door. A coalescence of nerves and adrenaline came together in my gut to sour my morning coffee, as I pulled it open and entered the welcoming establishment. The stone floors emanated the warmth from a crackling fireplace, and an incredibly bonny lass approached, wearing a smile and wielding a menu.
“Can I bring ye to a table?” she asked, addressing each of us with batted lashes and appreciation.
“No, we're not here to eat,” I told her, producing my badge. Her eyes blinked rapidly at the sight, before glancing at Rosie and TJ, most likely wondering what an inspector was doing with two civilians, and I asked, “Is James Eddington here at the moment?”
Her nod was stuttered and slight, as she replied, “Aye, he-he's in the kitchen. Sh-should I get him for ye, sir?”
“That'll be all right, lass, but can ye lead me to the kitchen?” I asked, putting my badge away.
She nodded, before leading the
way through the maze of tables and chairs. Rosie followed close behind me, while TJ took the rear, as diners watched with curious, speculating eyes. The three of us together must’ve been quite a spectacle, and we were drawing too much attention—TJ especially. I realized he was obviously too young and stopped before the young woman could push through the kitchen door.
“Laddie, ye gotta wait out here,” I told him in a whisper, and his jaw dropped open to protest, but I stopped him with a point of my finger. “I need ye to stand guard. Do not let anyone in, and if anybody gives ye shite, come and get me. Can ye do that?”
His eyes now lit up with purpose, and he nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good,” I said, then turned to Rosie. “Remember, if ye feel yer control slippin, ye leave.”
She pulled in a deep, calming breath, allowed her shoulders to slump a bit, and said, “I'm okay, I'll be fine.”
With that, I nodded for the young woman to push through the door, and we entered a jungle of stainless steel. The air was filled with a multitude of scents and a cacophony of spitting pans and clanging utensils, along with the jubilant chatter of several men. She took us around a corner, past an array of pots, pans, and knives, with me taking note of all their locations, and to a long strip of countertops and a range.
“James?” she asked, in a quiet, meek voice.
A man looked up from his work at a counter, and I noted the large chef's knife in his hand. “Aye?”
“These people are here to speak with ye,” she said, glancing up at me, as I walked past her to stand before him without fear.
Three other men watched with narrowed, accusatory glances, and I asked kindly if they and the young lass could leave us for a moment. One of them, the tallest of the bunch, argued that they had work to do, and I replied, “And so do I. The sooner ye let me do mine, I can let ye get back to yers.” With that, the group slinked away, raking their eyes over both Rosie and me with sour, disgruntled irritation, until we were finally alone.
James swallowed and asked, “Yer the inspector?”
I nodded solemnly, taking in the look of this man, his stature and demeanor. His hand shook, still wrapped around the grip of the knife, while his throat bobbed incessantly, and I knew immediately that I was staring at a person who was either guilty or terrified—or both.
“So, yer brother Roland told ye I was comin', did he?”
“He did,” he answered in a hoarse voice. “Am I … am I in some sort of trouble?”
“Would ye please put that knife down and step away from the counter?” I asked, gesturing toward his trembling hand.
“I've never been questioned before by the police,” he explained needlessly. “I've never—”
“Mate,” I interrupted. “Put down the knife, and then, we'll talk.”
Slowly, he did as he was told and stepped away from the counter, pressing his back to the countertop behind him. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, seemingly unable to look at me, but then, his eyes landed on Rosie, and his gaze opened wide.
“James, can ye tell me what happened to Grace Allan?”
“Ye're her sister?” he asked Rosie, ignoring my question.
I moved to stand in his line of sight and block his view of her. “I will ask ye again. What happened to Grace? What can ye tell me about that night?”
He shook his head, addressing me now with a set jaw and twitching eye. “There's nothin' for me to tell.”
“Ah, come on, mate,” I said, standing opposite of him and mirroring his position with my arms crossed and head cocked. “There must be somethin' ye can tell me. Ye had a wee dram, didn't ye? Ye brought her home, ye—”
“No,” he interrupted, tightening his arms against his chest.
Nodding and sucking at my teeth, I casually laid my hand on the counter, the grip of the knife beneath my palm. “There must be somethin' ye can tell me, James. Somethin' ye can tell me to help us out—”
“Why don't you tell me what the fuck is goin' on?” he asked abruptly. “Why the hell are ye here, askin' me this shite?”
I offered a shrug and a morose crumple of my forehead. “I already think ye ken, mate.”
“Did somethin' happen to her or somethin'?”
“She's dead,” Rosie spoke, her voice rasped, scraping against her throat, and sounding as though speaking hurt.
James turned to her abruptly, eyes growing wider still. “No,” he said, raising his voice. “She, she can’t—”
“It's the truth, lad,” I said. “She was found just the other day, and it seems you were the last person to see her alive. So, I'd appreciate it if ye'd answer a few—”
There was more to say to James Eddington, with plenty of questions to ask and clues to find. But before I was able to finish my sentence, it occurred to him that he was my key suspect. The only suspect, in fact, and without a second thought, without a single word spoken, he turned and ran out the backdoor of the restaurant.
“Fuckin' bastard,” I groaned, wrapping my hand around the knife and taking off after him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALEC
James ran quickly through the back alleys behind the restaurant and onto the road, his arms pumping and the rubber soles of his tennis shoes slapping noisily against the asphalt. I followed closely, with my lungs burning and reminding me of how long it’d been since I ran after a panicked suspect.
“James!” I shouted over the honking of cars, as I dodged an elderly woman walking her dog. “Stop runnin’!”
He ignored my orders, as he continued down the road and turned down the dirt path leading to the very woods where Grace was discovered. Approaching the ominous thicket of darkened trees, a flash of memory washed over me, clouding my vision of the frantic man before me.
A-A-A-Alec! They taunted, their voices traveling through the pitch-black night, blending with the chatter of rustling leaves. Are-are-are ye s-s-s-scared, A-A-A-Alec?
A chill trickled down my spine, the bony fingers of the dead past tickling with every inch, and I firmly pressed the memory down as I ran on, reminding myself of what I was doing and why. I had fallen behind a few steps, James was now further out of my reach, and I urged my body to move faster and harder. I needed to close in on the bastard before he breached Coille Feannag and had the protection of the trees.
“Leave me the fuck alone!” James cried, his voice shrill.
“I just wanna talk to ye, man!”
Christ, my lungs ached and threatened to collapse with every tortured breath, and my legs screamed for relief. But he was slowing down now. He was so close, and all I needed was to run just a little faster, just get a little closer, and I’d have him in my grasp.
“I didnae do anythin’! I swear on my mother’s life, I didnae do a fuckin’ thing to that girl—oof!”
I jumped on his back, tackling him to the ground, just outside the forest’s entrance. The opening in the trees stood beside me, gaping and hungry, ready to swallow me whole. With a shiver, I focused my full attention on the man pinned between the ground and my chest.
“Get off me!” he cried out, fingers clawing at the soil and grass.
Thrusting the knife into the ground, I wrapped both arms around his chest and held tight as he struggled for freedom. “Tell me what happened with Grace, and—ah!” I exclaimed, as he managed to kick the heel of his shoe against my shin.
Ignoring the pain in my leg, I moved quickly, grappling for his wrists, and yanking them down to pin behind his back. He cried out at the forceful pull of his arms.
“Ye’re hurtin’ me!”
“I don’t wanna hurt ye, mate. Just tell me—”
“I know nothin’! Please, I swear it. I didnae do anythin’.” His voice yielded strength, but his struggling subsided, as he began to shamelessly weep into the dirt beneath his cheek.
“Come on, now. What happened to Grace?” I asked, speaking calmly and steadily, despite the strain in my lungs.
“I dinnae ken!” he shouted, crying aga
inst the ground. “I have no fuckin’ clue what happened to her, man. I s-swear!”
Sense told me he was telling the truth. His tears were too real, his fear and defeat were too genuine, but history has shown that great killers are often great actors. I couldn’t let him go, not yet, but I did ease my hold on his wrists, a kindness and a lapse of judgment, and the bastard took advantage. He slipped from my grasp and rolled, throwing me to the ground. I thought he’d attack, and I feared he’d grab the knife, standing erect from the earth. But he didn’t. Instead, he ran, straight into the gaping gullet of the forest.
“Ye fuckin’ arsehole, Brodie,” I muttered angrily, before taking off after him once again.
But luckily, I didn’t have to run for long.
Immediately, I found him, leaning against the trunk of an old oak, heaving with sobs.
“I-I didnae do anythin’ to her,” he cried, gasping into his palm.
“Then, talk to me,” I told him, walking to stand beside him. “Tell me what happened that night.”
James looked at me, suddenly appearing younger than he was, with green eyes glittering in pools of crystal tears, and then, he nodded.
***
The owner of Shavon’s allowed us to use the office for questioning, and as I sat across from James, I knew without a doubt that he was innocent. His eyes held all the truth I needed, but I also had to hear his side of the story.
“I was sittin’ in my brother’s pub that night,” he began, keeping his gaze on the floor. “It was a borin’ night, real quiet, and I started thinkin’ I should just go home. But then, I looked out the window and saw her.”
He turned to me with a heartbreaking grin and asked, “Ye ever seen a lass so bonnie, she takes the words right outtae yer stupid mouth?”
It was unintentional, the way my eyes dodged momentarily toward Rosie, and I muttered, “Aye.”
He sighed, dropping his gaze once again. “I was worried she wouldnae stop walkin’ by, but she did. I convinced her to come inside, and we had a dram or two, not enough to get wrecked but enough to feel it. She kept mentionin’ she needed to get back to the inn she was stayin’ at, because she had an early flight, but I kept stallin’. I didnae want her to leave. She was so …” His face took on a whimsical expression that nearly fractured my heart, as he said, “She was so different. I’d never spoken to a woman like her before. So, I asked her to come back to my house. She wasnae sure, but she suggested that we go for a walk, and since I wouldae done anythin’ to spend more time with her, I went.”
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