Alec was quick to approach it, dropping onto its smooth, veined surface with the air of a man who had grown accustomed to such grandeur. But I stood back to marvel at the garden and its simplistic, natural beauty, certain it was the prettiest place I'd ever seen. I tilted my head back and gasped at the constellations and the deepest, darkest sky my eyes had ever known when Alec grunted a chuckle into the still night.
“Have ye never seen nature before?”
I looked back to him, to see the dark strands of hair hanging into his eyes and the bottle of whisky dangling from one hand between his knees. I fought the urge to pinch myself, because if I had managed to somehow stumble into sleep and this moment was in fact a dream, I didn't want to wake up. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Not quite like this,” I managed to reply, before stepping into the circle, to walk over a cobblestone path, dusted with dirt and moss, to where he sat.
“What's it like where ye're from, then?”
I took a seat beside him and felt the chill emanating from the stone. He handed the bottle to me, and accepting the invitation, I put the mouth to my lips and took a slow sip. Then, as I closed my eyes, my lips curled into a smile and welcomed my mind to return home.
“Well, it's a coastal town, so you can't go anywhere without smelling the Long Island Sound when it's low tide. Tom hated the smell of it initially. He always said it smelled like shit, and I mean, it kinda does, but I love it, and eventually, he did, too,” I told him, opening my eyes to see his lips softly curl upward. “It's also ridiculously small. Everybody knows everybody else, and that can get kind of annoying. Like, when you really just want to get divorced in peace without your neighbors asking questions …”
I rolled my eyes as Alec chuckled. “You're not doin' much to sell me on this place, lass.”
“But it's so beautiful,” I hurried to say, suddenly desperate to make him like my hometown. “And there's a crazy amount of history everywhere you go. Like, you can't go anywhere in town without learning something about the people who once lived there years ago. And it is impossible to ever be lonely, not when there's so many people who genuinely care all over the place.”
“Hm,” he grunted, nodding slowly. “Would ye be lonely otherwise?”
Somewhere in the distance, an owl called into the night, and I considered his question with a melancholic sigh. The truth in my answer was one I seldom faced, and I didn't care much to talk about it now. But what did I have to lose?
“Tom remarried a few years ago,” I said. “And then, not long after that, Gracie got engaged. There was a big part of me that felt like I had been left behind, you know? Like, everybody else was moving on with their lives, while I was still sitting in this little bungalow with my moody as hell kid. I mean, I date every now and then, but nothing ever comes of it.”
“Hm.”
The gruff response was becoming more and more expected, and I didn't hesitate as I continued, “Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those women that thrives on being with a man, and I can hold my own. But sometimes, I just miss the companionship, you know? Not even so much … the physical stuff, but just … someone to be with.”
Alec released a slow breath as he nodded. “Aye,” he replied, speaking beneath the calling owl and rustling leaves.
There was an unmistakable understanding in his whispered tone. I took a swig from the bottle, before allowing the persistent tug of affection to lure me closer to him, as I slid against the cold stone beneath me. As my thigh met his, Alec cleared his throat and ran a hand over his mouth, then turned away, to stare toward the blinking glow of a nearby lantern.
“Rick and I used to get completely smashed out here, when we were lads,” he said. “His parents never cared much what we did, as long as we were here, at his house, and not out doin' the stupid shite kids do.”
He lifted the glass in his hand to his lips and knocked it back in two hearty gulps, then set it down on the marble with a melodic clink.
“One day, they found us here, totally fuckin' wrecked on this bench, and his dad grabbed us both by the collar and threw us on the ground, right over there,” he said, pointing to a spot of lush, green grass. “He said, I dinnae give a shite if ye two dunderheads wannae drink yerself stupid, but ye willnae do it where I proposed to yer mother.” Alec laughed heartily, shaking his head, and I wished I could be buried in the warmth of the comfortable sound. “Rick looked right at him, and said, so ye'd rather I pass out in the dirt? And his dad just nodded and said, aye, laddie, nowhere to fall when ye're already on the ground.”
I was smitten, listening to him speak. I loved the way the words formed in his mouth and how the burr was emphasized when mocking Rick's late father. The depth of his voice reminded me of the whisky in my hand, warm and cozy, with the perfect complementary hint of smoke. And without a second of hesitation, I said as much, with little thanks to the alcohol.
Alec laughed again, and I swooned just a little more. “Ye're drunk, lass,” he affirmed, turning away from the flickering lantern to find my eyes in its light.
“Not drunk. Maybe a little tipsy, but definitely not drunk,” I corrected, while acutely aware of how difficult it was becoming to speak coherently.
“Verra convincin', Rosie,” he muttered, as his eyes hooded, and his gaze dropped to my lips.
“I love the way you say my name,” I whispered, shutting my lids and grinning. Then, I mocked, “Rosie,” with an enunciated roll of my tongue. My eyes opened, to stare into his, and I said, “It's the stuff fantasies are made of.”
“Hm.”
He nodded as if he were making a decision I knew nothing about, and with each careful bob of his head, he moved in closer, and closer, until his lips were nearly brushing mine.
“I'm gonna kiss ye now, Rosie.”
I groaned at the sound of my name rolling on his Scottish tongue and passing through his lips, and said, “God, I hope you do.”
Alec brushed my lips with a feathered touch and my eyelids fluttered closed, praying a single, gentle peck wasn't all there would be, only for my prayers to be answered seconds later with another and another. With every kiss, we gained momentum, and when our lips finally parted, I dropped the bottle, for it to land against the cobblestone ground with a solid, hollow thud, and wrapped my arms around his neck with an approving moan.
We kissed on the bench where Rick's parents were engaged, with our tongues mingling in a desperate dance for closeness. I thought about his friend and my son, sleeping soundly in their beds, completely oblivious to whatever was happening between Alec and me, and I grinned against his lips. I felt like a teenager, and not a woman nearing middle age, as though he and I had run away with the idea of making out in the shelter of the dark and stars. Memories rushed forward, as I remembered a time when Gracie had caught me kissing my high school boyfriend on the front porch when I’d said I was out with a girlfriend, and then, just like that, the guilt wormed its way back through my skin and into my bones.
I hadn't once thought about Gracie in the minutes that Alec and I had been kissing, maybe even the entire time we'd been sitting on that bench, and how could that possibly be? How could I have so easily forgotten that she was gone? The whole point of me being in Scotland in the first place was to bring her home. So, how was it that the lips of an attractive man had the power to erase her from my memory? And how the hell was it that I could find any shred of enjoyment in life at all, when hers had ended horribly at the hands of a vile monster?
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I pulled away from Alec's arms. A sob burst abruptly from my lips as I slid away, to my side of the bench, and covered my mouth with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
“Rosie,” Alec said, and I wished so much that my name had the same effect that it did moments before. I shook my head and turned away from his watchful gaze, unable to speak as the tears streamed faster down my cheeks. “Ye dinnae have to talk to me, but I wish ye would.”
“I—” I sobbed and swallowed it down, before speaking a
gain. “I'm okay. I-I-I just … I just need to go to bed. I'm, I'm so tired, and I r-really should rest.”
With that, I stood and hurried back inside, leaving Alec alone on the bench in the garden and knowing damn well I wouldn't be lucky enough to find sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ALEC
I blamed the whisky I never should have drank, and the garden I never should have shown her, but there was no denying that I had wanted to kiss Rosie. But now, I was ashamed, assuming she felt like I'd taken advantage of her fragile state. So, with the stealth of a rogue, I snuck out of the house the next morning, before the sun could break through the bedroom curtains, all to avoid an awkward interaction with a woman I never should have kissed.
“Ye're early,” Finley commented, looking up from his computer.
“Aye,” I muttered, dropping my satchel onto my desk, and removing my coat. “Couldnae sleep.”
“Neither could I,” he replied with a sigh. “I cannae get this shite outta my head.”
Keeping my mouth shut, I nodded as I sat down and tucked my bag under the desk. The whirring of the coffee maker drew my attention to the corner of the room, where Sharp stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for the machine to do its job and reminding me that I had run out of the house too quick to grab my thermos.
“Hey, Sharp,” I called to him, and he turned at the sound of my voice. “Pour me a cup, will ye?”
He gave me a thumbs-up, just as the machine let the room know the coffee was done. Sharp poured, while a cluster of cops walked through the room, chattering, laughing, and slapping each other heartily on the back. Chief Inspector Frasier wandered into the room, flipping through a stack of papers, and Finley continued to scowl at his computer screen. With the room full and too much of the oxygen shared, my lungs tightened at the prospect that any one of these men and women could be the person I was searching for.
'Here ye go, Brodie,” Sharp said, then laughed at my expense, as I jolted at the sound of his voice. “A wee bit jumpy, are ye?”
“Y-y-yeah,” I stammered, and quickly pulled myself together, taking the cup from Sharp's hand. “Thanks, lad.”
“No problem,” he replied, before narrowing his eyes curiously. “Ye okay? Ye look like ye havnae slept in days.”
My heart raced as I nodded, casually sipping at the hot, bitter coffee. “Been a lot on my mind lately.”
“Oh, aye,” he said, crossing his arms and sitting at the edge of my desk. “I can relate. My wife just found out she's pregnant—”
“What?” Maggie exclaimed, overhearing as she passed through. “Ye didnae tell me that!”
Sharp's pudgy cheeks turned another shade of red. “She just took a test a couple of days ago,” he replied, shrugging.
“But I thought ye were havin' some problems?” she asked, coming closer and hugging her clipboard to her chest.
Finley snorted across from me. “Who isnae havin' problems in their marriage?”
As they carried on, talking at the side of my desk, I impatiently eyed my computer and wished they would have their conversation somewhere else. I had intended to search the file database for anything on Madison Lang, but I couldn't do anything with them lingering so closely.
“Hey, Brodie,” Sharp said, and I turned from the blank screen to look at him. “I dinnae think I've ever asked. Do ye have any wee ones of yer own?”
“No,” I answered gruffly.
“But ye were married?”
Maggie groaned, as she thankfully began to walk away. “Not every married couple has children, ye eejit.”
“Jesus, it was just a question,” he muttered, then shrugged. “Have a good day, Brodie. I'm off to walk the streets.”
I sent him off with a grateful goodbye and powered the computer on, as Finley sighed. I braced myself to be roped into more conversation, and sure enough, he leaned forward in an attempt to come closer.
“Brodie, do ye got a minute?”
“Not really.”
“It'll just be a minute, man,” he begged. “I wanna talk to ye.”
Knowing exactly what he wanted to talk about, I threw a quick glance around the emptying room, then leaned closer to him. “I willnae talk about this here,” I hissed. “And ye ken why.”
“Then, we'll just step out—” The Chief Inspector wandered by, crossing the room. Finley followed him with a watchful stare, and then, once Frasier was behind his office door, Finley continued, “We'll just step outside for a minute. I wanna tell ye what I found about Madison—”
“Let's go,” I said, standing and walking to the door without another word.
If Finley had already done the legwork, I could at least be grateful for it and listen to what he had to say.
***
“I found nothin'.”
A few minutes down the road from the office, Finley and I sat in my parked car, in a deserted lot, without any radio to fill the now dead air.
After a moment of silent disbelief, I turned to him and asked, “Nothin'? Ye found nothin' on Madison Lang?”
He shook his head, raking a hand through his cropped hair. “Nothin' in the files, anyway. I did manage to come across a newspaper article about her body bein' found, but it was only a brief mention.”
“It doesnae make any sense,” I muttered, turning to look out across the lot and toward a cluster of trees. “How is there nothin' about her in the database?”
“I guess, since it was deemed an accident, it mustae been deleted from the files or somethin'.”
I snorted, shaking my head. “Ye can find shite from thirty years ago in the files. It doesnae make any sense for them to get rid of one from three years ago.”
“I dunno about thirty years—”
“I do,” I interjected, turning to face him with narrowed eyes and gritted teeth.
Finley seemed to study my face. Picking me apart with soft, curious eyes and a loosened jaw. He didn't bother to say anything for a few minutes, but he didn't need to. I knew the questions that burned to be asked, but I wouldn't be answering any of them, so I didn't give him a chance to speak.
“There was a file for Madison Lang,” I said definitively. “But someone deleted it, just like someone will delete the file for Grace Allan. And whoever did it, is the person we're lookin' for.”
Finley stared out the window for a moment before nodding a little too flippantly for my liking. “Right,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the sun, high in the midday sky. “We better get back before someone questions where we've gone.”
I pulled out of the lot and turned the radio up, to sing along with Elvis's “Jailhouse Rock,” while I noted Finley's sudden reluctance to speak. His elbow was planted firmly to the window ledge and one finger was curved around his upper lip, as he stared out the window at the passing trees and road signs. He was unmoving, spine rigid, but I couldn't ignore the rapid bob of his throat and the quickened rise and fall of his chest.
When we returned to the station and I parked the car, Finley hesitated before opening his door. I waited as a ball of dread tightened in my stomach, souring the bad coffee from the morning, but thankfully, he didn't make me wait for long.
“We'll figure this out,” he said, his tone dry. “But y’know, we should meet for a drink soon. It's been a while.”
I didn't answer right away. This wasn't exactly the time to throw out invitations or requests to socialize, and now, it hung in the air with a half dozen questions attached to it. Where it came from, I couldn't say, but just as my suspicion toward Finley had begun to fade, it came back with a vengeance with that one little mention of a drink.
Nodding slowly, I replied, “Sure, Finley. Sounds good.”
Then, we left the car, to go our separate ways, and while I couldn't say what was going on in Finley's head, I knew mine was wondering what plans he had for me once we were alone again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ROSIE
I was dreading the moment when Alec would walk back through the d
oor. I was anticipated the awkward silence and hurt glances so much, that my stomach had tied itself into a thousand knots and my willingness to eat anything had completely diminished. TJ noticed, as Rick and I drove him to the airport, and he made mention of it before boarding his plane.
“Mom, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I told him, shrugging casually and forcing a grin that instantly pained my cheeks. “I'm fine. I'm just exhausted.”
“Yeah, but you've been weird since this morning. Did Brodie say something, or—”
“No,” I lied point blank. “I'm telling you, nothing happened. I just haven't slept since we got here. But I'll be okay. Once we finish up here, I'll be able to sleep, and …” I shrugged as my voice trailed off. Because how could I know for sure that I'd find sleep once Gracie's killer was found? How could I be so certain I'd ever sleep again?
“Are you sure you're okay with me leaving?”
I looked over my shoulder to see Rick waiting patiently, as he stood next to a pillar with his phone in hand. He wasn't watching us say our goodbyes, and I was grateful for it. In the event that this was the last time I’d ever see my son, I wanted it to be private.
“I'm more okay with you leaving than having you stay,” I replied honestly, as I turned back to TJ.
His tune had changed since he was told he'd be leaving. He seemed more willing and anxious to get out of here, and I wondered if he had spoken again to his dad. Maybe Tom had convinced him better than I could that leaving was the best thing for him, but I wasn’t going to ask.
TJ reluctantly nodded, gripping the strap of his backpack tighter. “But you'd tell me if you weren't, right?”
I lied and said, “Of course, I would.”
Then, with a quick hug, an ache in my heart, and a crashing wave of relief, I watched my son enter the terminal and fade from my sight.
As Rick and I drove back to the house, my anxiety nearly mounted to a full-fledged panic attack. I knew Alec would be waiting to visit the woods where he found Gracie's dead body, and I was terrified. I hated to think of what he would say after I ran away from him last night, and I dreaded the longing I knew I would feel at the sight of his lips and surly demeanor. But most of all, I was so afraid of entering the clearing and seeing the place I only knew from pictures, and to know once and for all if her ghost lingered there or not.
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