Not Without Juliet

chapter ONE



Something dripped on Juliet’s head.

“I swear, if it rains on me one more friggin’ time...” She looked up and watched a squirrel disappear against the trunk of a pine tree. The small branch he’d run across still bounced, flinging little drops of moisture from its needles. “Damned rodent.”

She was sure he’d done it on purpose, but she wasn’t going anywhere. He’d just have to deal with having his forest invaded for a while longer.

She stood among the trees on a hillside that ran along the west and north sides of Castle Ross, close enough to keep an eye on the place while she worked up her courage. She’d been working it up for two days, arguing with the same stupid squirrel. At least, she thought it was the same one.

Using her voice had felt good. She couldn’t remember the last person she’d had an actual conversation with that wasn’t a waitress or something. But that was about to change. As soon as the gray Hummer returned to the castle grounds, she was going to suck it up, march down there, and say what she’d come to say. It wasn’t her fault that woman was always taking off with her husband every time Jules was ready to confront her. Even getting up early that morning hadn’t helped, either. The Hummer was already gone.

What were they doing? Shopping their brains out? Trying to spend all the money?

The thought of all that money disappearing made her nauseous.

No way, she told herself. No way could they spend even half of it in the year since that woman had inherited it, even if they bought a real life Scottish castle—which she knew they hadn’t—it belonged to the husband’s family. And a whole fleet of Hummers wouldn’t make a dent.

“It’s okay,” she told the squirrel. “Half is all I want.” She looked back at the castle. “And I’m not leaving here without it.”

She rolled her shoulders and worked out the kinks from sleeping, folded up, in the front seat of a car for two miserable nights in a row. She’d have stretched out a little in the back seat, but if someone caught up with her, she needed to be behind the wheel.

Sticking earbuds in her ears was a luxury she couldn’t risk, no matter how frightening it was to sleep alone in the woods at night. And thanks to her wild imagination, she’d imagined all kinds of animals breathing on the car windows every time she closed her eyes.

The only thing she should really worry about was the FBI catching up with her or one of Gabby Skedros’ men. But even that concern was second on her list. Her biggest fear was what kept her on that hillside—the probability that that woman and her big Highlander would decide that they weren’t going to give her what was hers.

She’d dreamt of him again last night. Exactly the same dream she’d been having for the last six months. Only this time she knew who he was...



It was dark, just like always.

His head fell forward, his black hair made it hard to see his face. When he moved, she would see just a little curve of his cheek, a little reflection of light from his eyes. She wanted to reach out and push that hair behind his ears, but she didn’t. Why didn’t she?

At least she could hear him breathing and feel his arms as they came around her. So warm. So soft. So hard.

"Stay with me," he begged.

"I will. I promise."

"Stay with me, just until the end. Then you may go."

"'Til the end of what?"

"'Til the end, lass. You'll know when it's over."

Frantic desperation hung in the air all around them.

"I'm not who you think I am," he said.

That was what she was supposed to say.

"Neither am I,” she confessed.

He pulled her closer, but there was something between them, again. She needed to get closer, to feel his hard chest against her cheek, to know, just for a minute, that she was safe.

But something was stopping her.



Finally knowing he was a living breathing man, and not some guy her subconscious had conjured up?

Good news.

Realizing he was married, and to whom he was married?

Bad news. Bad, bad news.

Wondering how the hell her mind knew about a man across the ocean, six months before she’d ever seen him?

Freaking insane.

Water dripped on her head again. At least she hoped it was water. She didn’t look up because she really didn’t want to know. If the little thing had peed on her, she had no place to wash her hair anyway. Not until she got her money.

She wished she had her gun...if only to kill her a friggin’ squirrel.

“I hear you taste like chicken,” she said, still not looking up.

It was time to resume the position.

She felt the ground. Thankfully, it was no more damp than before. Not much of the last little rainstorm had made it through the thick branches. She was on a little plateau, so she stretched out on her belly, propped her elbows up, and looked through the old field glasses she’d bought in a second-hand store, in a little town just outside Glasgow. She wasn’t about to go shopping in East Burnshire, the village down the road. Running into that woman in a public place was not the plan. And if the FBI figured out where she was headed, they’d be watching East Burnshire for any sign of one Juliet Bell.

She’d tried not to get her hopes up about the Rosses helping her, considering what she planned to say to the new lady of the manor. The big Scot seemed so...courteous...from afar, she tried to keep worst case scenarios out of her head. She only wished she could say the same about her fantasies. The guy was just too gorgeous.

Just one more reason to dislike his wife.

Below her, Castle Ross protruded out of an ancient hill, a massive wreck resisting its lush green grave. The main body of the castle was about three stories tall. The towers, on the corners, looked more like arms reaching for the sky. Just a few fingers left on each hand.

As she studied the place for the thousandth time, a stone tumbled away from the west wall that was painted liberally with the orange light of the setting sun. She raised her field glasses to see what might have shaken loose a building block placed hundreds of years ago.

A couple of blue-grey figures stood on the battlements. Of course she didn’t believe in ghosts, but there was something about Scotland that made you believe you weren’t in the real world anyway.

She rolled the focus.

Two old ladies—identical in every way—were fighting over a pair of binoculars. Jules would lay odds on the one on the right since the strap was around her neck. Every time the one on the left pulled at the prize, her twin was pulled forward.

Jules couldn’t help laughing.

Nothing to worry about. Even if they’d been a couple of ghosts, they couldn’t scare her off. The only thing capable of raising her heart rate now was a sexy Highlander or someone with the power to stop her—like the people she’d just escaped. The FBI was staffed by a bunch of mean sons-o-bitches who didn’t take too kindly to sole eye-witnesses squirming out from under their thumb. And if she could get away from them, a couple of Scottish ghosts shouldn’t even raise her heart rate.

She moved back into a thick cluster of pines, hoping against hope that the fighting sisters had poor eyesight too. She steadied the boughs bouncing around her and hoped her black leather jacket and new dye job would blend into the shadows. Then she looked through the binoculars again.

The old women weren’t fighting anymore, and the one on the left was gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb, toward the North. Jules was just relieved the old girl wasn’t pointing her way. The other one took the strap from around her neck and handed over the binoculars, then she looked over her sister’s shoulder while that one turned and aimed the lenses up at the road running along the ridge behind Castle Ross.

Whatever it was, the sisters found it fascinating. But when the sisters suddenly ducked down behind the wall, Jules swung her own binoculars to the North to see what had scared her would-be ghosts.

The trees were in the way. She had to inch out a bit, but kept well below the boughs that would give away her progress. A prickly branch reached out and snagged her coat, as if it would hold her back. She unhooked a sticky pinecone from her precious coat, rubbed her thumb over the scratch it had made in the smooth leather, then crawled forward, grateful for the lengthening and deepening of the evening shadows around her.

At first, all she could see was a car tire with a shiny hubcap. She kept losing track of it between branches heavy with pine cones and dense green needles. When she pulled the glasses aside to get a natural perspective, she realized the car was well off the road, intentionally hidden.

Like hers.

Through the binoculars, once again, Juliet followed the hill as it sloped away from the car. Spindly black legs stood on a visible patch of grass. A tripod. Then, a man’s knees as he squatted behind it.

“Shit!” Her voice sounded like a gunshot in her ears. She clamped her lips between her teeth and held her breath until she realized she was too far away for him to have heard her.

A Skedros. It had to be. If he were FBI, agents would have been skulking around the castle, hiding on the roof and taking over the big manor house where human beings actually lived. They wouldn’t care about disrupting lives while they waited for her to show up.

She tried to calm the panic ringing in her ears, telling her to run, reminding her that every second she waited lessened her chances of getting away. But she didn’t want to run. It had taken her days to get psyched up to confront that woman. If she ran, she’d never get that chance again. And no one could be expected to run away from all that money, let alone the chance to look into that man’s face just once.

She tried to think rationally, to keep her heart from jumping through her ribs.

Maybe the guy was a photographer. Castle Ross probably smiled for a couple dozen cameras a day. Maybe the North side was its good side. Maybe the FBI had decided to give her what she’d asked for—just a little time to take care of some personal business. Maybe the Skedros family had no clue she’d left the country. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Yeah, and maybe Gabby Skedros hadn’t murdered Nikkos right before her eyes. “You’re like a son to me,” he’d told the kid, just before he shot him. And how many times had he told Jules she was like a daughter? Yeah, she could live without that kind of family affection. She was better off as she’d always been. On her own.

Paranoid? Yeah, right. Paranoid was a way to stay alive. And she wasn’t the only one freaking out. Those old sisters had disappeared fast, as if their footing had given way.

No. They were hiding. And Jules wasn’t hiding well enough. Even though she was well hidden beneath branches and shadows, she wanted to inch back into the trees, but she couldn’t move. Her arm and legs were frozen with fear, as they had that night when Nikkos fell to the floor. She hadn’t moved then either. She’d blended in. Gabby hadn’t even looked around to see if any of his restaurant employees might have been working late. Freezing in place had saved her then. Apparently her body thought it was a good enough plan to try again.

Great.

She took a deep breath, then another. She just had to relax. It was just like the bears she imagined outside her car windows. They weren’t real. Maybe the danger she felt wasn’t real either. She just had to be brave enough to look.

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement to her right. There were now two blue forms at the entrance of the castle grounds, jumping up and down. Weren’t they a little too old for that?

Thankfully, she found her arms willing to move once more, and she raised her glasses for a better look at the pair of lunatics.

At the bottom of her hill was a road and beyond that, a wide parking lot. Between it and the crumbling outer wall of the castle was a bridge of land the width of a car. Once upon a time, there would have been a moat and drawbridge, she figured. Where the wall began, there was also a large gate that opened inward. Next to this gate bounced the blue sisters.

Juliet realized three things. First, the sisters were looking right at her. Second, they weren’t doing jumping jacks; they were flapping around trying to get her attention. And third, the man on the North hill couldn’t see them.

Or so she hoped. She swung the glasses in his direction to be sure.

The tripod hadn’t moved. The knees were gone, but as she scanned the area, she found a man’s torso. When he ducked to take a bite of something in his hand, she saw him.

Sunglasses. It was already too dark for those. The sun was nearly down. Dark shadows had already started creeping up the side of Castle Ross. It was too late for a good shot—at least with a camera.

The man straightened and moved. She watched patiently for a better glimpse of him.

“Don’t be Greek. Don’t be Greek,” she chanted.

Finally, she saw his head. It was covered with long orange curls. For a minute, she thought it was just the trick of the sunset, until she realized the bright hair was all natural. Not a Skedros, then.

Not a photographer. Not a Skedros. Either a hired hitter, or the FBI. FBI agents tried to blend in. This guy, with his lion’s mane of bright hair, wouldn’t blend in anywhere—maybe not even Scotland.

A hitman then.

She was dead. Her chances for survival just rolled away, down the hill, out of reach. The smart thing to do would be to get in her car and drive away. Act as casually as possible as the road would either take her down the hill and past the castle, right where he was watching, or up and back the way she’d come, about twenty feet from where his car was parked. Maybe he wouldn’t consider she’d blackened her hair and wouldn’t give her a second look. Once she was out of sight, she would have to high-tail it to Edinburg, turn herself in to the police and hope the FBI could come and save her. It was her only choice.

Fire or frying pan?

She was out of money. Nearly out of gas. And if she didn’t think of something quick, she’d be out of hope.

She looked back to the sisters. They’d seen the man. They’d seen her, and yet they were still waving. She had absolutely no idea what they could have deduced from that, but they seemed to be beckoning her inside the grounds. Did they sense her danger, or were they out of their minds? Why would they want to help her when they had no clue who she was?

Maybe they’d seen the man’s gun and freaked out. But she couldn’t just run down there and let them help her. She’d be putting them in danger. A hitter wouldn’t think twice about collateral damage.

But with no gas money, what choice did she have?

For just a second, Jules allowed herself to imagine the large dark Highlander, coming up the hill to rescue her, kilt and sword swinging as they had the previous day for his crowd of tourists. But the “see us tomorrow” sign had already been hung, the parking lot chained off for the night. And his Hummer was still gone.

The sisters waved limply, their arms at their sides now, no longer over their heads, but it didn’t look like they planned to give up. If they didn’t get out of there, there was a good chance they’d get shot. Maybe it was her Christian duty to make them go hide.

Jules waved her hand, then gave them a thumbs-up.

They stopped their antics and one grabbed the field glasses from the other to take a good look.

Again, Jules gave a thumbs-up.

She received two very broad grins in return—smiles that in other circumstances would have made her think twice about taking shelter at Castle Ross. They looked a little too pleased. Like they might have a pot of stew on the fire and were waiting for a bit of meat.

A chill went through her. She figured it was just adrenaline overload.

The jagged tips of the ramparts let go of the sunset and the famous Scottish gloaming settled over the glen with an almost audible sigh.

The car hadn’t moved. The tripod hadn’t moved.

Jules took a deep breath, appreciating for the moment that she was still breathing at all. She turned to look north again, to check the hitter’s location one last time and found herself staring into the guy’s small binoculars, aimed right at her.

Air locked in her chest and expanded, like whipped cream from a thoroughly shaken can. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t drop her glasses and hope not to be seen. It was too important to know what he would do! Did he already have a gun in hand? Had he already seen her and was looking to see if she was alone?

Time froze.

He only stared.

She didn’t dare hope he mistook her for anything or anyone else. They conversed silently.

Ah, there you are.

I can’t believe you found me.

Believe it, baby.

Now what?

You make the first move. Then I kill you.

It seemed like whole minutes ticked by without him twitching a muscle. That mean square jaw never softened, those lips never curved in satisfaction. A long orange curl swayed in a breeze that never reached her side of the crescent hill.

Calmly, in a less-than-dramatic act of defiance, she raised her left hand next to her binoculars...and flipped him off.

His head snapped back as he laughed—and she heard it, faintly. But the break in eye contact, such as it was, was all it took to shake her into action. She jumped to her feet and looked down at the gate. Blue. Still there.

She judged the distance to her car. He was much closer to his. He could drive over to her car before she could make her way up to it. If she ran flat out for the gate, she’d be an open target, but a moving one. If he tried to come after her, she’d reach the castle before he could drive to it, considering how the road twisted and turned down the mountain. He could drive like James Friggin’ Bond and never reach her in time.

But whom would she endanger?

She faltered. Would he take out everyone here? There were children in the manor, or at least there had been yesterday. The more modern home was a good football field away from the castle, but could she honestly expect to take shelter in the old structure and not endanger the people in the new one?

She recalled photos on the website depicting ancient weapons in the great hall. Maybe she could defend herself without any Highlanders needing to come to her rescue.

The start of the man’s car startled her like a shot fired. Her legs took all decision from her and propelled her down the hill. She made a bee-line for the parking lot since he couldn’t be trying to draw a bead on her and drive at the same time. He was coming after her, then. Maybe Gabby Skedros was in the area and wanted to do the deed himself.

And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t get the chance.

Her cowboy boots slid on the moist grass like skis on snow, so she braced herself and let them slide. One heel hit a stone and she rolled. How she got down the hill didn’t matter—down was down. On her feet again, she cleared a gauntlet of shrubbery she never could have named then jumped a hedge of purple heather before touching down on the solidly packed road.

Cowboy boots weren’t designed for running, and her sprint wasn’t pretty. She tripped but she didn’t go down. Two steps later, she realized she’d lost a boot in the gravel of the parking lot, but she didn’t slow. The roaring engine of a sports car gave her an added shot of adrenaline and she flew across the lot, then the land-bridge, and past the gate before the car ever made the last turn out of the woods.

She slowed, looking for a bit of blue. It was there at the back corner of the castle. Both sisters were waving her on and she obliged, limping, cursing her lost boot until she’d rounded the corner, out of sight of the road.

The sisters clutched at her, pulling her toward an open door, ignoring her resistance and her need to catch her breath. After they’d taken a dozen steps into the dark castle, she heard a strangled sound, as if a certain small car were four-wheeling from road to rocks, by-passing the chains, then barreling across the bridge and toward the back of the castle.

“Those people in the manor house!” She grabbed a boney forearm and forced one woman to stop. “He’ll kill them! Can you call them? Tell them to run and hide?”

“No one is at home, dear. They’ve all gone to the city. How else would we have been able to break in?”

Juliet shook her head. Her relief was a tidal wave, but not complete.

“You have to hide,” she told them. “I need a weapon...from the great hall...and you two need to hide!”

A flashlight materialized and the sisters led the way, silently. After a couple of turns, Juliet didn’t know up from down.

“Hang on. Did you understand me? You two need to hide—”

A door crashed open behind them.

“No use for it, sister. We’ll have to put her in the hole.” The light was dimmed against a blue sweater, but two nodding heads were still visible.

“You want to hide me in a hole? And where are you going to hide?” Juliet whispered, but the man stomping around in the dark castle wouldn’t have been able to hear much.

“Juliet Bell!” The hitter’s voice echoed around them, but he seemed to be coming no closer. “I know ye’re in here, lass! I found your boot in the car park, all but pointin’ the way!”

Great. Skedros had hired a local. No wonder he’d had red hair. If he’d have worn a kilt and hung around the ruins, she might have walked right up to him!

One sister grabbed her hand and pulled her along. They finally came to a staircase and Juliet got a funny feeling. Deja vu, maybe. Not really a foreboding, but...yeah, a foreboding. She’d gotten them often enough, she should have recognized it for what it was.

When she’d tried to explain it to Nikkos once, she’d told him it was like playing the Hot & Cold game. Only something in her gut would tell her whether she was getting closer to something important, or moving further away. She’d felt like she was getting warmer the second she’d touched down in Scotland. Now she was burning up.

Either the hitter had stopped stomping around, or they were moving so far underground they couldn’t hear him anymore. After the hallway made a hairpin turn, the lead sister took the flashlight away from her sweater and shined it on the ground. A minute later, they hurried into a small room with a single large barrel in the center.

“Up on the barrel, dear, if ye please.” One sister offered a hand for support, but in this light, with shadows playing in the deep wrinkles of their faces, the pair looked too old to support their own measly weight, let alone hers.

The other shined her light on the odd ceiling. A large slab of stone capped the room, and in the center of it, a hole had been carved but was now plugged with a perfectly fitting block of wood.

“Just push up on the wood, dear. I assure ye there are no bodies inside the tomb.”

“A tomb? Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Jules couldn’t have whispered if she’d tried. That foreboding had turned into a loud clown orchestra with bells and whistles and all kinds of alarms going off.

“Shh.” A cool boney hand clamped down on her mouth, but Jules carefully removed it before glaring a warning at its owner.

“That’s the hole we’re going to hide in?” She had lowered her voice and tried to sound calm considering the noise in her head.

Both sisters shook their heads.

“We’re not allowed inside, dear—”

“We gave our word.”

Jules didn’t get it. “Then where will the two of you hide? This guy isn’t messing around. He’s going to kill me, and he’s going to kill you if he knows you’re here.”

“Oh, don’t worry about us,” said one. “There is a place for us just on down the hall, but ye’ll be safe here.”

“Yes, it won’t take us a moment to hide. But we’ll see ye safe first.”

Great. She’d come to save them and they ended up saving her.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s move.”

Jules did as ordered—they were a bossy pair—and pulled herself up into the hole. She couldn’t think of it as a tomb and still crawl inside. Once she was out of it, she’d ask questions.

She stuck her head out and watched the pair turn for the door.

“Wait a sec,” she said.

“What is it, dear?” asked one.

“You’re not ghosts, are you?” She pretended she was joking.

They both chuckled. One of them winked in the light from the flashlight shining on her wrinkled face. “Not yet, dear. Not just yet. And don’t forget to plug the hole.”

When she’d first stuck her head inside, Jules had seen a stash of flashlights and candles against one wall. She felt for them now, praying at least one would have live batteries. The first one she tested worked. Then she did what the old chick had done and put the bright end against her shirt. If the guy came looking and found the little room, the last thing she wanted him to see was light shining down through the ceiling.

Oh, she was in a tomb all right, and it took a lot more courage than she thought she had to nudge the plug into the hole with her foot.

But which is better, dead or just temporarily buried?

A room—she’d just think of it as a stone room.

It was oblong. Its walls were black stones of all shapes and sizes that fit perfectly, like a puzzle. The ceiling was high enough to let her stand, as if the guy who built it expected a tall crowd inside.

Jules had read every word on the website, but hadn’t paid much attention to the fairy tale crap. She’d been more interested in the current Lady of Clan Ross, not the marketing aimed at the tourists. Now she wished she’d read it more carefully.

She ran one hand along the wall. The mortar and cobwebs felt old and genuine, not like a recent set design. The air smelled dusty and stale and she hoped it had nothing to do with the decomposed body of some Ross woman who’d been buried alive by her brother. At least the body had been removed. A ghost she could handle. A skeleton? Not so much.

“Joooliet! Come out, come out, wherever ye are.”

The hitter’s sing-song words were muffled and came from her left. He must have been standing in the great hall. No way did he know she was inside unless light was finding its way out some crack, but there was no way she would turn off the flashlight now. What if it didn’t turn back on? Then, he’d know exactly where she was because she’d be out of her friggin’ mind and screaming her head off.

Just the thought of it pushed her heart rate up. Freaking out wasn’t far off, so she bit her lip and breathed through her nose, not trusting herself to keep quiet. Any little sound and he’d start blowing holes in the walls.

The sneeze came upon her so fast she couldn’t do much more than try and muffle it with the sleeve of her jacket. Still, the sharp whisper echoed around her before settling.

Shit!

There was movement against the wall, like rats running up and down it. He’d heard the noise and was looking for a way in! She could imagine him clearly as he felt every stone for weakness. He was thorough, right to left, top to bottom, in sections, twice around the tomb. Rougher sounds followed and she imagined him trying to pry the stones apart. Then she heard the slide of his body on the roof.

He cursed and she braced herself for the blast that would soon follow. Scrunched down in the far end, she shut her eyes and willed herself to become invisible.

But the blast never came. The noises stopped altogether. A hitter wouldn’t just give up, though. He’d go looking for a basement. He would have realized it was the only way she could have gotten in.

Well, if he was coming from below, she’d just try to get out through the stone wall. There’d been a crowbar among the flashlights. She exchanged it for the flashlight in her hand, but left the light shining on the floor. Next, she took a big two-handed swing at the wall, hoping a big chunk would break away, but it was like banging against concrete. The force got absorbed into the bones of her arms and she nearly dropped the bar. But there was no time to recover. She had to move fast.

She jammed the sharp end under the lip of a stone and pushed down. The edge of the stone broke off. The mortar hardly gave up any dust.

She tried the same spot again, struck the mortar to get under the stone a little better, but the stuff wouldn’t give. She turned around. Found another shadowy spot. Jammed the crowbar into it, but nothing held. The only thing the crowbar was good for was making noise. She would have pounded on the wall in frustration, but pain still ricocheted in her arms from that first blow.

I’m such a wuss.

But no. The crowbar couldn’t damage the wall, but it could damage something else!

She toed the flashlight so it was up against the stones. The light made a little circle that only stretched about six inches up the wall, but it was enough to keep her from freaking. Then she lifted the curved part of the bar over her right shoulder and held on with both hands, like a golf club. Whether it was a gun or a head that lifted up the plug, she was ready to swing.