She tried to step back, but he wasn’t ready to let go of her, and if room service hadn’t interrupted, she thought he might’ve kissed her. She decided she would let him, and after he explained what his sudden appearance was all about, she would give him hell.
Michael opened the door, and Brodie, the proprietor of the small hotel, wearing a white apron over his tweed suit, carried her breakfast tray in and placed it on the table. “Cook added another cup and saucer and a few more scones and such for your mister.”
Her mister? Isabel didn’t correct him. “That was thoughtful of her,” she said. “Please tell her thank you.”
Turning to Michael, he said, “Per your instructions I changed the name on the register and will use your credit card for the charge. Will you be staying another night?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Isabel said, wondering why he directed his question to Michael.
At the same time Michael said, “No, we’ll be leaving on a flight to Boston tonight.”
“I’ll keep the room available for you just in case.”
Isabel followed him to the door. “Thank you, Brodie.”
“No, no, I should be thanking you,” he replied. “Your suggestions were spot on. I’ll let you get to your breakfast.”
Michael waited until she had closed the door, then asked, “What were your suggestions?” Before she could answer, he said, “You didn’t give any, did you? I’m betting you didn’t say anything. You just listened, didn’t you?”
“Good guess,” she said.
“Not a guess,” he corrected. “I just observed your past behavior.”
Isabel took a seat at the small table, lifted the cozy from the teapot, and poured the hot liquid through the strainer into her cup. She offered Michael a cup of tea, but he declined with a shake of his head.
“Sit down, Michael. You look so tense.” When he was settled in the chair across from her, she said. “Now, are you ready to tell me why you came all this way, why you want to take me back to Boston, and why you think I’m in trouble?”
“Yes,” he said. “But first I need to know if you have contacted anyone connected to Glen MacKenna.”
“No.”
“What about Donal Gladstone, the solicitor handling the estate? Or James Reid, the man harassing you? Have you talked to either one of them?”
“No,” she insisted. “I spoke to Mr. Gladstone right before I went to Boston, but I haven’t spoken to him since. I don’t have to worry about Reid anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I got a text from him yesterday. He apologized and told me he wasn’t going to pressure me anymore. He hopes I’ll let him bid against other offers. I guess he’s finally convinced I’m not going to sell Glen MacKenna . . . at least not to him.”
Nodding, he said, “Okay, so no one knows you’re here.” Thank God, he silently added.
“There were some teenagers at the airport who recognized me.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen or twenty. They took some photos and made a bit of a fuss. Why do you think I’m in trouble?”
He was about to ruin her day, and he was sorry about that. She had been so excited to see the Highlands. He felt as though he were snatching one of her dreams away from her.
“Remember the bloody flash drive you gave Nick to get cleaned up for you?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Oh no, did the blood seep inside and ruin it? Is that even possible?”
“It isn’t yours.”
“It . . . I’m sorry . . . what? It was in my coat pocket. Of course it’s mine.”
“No, it isn’t. Detective Walsh put it in your pocket before he collapsed.”
She thought a long minute, recalling the details of the incident, and then said, “He was clawing at me. I thought he was trying to hold on so he wouldn’t fall. What was on it?”
Michael had downloaded the flash drive to his computer, but he had also made a printout because he knew Isabel would want to read it over and over again—like he did—until she believed it.
“Everett, the tech, is calling it a kill order.”
A kill order? Isabel looked up at Michael. He wasn’t kidding.
He reached inside his jacket and produced the folded papers, handing them to her. Isabel put her teacup down and started reading. Michael waited silently, watching her eyes widen as the reality of what he had just told her began to sink in.
“The flash drive belonged to Detective Walsh?”
Before he could tell her what he and his brothers had learned, she said, “I won’t believe it. I learned a great deal about Detective Walsh. He’s a good and honorable man. He has received at least five commendations over the years, and his coworkers rely on him. He didn’t come to Boston to kill me. I don’t know where he got the flash drive, but I’m sure he was trying to protect me, and that’s why he got shot.”
“Isabel, no one—”
It was as far as he could get before she continued with her passionate defense of the detective.
“He was happily married for twenty-six years, and he was devastated when his wife died, but he had to keep it together for their daughter, Kathleen. He flies back to Boston as often as possible. He grew up there and comes from a large family.” She added, “He’s going to move back there next year.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Kathleen told me. It took the police a while to find her. She was visiting friends in San Francisco. She flew back to Boston and has been at her father’s side almost every minute.”
“No one thinks the flash drive belonged to Walsh.”
“Then why did you let me go on and on—”
“I couldn’t get you to stop,” he said.
She decided to read the succinctly written kill order once again. Then she carefully folded the papers and handed them back to Michael.
“I don’t want you to be afraid,” Michael said.
Her back stiffened. “Afraid? I’m not afraid. I’m furious.” She jumped up and began to pace. “Is James Reid behind this? Of course he is,” she decided. “He’s probably getting a whopping bonus if I sell to the Patterson Group, and he represents them, remember? Every time he called he sounded more determined. Right?”
Michael didn’t answer fast enough. She stopped in front of him and asked, “Am I right?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Now she sounded disgruntled.
“If you’re dead you can’t sign the land over to them.”
“I realize that, but . . .”
“You get Glen MacKenna on your next birthday,” he began.
“Day after tomorrow.”
“What?”
“My birthday is Wednesday, day after tomorrow,” she repeated.
He nodded. “We’ll celebrate early on the plane.”
“I’m not going to be on a plane tomorrow.”
“You need to get back to Nathan’s Bay,” he insisted. “You’ll be safe there until the investigators find out who’s behind this kill order.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I’m going to do.”
And thus began a blistering argument that lasted a good twenty minutes. Unfortunately for Michael, Isabel made sense. There was also the fact that she was far more stubborn than he was, yet another trait he couldn’t help but admire.