“I’m not security, McKinnon.”
“You’re right. You’re a fuckin’ dobber when it comes to taking orders. But after last night, you’re the only one I trust to keep her safe when I’m not around.”
“I’ll need to situate a few things in Edinburgh.”
“Do it today,” I tell him. “You can stay in the cottage next to the grotto.”
“The cottage?” He laughs. “You mean the maid’s quarters?”
“That’s the one, you wanker,” I respond with a chuckle. “Oh, one more thing,” I add before Lachlan leaves the room, exchanging the banter for seriousness, “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I’m willing to go to any length to make sure nothing comes close to touching Elizabeth, but options are limited with the history the two of us carry. Although our time together has been short, it’s been riddled with more than enough to land us both in prison. So Lachlan is it for us.
Wandering into the kitchen, I walk over to the security monitor on the wall and check the cameras out front. I flip through them and stop on the gate camera. I’m watching as Lachlan’s car drives out onto the main road when my cell rings.
“McKinnon,” I answer.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McKinnon. It’s Alexander Stanforth from Stanforth and Partners. How are you doing?”
“I’m well,” I respond to Alex, the architect that will be working on the London property I recently purchased.
“I hope you don’t mind my calling on your cell, but with your interest in expediting the initial meetings, I figured I would bypass your office manager.”
“It’s why I gave you this number, Alex.”
“Good. Well then, I’d like to set up a meeting to discuss the scope of the project, along with schedule and budget. Are you free next week?”
“I can be free. Set it up and call my office to get it on the books, and I’ll be there,” I tell him.
“Sounds good. I’ll get with the team and give your office a call later today.”
“Thanks, Alex.”
Hanging up the phone, I grab an ice pack from the freezer and make my way up to Elizabeth. She’s sound asleep when I enter the room and sit down next to her. The side of her face is swollen; black and blue mar her eye. Gently, I touch the ice to her skin and she flinches.
“Sorry,” I whisper when her eyes flutter open. “The swelling is really bad.”
Her eyes are dilated dopey black, but she doesn’t keep them open long. I watch her lie motionless, soft breaths filling the space around me.
“We used to dance,” her hoarse voice murmurs.
“Who?”
“Me and my dad.”
I don’t say anything when she curls her body over and lifts her head onto my lap.
“Dean Martin was his favorite,” she says sleepily, never opening her eyes. “‘Volare’ . . . that’s the song. He’d sing along, and I remember always giggling during the Italian parts.”
“He had a good voice?” I ask, keeping the ice on her.
“Mmm hmm,” she answers slowly in her listless state. “He’d set me on top of his feet and dance while I hung on to his legs.”
She pauses, letting time falter, and I think she’s fallen back asleep, but then she begins to blink. When her glassy eyes find me, she whimpers, “Why would he leave me?”
Never in my life have I seen so much heartache in anyone’s eyes, and I hate that it’s in hers that I see it. She wants answers, but I have none to give her, and it kills me.
“I thought I made him happy.”
Setting the ice pack on the bedside table, I turn back to her, and with her face cradled in my hands I assert, “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to give you answers. We will find him.”
“What if he doesn’t want me finding him?”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants. It’s not his choice to make.”
This isn’t the woman I know. She’s something else entirely. She may have been putting on an act to deceive me, but she always had a bold-spirited backbone that a person can’t fake. Beneath the lies, that part of her was real, but now it’s lost somewhere inside of her violated body.
She takes in a small pain-filled gasp as she shifts her body.
“Why don’t you soak in a hot bath?”
“What’s the point? Rot is rot.”