There with You (Adair Family 2)

“Almost there,” the driver announced, and I heard his turn signal moments before we turned right down a short gravel drive. A vast brick wall and massive wrought iron gate abruptly blocked our way.

“What now?” I asked.

“Dinna ken.” He craned his neck around to look at me. “De ye have the number of someone inside?”

I did. I had Robyn’s international number, but I’d never used it. And I was kind of hoping there would be a run-up to seeing her. Maybe it would be Uncle Mac who came to the gates.

The thought of Uncle Mac caused some confliction. Part of me was excited to see Robyn’s birth father, but another part still hated him for how much his abandonment had hurt her.

Robyn and I are half sisters. My dad is Seth Penhaligon, a Boston detective. Robyn’s dad, Mac, is Scottish and met our mom, Stacey, when he came to the States to live with a relative. He lied about his age (he was only sixteen!) and got our college-age mom pregnant with Robyn. They split soon after, and Mac introduced Mom to my dad. By then, Mac was a cop, along with Dad, though Mac eventually left the police force and got into private security.

I’d adored Uncle Mac. He was this big, handsome Scot who told the most amazing stories. When I was around eight and Robyn was twelve, he took a job as part of the young Hollywood actor Lachlan Adair’s private security team. Other than a visit when Robyn was fourteen, she never saw Mac again.

Until almost six months ago, when she’d come to Scotland to hash things out with him. Mac was now head of security at Ardnoch Estate.

And boy, Robyn had gotten a lot more than she’d bargained for.

Self-reproach was a knife across my gut.

“Well?” the cabbie asked.

“Uh …” I glanced down at my phone. Well, damn. I’d thought there would be a security booth with a guard in it at the gate. Before I could launch into a feeble explanation about why I didn’t want to call the one person who could grant me access, the driver said, “Someone’s comin’.”

I glanced up and saw a black Range Rover coming down the gravel drive surrounded by dark woodland on either side. The vehicle stopped and a man got out. He was stylish for a security guard, wearing black suit pants and a beautifully tailored black shirt, along with very cool sunglasses. I noted a wired earpiece in his left ear.

“That’s yer cue,” said the driver.

Taking a deep breath, I got out of the cab, my stiletto heels wobbling on the gravel. Straightening my shoulders and pasting on a bright smile, I sashayed toward the gate, ignoring the slip of my heels.

“This is private property. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the man behind the gate said in a softer Scottish brogue that I could actually understand.

“I don’t think so, handsome.” I grinned, wrapping a hand around a bar of the gate. “I’m here to see my sister.”

His expression (what I could see of it behind the glasses) didn’t change. “And who might that be?”

“Your boss’s babe.”

“Elaborate.”

Despite my nervousness, my smile was genuine. This guy was a hoot. “I’m Regan Penhaligon. Robyn’s sister.”

I thought I detected a slight change in his demeanor, but I wasn’t sure. “Do you have identification?”

“Uh, I have my passport.”

“I’ll need to see it.”

“Wow, you guys really do take your security seriously, huh?” Works for me, I thought, as I wandered back to the cab and pulled open the back passenger door.

“Everythin’ awright?” the cabbie asked as I rifled through my large purse for my passport.

“Terminator over there just wants identification.”

The cabbie chuckled as I found the passport.

I wanted to race across the gravel driveway. Now that I was this close to seeing my sister, I wanted it over with. I needed to know if she hated me or if we could get past this. However, my pride forced me to act cool and casual as I walked to the gate.

“Here you go.” I passed the passport through the decorative bars.

Security Guy took it and flipped it open. After a quick scan, he said, “One moment, please.”

Pressed against the gate, I watched as he stalked to his SUV, leaned in, and spoke in an inaudible murmur, to whom I didn’t know. But seconds later, he returned. “I’ll need you and the driver to hand over any recording devices—mobile phone, cameras, etc.”

“Are you serious?”

His answer was a stony nothing.

He was serious.

With a sigh, I handed over my cell and then went to tell the cabbie the news. My driver seemed completely unperturbed about handing over his phone.

“You’re not annoyed?” I asked quietly through his window.

“Och, no. They could have just had ye switch vehicles. This means I’m driving ye in. Not many folks get ta drive onta Ardnoch Estate. Wait till ma wife hears aboot this.”