“ID?”
“Aye. Jock sent us a photo if you want to log on to the system.”
“Doing it,” I confirmed as I pulled up our security system on Lachlan’s computer. Moving through the portal, I opened the photo Jock had logged.
It was a photo of a driving license. And sure enough, it was my old pal Billy Carson.
“Let him in.” I hung up, standing from the desk, my mind racing. I couldn’t imagine what had brought Billy to my doorstep. Though we had kept tabs on each other over the decades, we hadn’t spoken in a few years.
Members lounged in the great hall as I strolled in. I nodded at them, striding past, not inviting conversation as Stephen, the underbutler, pulled open the main door for me. I murmured my thanks and stepped outside. Remaining beneath the sheltered portico, I watched as one of the estate’s new hybrid Range Rovers led a silver Volvo up the long driveway to the castle. Jock passed slowly, and I nodded at him in thanks. He’d take the SUV back to the castle mews, assured now I had everything in hand.
The Volvo stopped, and Billy got out, his gaze locked on mine, expression grim.
Fuck.
Billy sat in my office in the staff quarters, bemused by the small space crowded with packed bookshelves. When we were boys, neither of us would’ve been caught dead reading. What a crushing blow that would have been to our thuggish reputations.
My old pal looked older. Much older. Lines bracketed his eyes, his mouth, and deep grooves scored his forehead. While my dark hair was peppered with gray here and there, he’d gone gray all over.
“Fuck, Mac, dae ye no age, man? Ye make the rest o’ us feel fuckin’ auld, so ye dae,” Billy grumbled, as if reading my thoughts. It was nice hearing the thick Glaswegian brogue I’d left behind when I was fifteen. Thirty years ago.
Jesus Christ, had it really been that long?
It didn’t feel it.
I didn’t feel forty-five, though my friend’s appearance reminded me of it. Billy was older by two years.
Smirking, I replied, “I eat well and I work out.”
“Aye, so dae I. But I dinnae look like I’ve dipped ma fuckin’ face in the fountain o’ youth.”
Laughing, I asked, “Did you just come here to shower me with compliments, Bill, or are you here for another reason?”
Before he could answer, Stephen entered the office with a tray of refreshments. Coffee and some homemade Madeira cake. Once the underbutler was gone, Billy raised an eyebrow. “This is quite the life.”
I shrugged, pushing a cup of coffee across my desk toward him.
He took it and settled back in the chair opposite me. “I wish I wis here on pleasanter business, Mac.”
Alerted, I nodded for him to continue.
Billy exhaled heavily. “The wife and I head tae Australia in a few days. We’re gonnae stay wi’ ma brother until we can set oorsels up there permanently.”
“Okay?”
“We’re … ye see, we’re worried aboot staying here, Mac.”
“What’s going on? What are you afraid of?”
My old pal scowled but didn’t deny his fear. “We’re the only wans left who were there the day Craig Kilmany wis murdered.”
Two words. A name. One I’d never forgotten. And truly the reason Billy and I, while keeping in touch, had never been close. Each was the reminder of a day that changed us forever. “What do you mean?”
“In the last twa years, every wan o’ us who were there that day, except you and me, are deid.”
“Dead?” I frowned, my heart picking up pace a little. Seven of us were there that night. “In what manner?”
“Strange fuckin’ ways, Mac,” Billy said, exasperated. “Nairn got sent doon fur Craig’s murder, as ye ken. Left us six. You and me are here. Kenny overdosed on heroin last year, despite his entire fuckin’ family sayin’ he never touched the stuff in his life. Even when we were bairns, Mac, Kenny didnae touch the stuff. We did what we did, but he didnae use.”