Mac (Mountain Men 2)

“Oh, aye,” she says. “Fergus picked them out himself.”

Islan rolls her eyes and Paisley pretends to gag herself, but I only laugh.

“Excellent.” I brush her hair off her shoulder, to finish zipping, when we hear voices.

“Knock, knock.”

Mac and Tate come in the room. "Found your mobile, Bryn. One of the staff said it was at the kitchen table after dinner last night. They didn't know whose it was, so they asked around, and couldn't find the owner. It was still in the kitchen this morning, no one's touched it." He hands it to me with a smile.

“You boys shouldn’t be in here,” Paisley scolds. “If you’d come in ten seconds earlier, you would've seen Fran in her knickers!"

For some reason, that makes Tate glare at her, and his eyes quickly swivel to Fran. Were they more than friends at one time?

“Ah, thank goodness, the fit’s perfect," I said to her. "How do you feel?"

“I feel like a princess!” she says with a grin. "I literally feel as if Cinderella's godmother herself waved a magic wand and made my dress appear. I half expect a pumpkin to turn into a carriage, and a pair of glass slippers to appear on my feet.”

Tate folds his arms across his chest and leans against the dressing table. “Are you seriously walking into a church dressed like that?”

Fran looks at him in surprise, blinking. “What business is it of yours?"

Even Mac looks a bit surprised at him. “She looks fine, brother.”

“Looks like her tits’ll fall straight outta that dress,” Tate says, scowling, before he turns on his heel and stalks away.

Fran sits down heavily, and her face falls.

“What a prick!” Islan says, her eyes flashing.

Paisley looks stunned. “He’s never like that. What on earth?” She glares at Mac as if he’s the one responsible. “He’s usually the nice brother!”

Mac rolls his eyes, then looks at me in surprise. Neither one of us knows what to make of it.

Fran only shakes her head. "Not sure many of you know this, but your brother and I had a very brief dating experience last summer. Very brief. It was before I met Fergus, and it never went anything beyond a cup of coffee. I just… I can't really explain what happened.” She bites her lip. “But he hasn't really been very friendly since.”

“Reealllly,” Mac says, not even bothering to hide his surprise. "And when exactly was this?"

“Sometime around July, I suppose. I’d… placed an ad on a singles site. He answered it. Neither of us knew who the other was until we met, and it was… daft, really.” She looks to Paisley and Islan. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you,” she begins. “I just didn't want it to be awkward for anyone. It was hardly even a date,” Fran says, her cheeks flushing madly now.

“Ah, lass, don’t give it another thought,” Mac tells her. “Let it go.”

“Aye,” I agree. “It’s silly to dwell on that now when you’re soon to be a happily married woman. And look at how gorgeous your dress is, love. You look like a queen.”

Paisley takes my place, finishing up lacing the back of the dress, and I take my phone to a quiet corner of the room.

I don’t know how I would even know if anyone did touch my phone. I’m not exactly going to ask anyone to dust the phone for fingerprints, and the men who work for the tech department here for the Cowens definitely don't work for me.

And I can't say any of this out loud, anyway, because they would suspect that I don't feel safe here. But I don't. I know there are people here that suspect me, that I may even be seen as hostile.

I glance through my mobile, and nothing looks amiss. I look through my texts and see if any came in from my dad. But nothing incriminating at all. Maybe my fears were unfounded.

There's nothing in here from Michail, nothing from anyone really. I'm actually a little surprised that no one's been in touch with me since last night, but I shouldn't be. I'm such a loner.

Just as I go to put it away, something catches my eye. Last night, I charged my mobile in the car. I was so busy all day, I didn't have a chance to use it much beyond sending a quick text to Mac. When I got here last night, the power was full, one hundred percent. And now the battery’s down to almost twenty percent.

I begin to shake, berating myself for being such a fool.

Everyone else talks amongst themselves, so they don’t notice me when I look up. I scroll through my texts, my emails. Everything looks the same.

But someone was using this phone. Someone touched it. Someone was spying on me.

Cold prickles cross the back of my neck at the realization.