“Hello, girls,” Mac says. “Don’t you look lovely.”
Paisley rolls her eyes and Islan flips him off.
“Christ,” he mutters. “This will be a fuckin’ blast, eh?”
“Did you have anything to do with what happened last night?” Islan asks, glaring at him.
“Not sure what you mean,” he says.
She rolls her eyes and releases a shuddering breath. “Listen. You know exactly what I mean, Mac.”
“Do I?” He’s getting that stony look I know pretty well by now. “Why don’t you fill us in?”
“With Aisla,” she says. Paisley looks away, her eyes looking out the window. I don’t miss the way her fingers twist in her lap, or the way she shifts uncomfortably.
“You know better than to ask questions,” he begins, but Islan cuts him off.
“Oh, come off it, Mac, Jesus.”
He grunts at her, working his jaw before replying. He looks to the front, but they don’t make a move.
“One of the staff was caught spying on us.”
“How do you know that?” Islan asks, frowning.
“Caught her with a notebook, all sorts of private information in it and some other things that didn’t make sense. That’s why I had you go to Paisley’s room.”
Islan nods.
“We had someone else to deal with, so I put her in a holding room while I sorted things out, and when I came back to question her, she’d escaped.”
Islan’s eyes widen. “Oh, no,” she says with mock concern, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How awful. What if she tells all?”
Mac shakes his head. “You think this is fun and games, do you?”
“Of course not, but I’ll have you know that I was close with Aisla, and I hate how you treated her.”
“No one threatens the safety of the Clan,” he says soberly. “No one.”
“You say that, and yet you’re the one who—”
Her gaze comes to mine, and she quickly looks away. She doesn’t finish her sentence. I wonder what she’s thinking. Do they suspect I have ulterior motives?
I wish I could assure them, but I don’t even know what to say or how.
“It’s a lovely day, though, isn’t it?” Paisley asks. She worries her lip, looking out the window.
“Aye,” I say, grateful for the subject change. But Islan isn’t finished.
“What sort of private things did she note, then?”
He shrugs. “Not sure. One thing said something about a cave and a biologist.”
The girls and I all look at each other.
“Cave? Biologist?” Paisley repeats, blanching.
“Aye,” Mac says. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Aye,” Islan says, “Of course. Didn’t Leith look at the notes with you?”
“He did.”
She blows out an exasperated breath and rolls her eyes. “Honest to God. Men. He read the first book of the Clan Chronicles. He ought to know that cave and biologist had to do with the book.” She smirks. “Maybe you found your little author.”
“I don’t know,” Mac says, shaking his head. “She’d have information, aye, but Aisla’s been with us since she was fifteen years old. She never completed school, never went on to college. Do you think she could write a book like that?”
“Maybe?” Islan asks.
“Or maybe…” I say, as the pieces start pulling together for me. “Maybe she isn’t the writer but she’s the one that feeds information to the one who is.”
Paisley’s eyes widen, and she quickly looks out the window. Is it my imagination, or does she look guilty?
“Maybe,” Islan says, nodding. “Aye, that’s a possibility for sure.”
“Or maybe,” Paisley says softly, still looking out the window, “we think more highly of ourselves than we ought. Like we’re interesting enough to have a whole bloody series written about us.”
“Maybe, aye.” Mac looks thoughtful.
The rest of the ride into Inverness is uneventful, and I find myself troubled.
Who was the other person Mac had to deal with last night? He hasn’t told me anything. But what if it has something to do with me?
Just as we pull up to the wrought iron gates that border the church, my phone buzzes with a text. I glance quickly at the screen.
It’s my father. My belly swoops, sudden fear gripping me.
Dad: I’ve given you enough time. You’ll have to make your move. And I know exactly what you’ll do.
I quickly swipe it off, and shove my phone in my pocket, my hands trembling, when I hear it buzz again.
“You alright?” Mac asks, as the car comes to a stop.
I nod. “Fine,” I lie.
Oh, God. My time is up? What is that supposed to mean?
Oh God oh God oh God.
I glance at the phone again when there’s another text from my father. I reluctantly pull it out of my pocket.
Dad: Your boyfriend is going to Paris next week on a trip. That will change, tonight. You’ll go with him. He’s scheduled to meet a contact at the rooftop bar at his hotel. You’re to be his contact. When you get him alone, you’ll follow my instructions.
Follow his instructions? What will he make me do?