being used. Paul tried to tell me, too, which is why I still haven't spoken to him until now. He pointed out, quite accurately, that my ex was a gold digger. We had a huge fight; I kicked him out of my wedding rehearsal, and in a snit, he flew back to Paris that night, missing my wedding entirely.
Which wounded me more than his eventually correct assumptions that Timothy was wrong for me.
Staring now into the dark, with the sound of the sea crashing to rocks somewhere not very far away, our fight suddenly seemed absurd. He'd tried to contact me several times, but I'd steadfastly avoided him.
Why had I felt so betrayed?
The answer, lurking somewhere in my memories of Arran, suddenly felt too dangerous. The one thing I most certainly did not need was two-bit psychology. I had enough problems.
Beneath me, the engine still rumbled quietly, apparently unhurt. The weather seemed to be easing. I realized I'd been staring out the windshield, waiting for my heart to slow down, and I could actually see out for most of the swipe of the wipers.
Improvement, anyway.
On such a grim night, I wasn't terribly worried about traffic coming up on me one direction or the other, but it was better to get moving anyway. I turned the car around and headed, at a moderate pace, toward the north once again. It wasn't great, but it was a lot better. The car seemed to be all right, despite the bumps and bangs she'd taken the past hour.
I patted the dashboard. "Sorry, baby. You deserved better."
In my coat pocket, my phone suddenly started to ring. I grabbed it and pushed the speaker function. "Make it quick, it's pissing rain and I'm driving."
Paul's voice came through, staticky, but audible. "Sylvie, is Luca with you?"
"What if I said he's right here beside me?"
"Stop playing games. Is he or not?"
I flushed. "Not. Long story."
"He is very dangerous, Sylvie."
"Funny, he says the same thing about you."
"I will admit this was not the most straightforward way of attaining a prize," he said. "But you know I am not a killer."
"Neither is Luca."
"Is that what he told you? Who do you think killed Gunnarsson?"
Damn. I'd bought Luca's story, hadn't I? My head ached with the tangled levels of play at work here. "I don't know."
"Sylvie, I know he is the kind of man who makes young women swoon. But be very wary."
"I am, all right? He's not with me."
"I want to help you, Sylvie. Where can I meet you?"
The car shivered on a rocket of rain. "Hold on," I said, and put my concentration on navigating a steep curve. At least the road was heading away from the very edge of the cliffs. "I'm taking the Katerina to the police."
"Are you? Then why are you driving all over the country tonight?"
"I got distracted," I said, and it was true. It was also very plain that exactly what I needed to do was get the Katerina to the Glasgow police. "I'm going to Glasgow now."
Silence met that statement. "You have her?"
"Yes."
"You know it would mean a great deal to me to hold her for only a moment. Will you give me that chance, Sylvie? I will not ask you to do anything else. Just let me see her, touch her. One hour."
I made a skeptical noise. "Please. You won't hold her for an hour. You'll take off and I won't do anything because you know—"
"What? I know what, Sylvie? Hmm?"
"Stop it," I said sharply. "Luca underestimated me because he doesn't know me. You know better than that. Don't try the charming routine, all right?"
Surprisingly, he laughed. The sound was wildly distracting, and I had to take a breath to keep my attention on the road. Just ahead was a wide spot for letting faster cars pass and I pulled into it so I could talk without killing myself. "I don't have a lot of time, Paul. There's a good chance I'm being followed, and I need to get to Glasgow before I get killed by thugs."
"What are you talking about? What thugs?"
"I don't know. Three guys followed me—or Luca—to my cousin's holiday caravan. You remember Alan McPheator, don't you?"
"Of
Which wounded me more than his eventually correct assumptions that Timothy was wrong for me.
Staring now into the dark, with the sound of the sea crashing to rocks somewhere not very far away, our fight suddenly seemed absurd. He'd tried to contact me several times, but I'd steadfastly avoided him.
Why had I felt so betrayed?
The answer, lurking somewhere in my memories of Arran, suddenly felt too dangerous. The one thing I most certainly did not need was two-bit psychology. I had enough problems.
Beneath me, the engine still rumbled quietly, apparently unhurt. The weather seemed to be easing. I realized I'd been staring out the windshield, waiting for my heart to slow down, and I could actually see out for most of the swipe of the wipers.
Improvement, anyway.
On such a grim night, I wasn't terribly worried about traffic coming up on me one direction or the other, but it was better to get moving anyway. I turned the car around and headed, at a moderate pace, toward the north once again. It wasn't great, but it was a lot better. The car seemed to be all right, despite the bumps and bangs she'd taken the past hour.
I patted the dashboard. "Sorry, baby. You deserved better."
In my coat pocket, my phone suddenly started to ring. I grabbed it and pushed the speaker function. "Make it quick, it's pissing rain and I'm driving."
Paul's voice came through, staticky, but audible. "Sylvie, is Luca with you?"
"What if I said he's right here beside me?"
"Stop playing games. Is he or not?"
I flushed. "Not. Long story."
"He is very dangerous, Sylvie."
"Funny, he says the same thing about you."
"I will admit this was not the most straightforward way of attaining a prize," he said. "But you know I am not a killer."
"Neither is Luca."
"Is that what he told you? Who do you think killed Gunnarsson?"
Damn. I'd bought Luca's story, hadn't I? My head ached with the tangled levels of play at work here. "I don't know."
"Sylvie, I know he is the kind of man who makes young women swoon. But be very wary."
"I am, all right? He's not with me."
"I want to help you, Sylvie. Where can I meet you?"
The car shivered on a rocket of rain. "Hold on," I said, and put my concentration on navigating a steep curve. At least the road was heading away from the very edge of the cliffs. "I'm taking the Katerina to the police."
"Are you? Then why are you driving all over the country tonight?"
"I got distracted," I said, and it was true. It was also very plain that exactly what I needed to do was get the Katerina to the Glasgow police. "I'm going to Glasgow now."
Silence met that statement. "You have her?"
"Yes."
"You know it would mean a great deal to me to hold her for only a moment. Will you give me that chance, Sylvie? I will not ask you to do anything else. Just let me see her, touch her. One hour."
I made a skeptical noise. "Please. You won't hold her for an hour. You'll take off and I won't do anything because you know—"
"What? I know what, Sylvie? Hmm?"
"Stop it," I said sharply. "Luca underestimated me because he doesn't know me. You know better than that. Don't try the charming routine, all right?"
Surprisingly, he laughed. The sound was wildly distracting, and I had to take a breath to keep my attention on the road. Just ahead was a wide spot for letting faster cars pass and I pulled into it so I could talk without killing myself. "I don't have a lot of time, Paul. There's a good chance I'm being followed, and I need to get to Glasgow before I get killed by thugs."
"What are you talking about? What thugs?"
"I don't know. Three guys followed me—or Luca—to my cousin's holiday caravan. You remember Alan McPheator, don't you?"
"Of
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