So the team dug deeper but came up empty. He was going over what he knew in his head when Rhonda came out. He decided to share, to get her take on things.
“Krupin said his colleagues were
in need of him
. That means it's someone within the syndicate.” He opened the car door for her, waited until she was inside then shut it.
“Yeah, I remember thinking that,” she agreed, after he took the driver's side. “But if he has a problem within, if he knows someone is going against him, why wouldn't he be allowed to deal with it? Isn't his problem their problem?”
“You'd think.” He started the engine, smiling at the awesome rumble as it came to life. From the corner of his eye he caught Rhonda shaking her head. “It's a guy thing,” he explained, caressing the polished wood steering wheel. His dad had great taste in cars.
“Can you focus on the problem at hand, or would you like me to give you some alone time with the Jag?”
He bit back a laugh, stuck his nose in the air and put the car in first gear. She was such a smart ass. And he loved it.
“Okay,” she said, putting them back on track. “Wouldn't the bigger issue be dealing with that guy? Missing diamonds are one thing. I mean, how much money are we talking about?”
“The take from the heist was a hundred and seventeen million.”
“Then, does he want you to find a handful of diamonds, or the bad apple in his pie?”
“He
knows
who it is.”
“But he can't touch him. Maybe he wants you to. Maybe he thinks if you find the missing diamonds, you deal with this guy. Two birds, one stone. Maybe the person you think Madison was having the affair with has the diamonds. Or,” she said, her face lighting up with excitement, “maybe it's not about the missing diamonds but the guy himself.”
“I think we need to find who she was meeting at that apartment.”
“I'm so smart,” she said smugly.
He didn't have the heart to say he'd been thinking along the same lines, but having them work it out together did make it clearer in his head. He called Monty and told him to search deeper.
“Are you cold?” he asked, reaching to turn the heat up. His mother had been right. The dull sky spoke of rain.
“I'm fine.”
“Well, let me know if you get coldâor hot?” He wanted the mother of his child to feel comfortable.
“Stop fussing over me.” She ran her hands over the fine Italian leather seat. “This really is a nice car. Maggie has an Alfa Romeo Duetto. She's crazy enough to let us drive it.”
“Do you like cars?” he asked, as rain began peppering the windshield.
“It's more about appreciating the car. About appreciating anything,” she said. “Maggie's car, this one, they're old and yet someone took the time to take care of it, to keep or restore its beauty. Like Ryan's plantation or the antique furniture in your house. Some of those pieces are centuries old, and not just the furniture. The Jacobean paneling in your father's den is awesome. It's better and older than what's in the foyer. The detail . . . it begs to be touched.”
Speechless, Blake kept his eye on the road as they drove the hairpin turn. What he really wanted to do was make sure the woman in the seat next to him was Rhonda. “Not to sound like my grandmother, but what does a Yank from Las Vegas know about Jacobean paneling?”
“Finish the story about Colin and Sarah and I'll tell you.”
It started to rain. Water pelted the car's soft-top roof and he had to raise his voice to be heard. “Fair enough. Let's start with Colin's accident. The two of us had played polo since we were fourteen. I didn't much care for the sport, but Colin took to it like he'd been born on a horse. Our coach said he was a natural and there was hope he'd make the national team one day.”
Blake drove into the pullout lane and allowed the truck following them to pass. Then he pulled back onto the road.
“When we got our driver's permits at seventeen, my brother and I would normally drive to our matches. On one particular game day, we'd learned there'd be a scout in attendance. It was raining hard that day, so my father drove. We normally took turns. The drive to the field was supposed to be Colin's, the drive back, mine.”
“But your father drove there. So he lost his turn.”
“Yes. We also lost the match and Colin was behaving badly and sulking. To shut him up, I let him have the return drive. The rain had stopped, but the roads were still wet. He . . . uh . . . he hit a patch, spun out, and slammed into a rock wall.”
“Oh my god,” Rhonda said, shrinking in her seat as they passed a rocky embankment.
“Yeah,” Blake agreed. “My dad and I walked away with bruises. Colin didn't. His knee was badly damaged, his other leg crushed and later amputated. It took him a long time to want to try the prosthetic. As much as I hate her, we can thank Sarah for that.”
“So,” she said, “are you dumb enough to blame yourself for the accident? You know, the whole
I should have been driving
thing?”
Sometimes he hated how perceptive she was. If he said yes, he could tell by her no-nonsense expression, she'd take him to task on it. But he had felt guilty. Still felt guilty. “I just wanted to shut him up. I didn't give a shit if we won or lost. Honestly, I only played because girls liked polo players. And before you say anything, I was seventeen.”
“Right . . .
and
not responsible for his inexperienced drivingâor bad luck.”
“I know, but you weren't there. We learned the scout had come to make an offer on Colin.” He'd been devastated. “He even tried to take his own life.”
“Wow. Is that why you're so protective of him?”
“He's my twin. When I started school he wouldn't come to Oxford with me. But he came in my second year.
After
I'd brought Sarah home for the summer. I felt bad. Dumbass that I was, I encouraged her to flirt with him, to show him what he was missing by not coming to university. Because if the only thing on my mind was getting laid, he must feel the same,” he said, and blew out a breath. “I was stupid. Then poof.” He snapped his fingers. “I got my wish and he changed his mind. He pined after her for over two years and Sarah knew it. There was no way she didn't.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “And it was my fault.”
“So you didn't tell him about her . . . ?”
“She did for him what none of us could. She made him feel alive. Even if it was the money she was after.”
“But it's been years now. Surely he's learned to deal with his misfortune.”
“Maybe, but did you see the way he looks at her?”
“Like she's his everything?” She glanced out her window. The sharp embankments were gone as they wound their way down into a valley, alive with late heather bloom. “Yeah, I saw.”
Another car rode his ass. So again, he drove off onto the gravel shoulder and allowed it to pass. Rhonda regarded him quizzically as he pulled back onto the road. “What?”
“What's the speed limit?”
“Sixty. Why?” He wasn't speeding.
“You've been doing forty-five. Are you not used to driving on the wrong side of the road? Because I've seen you drive, and you're always five to ten over the limit.”
“Just making sure to keep you safe. That's all.” He hadn't even realized he'd been driving slower, but she was pregnant. No way would he risk going off the road.
“You are so weird.”
“On the list?” he asked.
“It is now,” she said. “So that's it then. You won't tell him his wife married him for money because you're afraid of what will happen. That it could put your brother back into a depression.”
“It's a possibility.”
“Or, he could surprise you all and kick her Prada-covered butt to the curb.”
“Would you take that chance? Risk your twin's happiness? My parents' marriage was nearly destroyed because of that accident. My mother and grandmother both blamed my father. They were on their way to getting divorced when Colin decided to come up to Oxford. I think that's one of the reasons my mother also tolerates Sarah. The damn woman not only saved Colin but her marriage.”
“No offense, but it's kind of disgusting to think you all give her that much credit. He's living a lie, and I think he deserves more of the kudos for his well-being than Sarah. But I don't like her, and you know him better than I do. So who am I to judge?”
Was she right? Had he given Sarah too much credit for his brother's recovery? Maybe. But could he take that chance? He was home now. Perhaps it was time to test the waters and see where Colin's mind was. “So, about the Jacobean paneling.”
“I read,” she said, as if it were obvious. “And the Discovery channel isn't the only one I subscribe to. My mom was in school finishing her degree when she was killed. I don't know what it was she was studying, but I found all these books on old architecture. A few on furniture. I thought if I read them, I could figure out who she was, you know, what she was like. Dad wasn't talking. Everything I discovered about her, I found on my own.”
Her voice turned melancholy and Blake hurt for the little girl who didn't get to know her mother. Luckily his child would.
“I loved those books. I wanted to go to school and learn what she'd learned. But I couldn't raise enough money to go to college and . . . well, you know the rest.”
The loud squeak of the wipers interrupted the mood inside the car. It had stopped raining, for now.
“I'm glad you told me about Sarah. I don't like it when people keep things from me.”
And yet here she was keeping the biggest secret of them all. Question was, why?
Chapter Twenty-two
W
ith the rain, it took an extra twenty minutes to reach Urquhart Castle. Puddles littered the area, but did little to dampen Rhonda's excitement over being here. She was pregnant. And she'd deal with it. But right now she was in Scotland and she was going to enjoy it. It was cold and damp, the dark sky lending itself to the Goth appeal of Loch Ness, making it all the more beautiful. They toured the grounds without speaking one word to each other. On the way out, they stopped at the visitor's center so she could buy some scotch-flavored marmalade for Maggie. By the time she was done, the sun broke through the clouds. Blake took her hand and together they walked to the car.
She was still confused about all his efforts to expose their relationship. If that's what they'd been. If Sarah would leave Colin without the inheritance up for grabs, why risk her believing Blake could be in a position to take it? A girlfriend didn't equate to a baby but it was one step closer . . . and closer still than they knew. Was this why Blake didn't do forever? He never wanted to be put in the position of taking Colin's chance of inheriting, should Blake himself have a child first? If she remembered it right, the grandchildren inherited the money, but a grandson hit the jackpot, giving more to the parents of said child, a baby bonus of sorts.
But for all his talk of protecting Colin, would he even want this baby? She shouldn't allow her mind to go there. This baby deserved
two
parents who loved it. Now, more than ever, after realizing she questioned her own father's love, she wouldn't allow this baby to have those same doubts. Adopted children might wonder why they'd been given up, but she could leave a note. She could tell the baby she loved him or her and that's why she had to let others be the parents. Imagine how awkward it would be to know your mom was an ex-stripper, and your daddy an aristocrat. How did you explain that to your friends?
Back inside the car, she read the ingredients in the marmalade. “Holy shit. They use real scotch.”
“What did you think?” he asked, his first words spoken to her in over an hour.
“I don't know, some kind of fake flavoring. No wonder it was so expensive.”
“It was expensive because you bought it in a tourist trap. You can get the same thing in the grocery stores for less.”
“Thanks for sharing. You could have told me that.”
“Sorry. I wasn't thinking. You have me all buggered up.”
“Eat bran,” she said, heavy on derision.
“Sarcastic wench. What say we grab some lunch at the pub and I'll take you someplace you won't find on a tourist map?”
Curiosity piqued, she nodded with an eager grin. “No tourists?”
“Nope. Locked gate and everything.”
“Yay. My first real adventure. Wait, you're not going to get us arrested are you? You may want to annoy your mother but I'd like to stay on her good side.” At least while she was still in Scotland.
“I know the owner,” he said, shaking his head. “No handcuffs on this trip. Unless you've got some in that purse of yours?”
“No, sorry. I left them at home, along with my whip.” She smirked.
He started the engine and they made their way out of the visitor's parking lot.
“You're going to have to show me when we get back,” he said, as if they were discussing anything but a sex toy.
Some of Rhonda's excitement over whatever he had planned waned. Unless they were wrong and needed to go into hiding again, there'd be no back home for them. This time in Scotland would be the last she'd see of Blake. Her heart squeezed her breathless at the thought. But it was for the best, so she'd better suck it up.
After a quick stop in town for lunch, they started their mysterious journey. They drove through a quaint village, and after another twenty-minute drive, pulled onto a gravel road.
“Where exactly are we going?”
“Kendrick Manor. The original predated the Highland Clearance.”
“When landowners evicted their tenants in favor of sheep farming,” she said, proud to impress him with her knowledge.
“Was that in your architecture books?”
“BBC special.” She liked knowing all this stuff. It made her feel smart.
He laughed. “It's not the Discovery channel, but it'll do. This estate once belonged to George Cairn. He owned it and about three hundred acres of land, half of which were later confiscated by the crown. A fire destroyed most of the original manor, but the three barns, stables, and what remained was sold to Thomas Atchison. There's evidence that part of the manor is medieval. In 1742, Atchison commissioned William Smith to build most of what you'll see there. Ever see anything on him on the BBC?”
“Jane Austen's book,
Mansfield Park
. People say she based Sotherton Court on Stoneleigh Abbey, built by Smith.” Holy Hannah, she
was
smart.
“Wow, you really know your architecture.”
“See? Not all strippers are stupid.”
He stopped the car in a gravel driveway and yanked on the emergency break. “I
never
put stupid on the list. I'm in awe of how much you know. That and you're American. We Irish don't believe you Yanks are very smart.” He winked, reminding her of the jab she'd landed at Maggie's wedding.
“I only called you Irish to get a rise out of you.”
“That you did. And Rhonda, for the record, you don't need an Oxford education to make you one of the smartest women I know.”
She nodded, but a part of her wasn't sure she should believe him. Before he knew her personally she'd bet he'd marked her for stupid. Most people thought that about women who took their clothes off for money. Big mistake.
Rhonda got out of the car without waiting for him. He found her gaping at an old three-story Greek revival manor house.
“I thought you'd like it.”
“It's so cool.”
“Yes, I'd say it's cool. Most of the land was sold off in the mid-1860s to Albert Lewis, a very wealthy merchant from Derbyshire. He purchased back land as well, but only eighty acres remain. He moved his young son here after his wife died. It seemed a young Scottish lass caught his fancy, and he figured buying a Scottish country estate would get her to accept his proposal.”
“Did it?”
“Apparently. She gave him two daughters. After his death, the home was sold. Later, in World War Two, it was used to house orphaned children. After that, it sat empty until two years ago when it was purchased again and the restoration began.”
“Are you sure we're not trespassing?”
“Not so much. I
do
know the owner. The house is locked up as he waits approval from the Scottish Heritage Committee for the second phase of restoration. It could take months. Come,” he said, taking her hand. “They haven't done any work in the stables and there's an entrance to the main house. It's a secret.”
He led her around the back and into a tall brick building that in its heyday must have housed ten horses. She swore she could still smell the hay and dry manure.
“Is this really safe?”
“I wouldn't take you here otherwise. The roof has been replaced, and the last time I was here, the rooms in most danger of falling had structural braces. People
have
worked inside. My friend emails me with updates. He's very excited about the project.”
He wasn't the only one. “So are you. I can see it on your face.”
“It's important,” he said. “Buildings like this are our history and part of the community. Last year, the owner allowed the village to host a Robbie Burns Day on the grounds. The money went to pay for the church's new roof.”
And there, surrounded by memories of horse-drawn carriages and a time long gone, she realized something. He may say he didn't like his aristocratic background, that he had no ties to Scotland. But he was lying. “You own this property. This is your restoration.”
“What makes you say that?”
She noted he hadn't admitted or denied it. “You know too much, plus, like I said, your pride is on your face. You don't want your grandmother to know you give a shit about your heritage, about Scotland. So you've kept this place a secret. But what do you plan to do with it once it's restored?”
“You're reading too much into this.”
“So you're not denying it.”
“That I own the property? No, but it has nothing to do with my heritage. I saw an old building that needing restoration. That's all.”
“Wow, are you lying to me, or yourself? It will take millions to bring this place back to its glory.”
“Two and half.”
She whistled. “Two and half million pounds?”
He shrugged. Who shrugged at roughly four million dollars?
“Do you want your grandfather's inheritance? Don't you need it to finish this house?”
“No, I have loans in place.”
“But your inheritance wouldn't hurt.”
“No, it wouldn't. But I'm not about to have a baby to get my hands on the money. That's Sarah's tactic, not mine. When I have a kid, it'll be because I want it.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Something that frightened her. But that was stupid. Blake would never hurt her.
“Do you want to see inside? I didn't bring a key. We'll have to take the passage.”
Far too curious, she couldn't say no. “Okay, lead the way.”
He smiled like she'd just given him the world. He was
very
proud of this house.
He led her around the last dilapidated stable and into a small room. There, behind one of the old panels, was a secret door. “I haven't been able to figure out what this was used for, but it leads into the old kitchen.” He lifted the top off one of two benches in the room and retrieved a flashlight. “I hired a historian and architectural researchers, but this didn't come up on anyone's radar.”
“Maybe it was added after the house was built. Or during the war?”
“You mean like an escape tunnel?” He shone the light inside the narrow but do-able passage.
“Was that forest always behind these stables?” she asked.
“It was part of what was re-purchased. They wanted deer on the property.”
“Then it
could
be an escape tunnel. People were terrified the Germans would invade Britain. You could easily hide in that forest.”
“True. That might explain the small underground bunker they found in the woods. It looked like a supply hatch of some kind. Smart, Rhonda.”
“I try.” She smiled, batting her eyelashes.
Inside the tunnel, dust tickled her nose, and she didn't want to think about all the bugs that called this home. After several dark spooky minutes, Blake opened another door. This one led into yet another small space, what looked like a coatroom.
“We assume servants used the passage to get to the stables in bad weather. I haven't decided what I'm going to do about it. This cloakroom will be torn down and incorporated into the kitchen, once I can get committee approval on the floors. They're insisting on slate and I want hardwood.”
“Who's going to win?”
“In all honesty? Probably them.”
The eight-bedroom house was beyond her expectations. None of the fine details that had made this building an extraordinary home had yet been restored. Decorated ceilings peeled, ornate plastering waited for attention, and floors needed repairs and refinishing. But she could see it, see the splendor that once was. He took her into the ballroom and showed her the blueprints for the house. One side of the room had floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond which the highland moors created a beautiful vista.
He pointed to the gaping hole in the ceiling. “The leaks in the roof rotted out the timbers. I'm trying to restore the original ceiling. So I'm not touching it until I can find the right craftsman for the job.”
Then what, she thought? Was he going to move here? Sell the place? He seemed far too enamored to allow someone else to have it. She couldn't blame him. “This would be so much fun,” she said, circling the room. “It's like a giant puzzle and you're piecing together history.” She grinned. “I'm envious. Have you been sneaking back to Scotland without your family knowing.”
“Yes, and that stays between you and me. My mother would kill me if she knew.”
She made the sign of locking a key over her lips, not wanting to be responsible for his death and all.
It started to rain again, all at once pouring down in sheets, blurring the view of the highlands. “Wow, when it rains, it rains,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the downpour.
“Let's get out of this room. The acoustics are great for musicians but not conversation when it rains like that.”
He took her hand again when the shattering of glass had them both on alert.
“Blake?” She'd heard that sound before. Had nightmares about that sound.
The second shot hit the doorframe as they ran through to the adjoining drawing room. She told herself not to panic. Panicking would get them nowhere. Good advice, if only she'd listen. Problem was, this room also had great big patio doors. Whoever was out there could see them. Bullets peppered the old hardwood floor, sending wood splinters everywhere. Finally, they found cover in yet another adjoining room.
“What the fuck?” she whispered, clutching Blake's hand, terrified the gunman would find them.
They had no weapons of their own, no way to defend themselves. This was not how she wanted to die. Nor what she wanted for the unborn child she carried.