The House on the Shore (49 page)

The glass paused in mid-air.
“You mean she’s no
t here.
”

“
I haven’t seen her.”

Luke held his breath for a moment.
Something was very wrong.
“I thought she
came
back with some of the other guys.”

“Malcolm!
Charlie!”
Ewan shouted over the noise of the crowd.
“Did you see Anna MacDonald down by the river?”

Malcolm Fraser pushed his way through the mob to where Luke and Ewan stood.
“No.
And we didn’t pass her on the road either.”

“Now
I’m really worried,” Luke said.

“
Could
she met up with some of the mountain rescue guys and hitched a lift back t
o Killilan House
or Tigh na Cladach, with one of them?”
Charlie
asked
.

Luke played with his watch.
“I doubt it.
She wouldn’t leave the dogs behind
.
Y
ou know how she feels about them.”

“Aye.
I do,” replied Ewan.
“I wouldn’t worry.
There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation.
In the meantime, finish your pint.
There’s food too, if you’re feeling hungry.”

Luke pushed away his glass.
“No thanks.
I’m going back to the croft.
I hope she’s there.”

“All right.
If she shows up here in the meantime, I’ll tell her where you are.”

“Thanks
,
Ewan.
I appreciate it.”

Luke drove like a mad man.
Scarcely fifteen minutes later, he unlocked the door to Tigh na Cladach and stepped into the hallway.
The small cottage was eerily silent.
He went into the kitchen
and dropped his keys on the table.
The breakfast dishes were still in the sink waiting to be washed.
Anna’s manuscript lay on
the table next to her laptop.

He climb
ed
the stairs
and
pushed open the door of Anna’s bedroom.
It was empt
y—t
he bed unmade
, t
he sheets in a tangled heap from their lovemaking earlier that morning.
He closed the door and hurried back downstairs.

He gave the dogs a bowl of water and some food
and
grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, then
sat down
at the table
and started scribbling on
a page from Anna’s manuscript.

If he wasn’t the target, who was?

There was something bad happening in
the Glen
.
T
hat much was obvious.

Morag’s disappearance, the attempted break-in at the croft, and the shooting incident al
l had to be connected
.

B
ut how?

The hairs on the back of his neck tingled.
Rage seared through his veins.
He hadn’t felt like this in years.
Not since Nicole had died.
Then he’d wanted to go out and murder the bastard
who
had run her down and deprived him of the one person who mattered the most.
He closed his mind.
Now wasn’t t
he time to re-visit old wounds.

Anna had said the land was worthless
.
As far as he knew
,
there were no vast deposits of gold
,
precious metals or minerals in Scotland, so that ruled out someone wanting it for mining.
I
t still didn’t
explain why it was so important, a
nd who or what was behind all these
so-called
accidents?

No matter
how
he looked at it, his mind returned to one man—Alistair Grant.
What was it Anna had said about him that morning?
That he’d been surprised to hear about the search.
T
here was something
else, s
omething disturbing.
If only he could remember.
He picked up the can of soda and gulped down half the contents.

Then it came to him.
Anna had said Grant was surprised to see her.
Surprised
to see
her
?
What an odd thing to say.
He drew a ring
round Grant’s name on the paper
and put a question mark next to it.
What could possibly link hi
m to Anna, the croft
,
and Morag?

The harder he tried to ignore the truth, the more it p
ersisted.

There was only one w
ay to find out if he was right.

Dusk descended as Luke
brought
the pickup to a halt
outside
Killilan House.
Unlike the night of the c
eilidh
,
there was no welcoming piper.
He climbed the half dozen steps to the front door and rang the bell.
No one answered.
He leaned over the ornate balustrade and peered through the window into what appeared to be t
he drawing room.
It was empty.

He beat his fist against the door.
“Grant, open the
god
damned door!”

Silence.

He re-traced his steps
,
b
ut instead of driving away, he rested his chin on the steering
wheel and stared at the house.

What the hell?

He climbed out and removed a tyre iron from the toolbox.
A
fter a
quick look over his shoulder to make sure no one was in sight, he made his way round the side of the building, keeping as close to the wall as possible.
The gravel pathway crunched under his feet.
He cursed, and wondered why Grant couldn’t lay real sidewalks like everyone else.
Every window and door he checked w
as bolted or nailed down tight.

With time running out, he inserted the tyre iron between the door and the frame and le
a
n
ed
on it with all his weight.
The frame splintered and the door
swung open
.
With a lightning-fast motion
,
Luke stepped inside.
His heart hammering, he waited for a count of five before creepi
ng down the dimly lit corridor.

Three rooms opened off the passage.
He approached the first, but rather than enter it, he placed an ear to the wooden door and listened.
When he heard no
thing, he moved on to the next.

The final door opened to reveal a narrow staircase.
Was he in the servants’ quarters?
He neither knew nor cared.
The door at the top was closed.
Slowly, he turned the knob and pulled.
The door hinges screamed like a woman in labour.
Undeterred, he climbed the last three steps and entered the main hallway.
He stood motionless, frantically trying to recall the layout of the house.
Was the library on the left or th
e right of the grand staircase?

The door on the left was ajar, the light cast
ing
a shadow on the floor.
He crept toward it, ignoring the creak
ing floorboards under his feet.
A huge mahogany pedestal desk stood in the centre of the bay window.
He crossed the room i
n four quick strides
.
Unsure of what he was looking for, Luke systematically searched
the drawers
, but found nothing
in the first two
.

The third drawer held a number of brown folders.
He pulled them out
and tossed them on the blotter.
The topmost file was full of letters from Grant’s bankers, each one more th
reatening than its predecessor.

Luke let out a long low whistle.
Grant wasn’t just overdrawn; he was in hock to the point that he was lucky to own the clothes on his back.
The estate, the London house, everything he ‘owned’ wa
s really owned by someone else.

Luke stared out of the window
and
played with the strap of his Rolex.
Grant was broke.
Most
people would cut their losses and
sold
their assets, so why hadn’t Grant?
What was so important to him that he’d consider anything, any
thing at all, including murder?

One simple
word crept into his mind—pride.

That’s what this was all about.
Grant was too proud to sell the family home.
So how did you set about protecting that when you
r bank threatened to foreclose?

Luke rifled through the second file, shuffling the papers impatiently.
Among them
he found
an article from the local newspaper.
A single paragraph at the bottom of the page was circled in bright red ink.
He glanced at the date
. I
t was six months old.
On the top of the page Grant h
ad scrawled a telephone number.

Luke picked up the phone and dialled the number, waiting for it to conn
ect.

“You have reached the offices of Proteus Surveys.
I’m sorry
no one
is available to take your call.
Please leave a message after the tone.”

He slammed down the receiver.

He’d found the link he’d been looking for.
He stuffed the papers back in the drawer as Alistair Grant appeared in the doorway.

Anna heard footsteps approaching.
They grew closer and closer, until finally they stopped outside the door.
She swallowed her scream.
Huddled in the corner, her body
trembling
uncontrollably
,
she stared wide-eyed at the door.

There was a long brittle silence.
A key grated in the lo
ck.
The handle slowly turned.

MacKinnon
stepped inside.

Anna
recognize
d him instantly.
She couldn’t br
eathe.
She could barely think.

He
squatted down next to her and stroked her cheek.
“Well, well, my pretty, we
’re not so feisty now, are we?”

Anna flinched and kicked out with her feet, but he dodged the blow.
She shuffled backwards, trying to stay out of reach.
He grabbed her arm and held her steady
,
then backhanded her into the wall.
The blood roared in her ears
.
S
he was on the verge of passing out again when he grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently.

“Ah, you want a fight!
Good.
‘Cos I don’t like passive women.”
He slapped her face, splitting her lip.
His calloused hand closed around her throat, cutting off her breath, all but squeezing the life out of her.
Just as suddenly
,
he released her, tossing her against the wall again.
He looked at her quizzically.
His wild, manic laughter echoed round the room.

“Don’t worry
,
I’m not ready to kill you yet.”

He sat back on his haunches.

Anna was beginning to hope her ordeal was over,
but
he leant forward and ripped open her shirt
.
He licked his lips and
claw
ed
at her breasts.

Please
God;
please don’t let him rape me
.
She bit down hard on the gag, pushing the vomit
back into her stomach lest she
choke.
She lashed out once more with her feet, this time aiming for MacKinnon’s groin, but there was
no weight behind the kick.

Then she
realized
the more she fought him, the more aroused and crazy he became.
Terrified, and with tears welling in her eyes, she stopped thrashing about and willed herself to be stil
l no matter what he did to her.