Everything was fine when she left the hotel—the rental agent had even gone around the car for the usual inspection before handing her the keys. She must have run over something on her way over to the café.
James knelt beside the car and ran a hand over the tread, looking for the usual piece of road debris that might have caused the flat. He frowned as he felt the cut in the tread, probably from a knife, and easily made as someone walked past. All it took was one cut not easily seen but the result was the same. A momentary thrill by some local punk and then laugh it off.
He and his mates had their moments, but not destructive, flashes of rebellion that came and went as those years came and went. But a glance at the other cars lined up along the pedestrian walk didn't reveal any damage.
A single hit?
Why the rental car, when there was an expensive number parked two down the row, a more meaningful statement if someone was out to make one, take a swipe at a high-priced number. He stood and brushed his hands off.
“We'll make a call. The rental agency can take care of it. My car is around the corner. I'll take you to your hotel.”
They caught the cross-town roadway toward the river. Her hotel was one of the larger hotels in Inverness, with easy access to the historic parts of the city as well as the business center.He parked in guest parking and walked with her to the front entrance.
“What about the manuscript?” James asked. “Can you work with what you have?”
She'd already thought about that. “It needs a lot of work.”
“Could you bring someone in to finish it? A collaboration, or a ghost writer?”
It wouldn’t be the first time a book was put out after a well-known author died—written by someone else under special arrangement.
She'd bet her publisher had already thought about that, including meetings with their legal department. Getting the next book out was always top priority, and the fact that it was the last book written by a best-selling author made it even more important.
“That would be for my publisher to decide, and work out with Cate's estate.”
Several guests were on their way out of the hotel for the evening. She stepped aside as they moved past—late season tourists including a young couple in parkas and hiking books, and two older men in windbreakers with sports logos possibly there to take advantage of the fall fishing season. A guest brushed past, head down, obviously in a hurry as he cut through the other guests on their way to parking area.
It was probably just her imagination after everything that had happened, but she hesitated and glanced at the parking area where the guest had disappeared.
James caught the hesitation, then followed that brief glance, and the question came back at him. Who parked on the street when there were parking spaces close to the hotel entrance?
“Thanks for the ride,” Kris was saying as she walked ahead of him. “I can handle it from here.” She stopped as she realized that he still stood at the entrance.
“What is it?”
He shook it off and followed her to the front desk. She let the manager know the location of the rental car. He apologized for the inconvenience and made a note to contact the rental agency in the morning. She frowned as James walked with her across the hotel lobby.
“I can find my way to the elevator.”
He ignored the comment and reached around her to hit the call button. He leaned against the wall, arms folded across the front of his jacket.
“Tell me about the photograph.”
CHAPTER
SIX
He saw the surprise in that dark-blue gaze.
“And before you tell me that it was nothing, just an interesting picture that Paul Bennett took years ago along with hundreds of others he took during the war, come up with something better than that. You recognized it.” That dark gaze met hers.
She wasn't ready to tell him, or anyone, about the photograph Cate had sent, wasn't even certain that it meant anything other than the fact that Cate had stumbled across it and had been equally taken with a picture that seemed so out of place among all the others that her father had taken during the Allied landing. She shrugged it off, as the elevator arrived.
“Like Innis said, probably a typical tourist shot—churches, castles, that sort of thing. It was interesting, that's all.” The doors slid open.
“Thanks for the ride back to the hotel. I appreciate it.” A hand stopped the doors as they swept closed. He stepped into the elevator with her.
“It's not necessary for you to see me to my door, Captain Morgan,” she said with growing irritation.
