“And that’s my cue to leave.” Kenna tosses her napkin on the table and stands up, just a bit unsteady. “I’ll be taking my human tank and heading home. Tank!” She waves at her bodyguard, “Let’s get out of here.”
Said human tank is Gil, who’s so over-muscled that he looks like he lifts cars as a hobby. He takes her elbow as he assists her out the door.
“I think those two have a thing,” I say to Catriona. “They’re kind of cute together.”
“Dinna let Uncle Dougal hear ya say that, he’d probably shoot Gil,” she warns, finishing off her mimosa.
“Well, that seems rude. Why? Because he’s her bodyguard?”
“The family dinna think a personal bodyguard can do his job properly if he - or she, we have female bodyguards too - if they’re emotionally attached to their asset.”
“Asset?”
“The person they’re guarding.” Catriona pulls me up with an impressive amount of strength. “C’mon, lightweight. Let’s get ya home.”
We hug outside the restaurant before she gets into her black SUV and heads out.
“Mrs. MacTavish, let’s put ya into the car quickly,” Ian says, touching his earpiece and directing the other guards to pile in the chase SUV.
He opens my car door, and we realize the back seat is not empty. An older man is sitting there calmly, pointing a very large gun at us.
“Luna, I assure you I mean you no harm. But I’m also not interested in allowing your guards to put a bullet in my chest. Would you humor an old man and give me five minutes?”
I hear multiple clicks of safeties being released, and I see my guards are pointing guns at other guards who seem to belong to this man.
“Where the hell is everyone getting guns? This isGlasgow,not Los Angeles!”Maybe not the most useful observation at this moment, but it’s clear that if everyone starts shooting, no one’s getting out of here without a lot of bloodshed.
The man nods his head with a wry smile. “Well, you do run in different circles than the average American tourist.” His gun looks heavy, but his aim at Ian never wavers. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to meet you. You have my word.”
“Ma’am, this isn’t safe!” Ian says urgently.
“Five minutes,” the man urges.
“Ian, you sit in the driver’s seat. Angus, you’re in the passenger seat with your gun pointed at our visitor. We’ll leave the cardoors open.” I sound remarkably calm for a woman who is about to wet herself. “Sir, if your intentions are as harmless as you say, you will have no problem giving that gun to one of your guys while we talk.”
He stares at me for a moment. There is something familiar about him. Blondish gray hair clipped short, a goatee, he’s well dressed in a nice suit. His accent tells me he’s American, but that’s about it. With all these bodyguards pointing guns at my bodyguards who are also pointing their guns… what was my point here?
Maybe I’m drunker than I thought.
He must be very important or rich.
“Very well,” he agrees. One of his bodyguards standing by his door makes a protesting sort of noise, but he hands the man his gun without looking at him.
“Let’s introduce ourselves.” I hold out my hand. “Luna Jones MacTavish. A pleasure to make your acquaintance…?”
Gravely shaking my hand, he nods. “Collin Harris. I’m your grandfather.”
What the actual fuck?
“My parents are dead. I don’t have any family other than my chain-smoking aunt!” I snap. I pull back my hand, and he lets go of it with some reluctance.
“I understand that this is what you’ve known all your life,” he says gently. “Your mother Patricia was my daughter. When she got pregnant with you, she and your father, Tom, left the family and moved to the Midwest. I knew nothing about their life after they left. That was the deal we made.”
Staring at him, I try to make sense of what he’s said. It feels like some of the words are mixed up in the wrong order or somethingbecause I’m having a hard time understanding this. As I look at him, really look, I realize we have the same eyes.
“Sapphire blue,” my Mom used to say when we stood in front of a mirror together, “with flecks of gold like the sun.” His blond hair is mixed with gray now, but the blond bits still have a silver sheen like mine and Mom’s.
“H- how-” My throat closes up, suddenly thick with tears, and I take a moment. “How did you find me, then?”
