Oh dear, I’ve offended the man responsible for keeping me alive. Not the best start. Adding to my guilt is the fact that he’s taken great care to stand right in front of me when he speaks, to make sure I can read his lips.
“Sorry, Hamish. I’m a bit off today. I do have a lot of phone calls to make. I’ll uh… just be upstairs for a while, then. Ye dinnae need to be in the room with me or anything, aye?”
He’s trying to hide a smile, I can tell. “No ma’am. I’ll be here if ye need me. Are ye comfortable with me knocking loudly on your door if I need to speak with ye?”
“That’s very thoughtful of ye, Hamish. Thanks.”
Tugging the covers back into place on the bed, I eye the silver cell phone that’s waiting for me to turn it on.
Hit the start button,it whispers,you know you want to. I’m the iPhone 16 Pro Max. I have a 5x optical zoom camera. The largest display, the longest battery life…
Suddenly the memory of Logan’s God-given assets is vividly clear in my mind, the largest, the longest… The persistent soreness south of my waistline is turning into a throbbing at the mere thought of my new husband’s dick and what he can do with it.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m angry with the high-handed bastard. And I’m getting turned on right now?
I have to distract myself before I lose my mind and call him, demanding he come back and attend to “my needs.” I was never a sex fiend before. I liked sex, even though my experience was somewhat limited. But with Logan… Sizedoesmatter. So does technique, and enthusiasm, and he is gifted with all of those things.
“Take a cold shower, ye pervert,” I lecture myself. “Call the school…” A bolt of sorrow pierces my heart but it’s time to soldier on. “Then ye can call Meera. She must be so worried.”
The cold shower was not at all pleasant, but at least my mind is clear and I can call Headmaster Scott with some composure. It is a mixture of awkward and sad, and we struggle through it.
“I’m disappointed to see you leaving mid-term like this,” he says. He has a deep voice so his feelings are made clear, hearing-wise.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I stammer. “Maybe… maybe I could tutor my students one on one? Online? I’m happy to do anything I can to make the transition smoother.”
“That would be very helpful. Why don’t you contact Lucy and set up a schedule?”
“Aye, Headmaster. I’ll do that right away. Will you please tell my students that I…” Miss them? I’m so sorry they could have been hurt because of me? “That I have the utmost faith in their abilities and I know they’ll do well on their finals.”
We end the conversation with more polite noises and I notice, with a sinking heart, that he dinnae mention me coming back next year.
I try not to think about why all my old contacts are programmed into this new phone - along with a long list of people all with the last name of MacTavish - and call Meera.
“I want to come over.”
Eyeing Hamish, who’s standing sentinel in the main hall, I shake my head. “I dinnae think we’re getting Girl’s Night. I’m new to this bodyguard business but his eye starts twitching if I’m on one floor and he’s on the other.”
“How do I not know you’re being held under duress?” Meera is Facetiming with me, her eyes narrowed and darting around as if to see if there’s someone behind me, holding a gun to my head.
Turning the phone around, I spin in a circle. “Coast is clear. It’s really me. I’m sorry about all the madness, I know ye have been stressed, aye? Are ye baking?”
“Like ye canna believe,” she agrees, gloomy. “Even the kids are begging me to stop. I’ll tell ya what’s been happening here and then you’ve gota lotof explaining to do.”
So, she tells me about three visits from an increasingly grim Detective Christie, how a man and a woman who “looked like graduates from MI6’s School of Stern Expressions,” moved several boxes out of my flat, smiling pleasantly when she threatened to call the police.
“The most terrifying thing was realizing that Detective Christie dinnae know where ye were, either,” she finishes, looking a wee bit tearful.
“I’m so sorry. About all of it.” I’m drowning in guilt right now, both for what she’s been through and what I canna tell her. Logan and I agreed on a cover story over dinner last night. I agreed with him that too much knowledge is not a good thing.
“The two men that night? They were there to kill me.” There’s a crashing sound and I wince. “Was that one of your mother’s pottery bowls?”
“Never ye mind. Keep talking.”
“At the fundraiser, I read the lips of two men across the room. They were planning to kill another guest. Logan MacTavish. I hurried over and pretended to spill my tray so I could get close enough to warn him.”
“Oh! I always knew your lip-reading was going to come in handy!” Meera shouts. “I dinnae know whether to feel gleeful or terrified right now. What happened, then?”
“Someone reported back to their boss when the plan failed, and they targeted me. I dinnae know how they found me so fast, but fortunately, uh… So did Logan.”
