And it turned out she was the kind of woman who fought for what she wanted.
* * *
JAMIE’SBREATHPUFFEDout as moonlit fog as he watched Samira unlock their legally rented holiday cottage, after parking their legally hired car. From the loch, a bird cawed. Samira’s hair fell softly over herminuitscarf as she stepped back and held the door open.
“Next time we’re renting a fully insulated twenty-first-century apartment,” he said, sweeping past with an armful of firewood and switching on the lights with an elbow. “It’s colder inside than out.”
“I quite like the eighteenth century now that I’m no longer living in it,” she said, hauling in their stash of Christmas presents. “But we’ll need to get you a kilt.”
“You have a thing for guys in kilts.”
“I have a thing for a particular guy in a kilt. At least, I would, if he wore one.”
“Nasty, draughty, scratchy things.”
“Not very patriotic, Jamie.”
As he got started on the fire, she leaned over him to turn on the Christmas tree lights. As she withdrew, she dropped a kiss on his crown. He caught a waft of the perfume he’d given her that morning, which Max and Tyler had helped him choose in a Christmas Eve assault on a mega mall that hadn’t existed last time he’d been in Scotland. At first the kids had dragged their clompy feet as if perfume shopping were equivalent to mucking out latrines—but after a few minutes they’d launched into the task with endearing seriousness, wrinkling their noses at anything too floral, or too strong, or too “old lady.” In the end the three of them agreed on a perfume that reminded Jamie of running water and jasmine and sunshine. Which would have been far cheaper.
He’d felt a tweak of jealousy that the kids had bonded with Samira so effortlessly when they were still a little standoffish with him, but then, he had a lot of uncle neglect to make up for—and he didn’t know where to find the Orb of Glowing or whatever the fuck they were hunting in their latest game. He’d at least figured out which kid was which. He was working on the rest. From now on, he was spending his leave with them, not with medical journals.
As the fire began to take, Samira switched off the overhead light. The pulsing tree lights explored new depths in her softly curling hair—red, green, blue, orange—each color also bringing out a different warmth or coolness in her skin. Her face had lost its strained look in the last month, the sooty circles disappearing from under her eyes.
“Perfect,” he said.
“Not quite.” She strolled to the butcher’s block in the middle of the kitchen, swiping her mobile phone. A familiar intro of piano and strings circled the room. He smiled as a laconic, indecipherable male voice growled the opening to the Pogues’ Christmas song. What was it called? “Fairytale of New York”?
Now,thatwas his idea of a Christmas carol, after a day of Nicole’s Frank Sinatra on repeat. He’d been content to put up with it during his mother’s visit, savoring the look of peace on her face as she swayed in her chair to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” But by the end of the night even Samira’s parents were tactfully dropping hints about changing the music. Their diplomatic skills had been no match for Nicole’s determination to create the busy, noisy family Christmas she’d missed out on for so many years—and not even the kids really minded.
“You can bring the music next Christmas,” she’d told Samira’s parents, with excruciating emphasis. Jamie had looked sideways at Samira, whose gaze had dropped to her lap. They’d hardly talked about the fact that Jamie was due to report to Calvi immediately after the New Year. Only one more week of this borrowed and rented and hired bliss.
Jamie sat back on his haunches. “What, you mean you’ll allow a man to sing to you?”
“It’s a duet. And at least it’s not Sinatra dreaming of a white Christmas for the twentieth time.”
“Thank sweet baby Jesus himself for that.” Jamie rubbed his hands together as he pushed to his feet. “We’d better do something to warm up while that catches—and by that I mean dance because I know where your dirty mind is going.”
She laughed as he swept her into his arms, careful to avoid her injured side. It was healing well but it would trouble her awhile longer. His shoulder was coming right, too. A lot of things had come right in the last month. They swayed together, her new scent wafting in with the wood smoke and wrapping around him. He leaned in for a warm, sweet kiss.
As the drumbeat turned the song from ballad to jig, and the woman singer launched in, Jamie upped the pace, spinning and dipping Samira until she laughed breathlessly, their boots scraping and squeaking across the wooden floor. God, she was beautiful. This was beautiful. The cottage had more comforts than the previous one but it was simple enough that life was dialed back to the small pleasures—not that being with Samira was anysmallpleasure.
They’d wasted quite enough time giving lengthy witness statements to investigators representing more government agencies and crime-fighting forces than he knew existed, juggling medical appointments, and dissecting developments over video calls with Tess and Flynn, Rafe and Holly, Charlotte, and even Laura, whom Hyland had given the credit for forcing him to come clean.
As the song ended, Jamie dipped Samira and kissed her giggling mouth.
“Thank you,mo ghràidh.” He pulled her up, keeping one arm around her back. She rested her free hand on his chest as the music switched to Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly.”
“You called me that once.My friend, right?”
“No, actually. It meansmy love,my darling. I’d kind of said it then without thinking of the implications, so...”
“You lied. Huh.” She pulled back and the skin around her eyes tightened momentarily. “Did you think about the implications just now?”
“Samira,” he said, his heart sinking. He didn’t want to disappoint her, not on Christmas Day. He shouldn’t have used the phrase but it just seemed right. “We need to live in the moment. Appreciate what we’ve got right now and leave with happy memories. We’ll always have the loch.” Her lashes flickered down, hiding her eyes. Aye, he was a jerk. They continued swaying gently to the music. “Maybe this isn’t the best day for that talk.”
Roberta filled the silence. After another verse, Samira stomped one boot on the floor, and pushed his chest. He released her. Damn.
“Screw it,” she said, hands fisted by her sides, eyes glittering with reflected flames as if the fire were in them, not the grate. “I’ve faced down my biggest fears and damn well won. If I’m brave enough to do all that, I’m brave enough to open my mouth and speak my mind.”
