“Writing go well?” Mum asked, her dimples flashing. Her smile fell at my expression. “Eilidh, what’s wrong?”
Tears burned in my eyes as I looked from my mum to my dad. My gaze locked with Dad’s and I wished I were seven years old again and he could make everything better with a hug. Through gritted teeth, I explained what Pete had found in my smoke alarms.
Dad did draw me into his arms, and I let myself cry against his chest as Mum smoothed a hand over my hair.
“Fyfe,” Dad announced gruffly. “You need Fyfe to investigate this. It’s his job, Eilidh. If there’s a way to track this person down via the cameras, Fyfe can do it.”
Of course.
Fyfe was the first person I would have thought of under normal circumstances.
As if sensing my hesitancy, Dad withdrew slightly to search my face. “I don’t know what happened there, but this is too important. If someone broke into your flat and planted cameras, we need to know who and why.”
He was right.
I nodded. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“Now.”
“Me or your dad can come with you,” Mum offered.
“You have work.”
“Work can wait.”
I shook my head, wiping my tears. “No, I can talk to Fyfe alone. I’ll go now.”
There werea lot of nerves and slight PTSD (considering the results of the last time I drove somewhere to see Fyfe) as I guided my new (well, new to me—the vehicle was five years old) G-Wagon out of the village. A Merc dealership in Inverness happened to have a used G-Wagon with the black and rust leather interior, and it was just bougie but eccentric enough for me to snap it up.
I didn’t even know if Fyfe was home. I could call him, but after everything … aye, I thought it would be better face-to-face.
I couldn’t even think about the fact that Mor had stayed with me in that flat and was grateful for the fact that she’d always changed clothes in the privacy of the bathroom during her visit.
Relief and apprehension clenched in my belly as I pulled up to Fyfe’s house and noted his SUV out front. I hurried to his door before I could talk myself out of it.
The doorbell was loud on the other side and to my utter shock, I heard a baby’s cry follow it. Was Harley here? Had Lewis come to check on Fyfe and brought his daughter along?
I strained to listen and heard Fyfe’s muffled curse seconds before the door flew open.
He stood before me, handsome as ever, no glasses so obviously wearing his contacts, hair mussed, a towel over his shoulder, and a bowl of mushy food in one hand. He was dressed casual in jeans and a T-shirt.
The baby continued to cry in the background.
Harassed.
Fyfe looked utterly harassed.
Those beautiful dark eyes of his widened at the sight of me. “Eilidh.”
For a second, I forgot everything. Our fight. The creepy camera discovery. “Is Harley here?”
“What? Harley?” He shook his head and muttered another curse. “Come in, come in.” Fyfe was hurrying through the hallway away from me before I’d even stepped a foot inside.
Curious as hell, I shut the door behind me and followed him into the open-plan living space only to draw to an abrupt halt.
Sitting in a high chair near the island was a gorgeous baby girl, and she was staring up at Fyfe as he fed her. She wore a soft headband with a big pink bow, so I assumed she was a girl. Her little arms and legs flicked every time he spooned a mouthful of the mush.
“What the …” I took in the mess.
