‘Theo MacMickin.’
There’s a pause on the other end. It makes my stomach brace before my brain catches up.
Then: ‘It’s me.’
I sit bolt upright. ‘Finn?’
He sighs, the sound is low and defeated. ‘Didn’t mean to wake you. I called the agency. Got forwarded to your number, I guess.’
He’s guessing correctly. Charlie’s off-grid for her monthly date weekend with Brodie, which means I’m emergency coverage. That’s usually a missed flight or a schedule mix-up in a different time zone, if anything.
Clearly not as simple as that when Finn Lennox is involved.
I let out a groan. ‘What’s going on?’
‘You won’t like it. I’m…not exactly tucked up in bed.’
‘Where the hell are you?’ I’m already swinging my legs out of bed.
‘Police station in Edinburgh. St Leonard’s.’
‘What the fuck?’ My feet hit the floor. ‘Jesus. Are you okay?’
‘Mostly. You should see the other guy.’ He tries for a laugh, but it comes out more like a cough.
I sit there, phone wedged between my shoulder and ear. Blood drains to my feet. ‘That’s not funny! Are you injured?’
‘Not really. Just a small… It was…’ He clears his throat. ‘Breach of the peace. Got into it with a guy in a club. Nothing serious. They’re keeping us for a wee while, cooling-off thing. No charges.’
There’s a rustle of movement on his end. Footsteps. A murmur of some other voice I can’t make out.
I reach for the hoodie on the chair. ‘What does “got into it” mean? And what sort of club?’
‘The Wolf Room.’
I stop moving. That’s not a club, it’s a cesspit for fucked-up behaviour. Rich-kid depravity. ‘Dammit, Finn!’
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. I should be asleep, dreaming of inbox zero. Instead, I’m getting dressed in the wee hours to pick a rugby player up from St Leonard’s. And not any old rugby player – the one who wormed his way into my heart and knickers and life.
‘Are you mad?’
‘Och, Lennox!’ I unzip my make-up bag. Stare into it. Close it again. ‘Is there press?’
‘Not that I can tell. Quiet night so far.’
My brain starts rearranging itself as I hop into the hallway on one leg, pulling my joggers up. Priorities, logistics, optics. But under that…terror. The helpless fury that only comes when someone you care about gets into trouble and you weren’t there to stop it.
And beneath that a shocking clarity. I’d do anything for him, no questions asked.
Until now, I had no clue what it meant being ready to bury a body for someone. There are few people I’d pick up from a police station in the middle of the night.
And Finn Lennox is right at the top of that list.
I don’t know what I’m going to say to him when I get there. If I slap or shake or kiss him. But he’s alone and angry, hurt, probably a bit scared.
So I’m on my way.
My keys are already in my hand. ‘I’ll be there in twenty. Do not speak to anyone else.’
