The atrium noise washed everything clean. She felt the prickle before she saw him—Kerr, angled by a display case, pretending to examine Victorian silverware while most definitely tracking her movement.
She lifted a bright, harmless tourist smile.
He nodded the kind of nod that meant absolutely nothing.
Perfect.
Outside, Flynn peeled off the wall where he’d been “admiring” a drainpipe.
“How’d our little pantomime go?”
“She bought it,” Heather said in relief. “And he saw me leave.”
Flynn’s mouth curved wolfishly. “Then we did it right.”
They crossed toward the Scotsman, the rain stitching the street into a soft shimmer. At the door, he caught her hand.
“Tonight, we’re visible. We eat someplace obvious.The Witcherymaybe? We post something ridiculous on Instagram.”
She laughed. “My specialty.”
He kissed her temple in passing, casual and devastating as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to check her messages.
Wee madam fell asleep on the sill chasing gulls with her eyes.
Still zero crimes. x — C.
Heather grinned. “Byrdie’s fine. Not a villain in sight.”
“Good,” Flynn said. “Means we can breathe easier knowin’ our wee menace is safe.”
They stepped into the Scotsman’s warm lobby. Heather glanced once over her shoulder toward the museum.
“Let them think I gave up,” she murmured. “Let them chase Rannoch.”
Flynn grinned, all teeth and affection. “Aye, mo chridhe. We’ll be halfway to the sea.”
Chapter 24
Heather—Present Day
Heather woke to rain writing a soft, stubborn script on the Scotsman’s tall windows—and to Flynn’s warmth behind her, one arm heavy at her bare waist, one ankle thrown over hers like he’d conquered the bed in his sleep. The room smelled faintly of soap, him, and the memory of last night.
She smiled into the pillow just as he stirred.
“Good mornin’,mo ghràidh,” he murmured into her shoulder, voice rough with sleep and other excellent things.
“Mmm.” She tipped her head back for a kiss—a slow, sweet one that earned a quiet sound of protest when she pulled away.He grinned against her neck like a man both forgiven and rewarded.
“Cruel thing,” he sighed.
“Necessary,” she said, rolling around to face him. “We have a whole day of being harmless ahead of us.”
Flynn propped himself on an elbow, his dark hair doing whatever it liked. “I can do harmless.”
“You can docharm,” she corrected. “Harmless is ambitious.”
His gaze slanted down her naked body—decidedly not harmless.
