A hush. Barely a ripple—but a warning all the same.
Footsteps behind her. Unhurried. Steady.
Flynn’s gaze tracked over her shoulder as hers lifted—
David Kerr.
A wool flat cap shadowed his eyes, takeaway cup in hand. He didn’t stop. Didn’t linger. Just tipped his cap toward Flynn, too casual to be meaningless.
“Afternoon,” he said evenly.
Flynn’s reply came low, steady. “Aye.”
Their eyes met just long enough to confirm what neither would say aloud.
Then Kerr disappeared around the curve of brightly painted houses.
Silence settled like fog.
Flynn exhaled slowly. “Right, well. This just got more complicated.”
Heather grabbed his arm, whisper-sharp. “You think?!”
Flynn’s hand brushed hers. “Shh, mo chridhe. We are just two lovers on a wee holiday. Nothing suspicious about that,” he soothed.
She hated how quickly fear made her feel small—like everyone else held the truth while she clutched shadows. Like she was always a few steps behind someone else’s danger.
“Okay… You’re right…” She inhaled hard. “Tourists. Lovers. Roofs. Totally normal…” A pause.
“…And the very inconvenient truth of a stolen, priceless artifact in our getaway vehicle,” she whispered.
Flynn chuckled, half warning, half fond. “Lass, it’ll take more than that to ruffle me. Play it cool. Give us a wee kiss. We’ll reevaluate upstairs.”
Heather blinked. “A wee kiss?”
“Aye,” he confirmed, grin slow and wicked. “Helps sell the story, doesn’t it? Plus, I just like kissin’ ye.”
She huffed a breathless laugh and kissed him. From a distance, they were nothing more than a couple framed against a postcard harbor.
But her pulse hammered against his hand.
And he kissed her back with a steadiness that anchored them both.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Now smile, and pretend we’ve never lied in our lives.”
Heather did—sun catching her red curls as if it believed her.
Flynn turned back to shout directions to his crew.
Kerr was gone.
Chapter 27
Heather—Present Day
The morning broke silver and restless. Clouds dragged low across the Cuillins, bruised at the edges, as if the sky were remembering something it couldn’t quite speak aloud. Heather leaned her forehead against the passenger window while Flynn steered them along the single-track road, the tires whispering over damp tarmac. The sea was a wide pewter sheet beside them.
“Can’t believe people live with this view every day,” she murmured reverently.
