“What sort of private things did she note, then?”
He shrugs. “Not sure. One thing said something about a cave and a biologist.”
The girls and I all look at each other.
“Cave? Biologist?” Paisley repeats, blanching.
“Aye,” Mac says. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Aye,” Islan says, “Of course. Didn’t Leith look at the notes with you?”
“He did.”
She blows out an exasperated breath and rolls her eyes. “Honest to God.Men. He read the first book of the Clan Chronicles. He ought to know that cave and biologist had to do with the book.” She smirks. “Maybe you found your little author.”
“I don’t know,” Mac says, shaking his head. “She’d have information, aye, but Aisla’s been with us since she was fifteen years old. She never completed school, never went on to college. Do you think she could write a book like that?”
“Maybe?” Islan asks.
“Or maybe…” I say, as the pieces start pulling together for me. “Maybe she isn’t the writer but she’s the one that feedsinformationto the one who is.”
Paisley’s eyes widen, and she quickly looks out the window. Is it my imagination, or does she look guilty?
“Maybe,” Islan says, nodding. “Aye, that’s a possibility for sure.”
“Or maybe,” Paisley says softly, still looking out the window, “we think more highly of ourselves than we ought. Like we’re interesting enough to have a whole bloody series written about us.”
“Maybe, aye.” Mac looks thoughtful.
The rest of the ride into Inverness is uneventful, and I find myself troubled.
Who was the other person Mac had to deal with last night? He hasn’t told me anything. But what if it has something to do with me?
Just as we pull up to the wrought iron gates that border the church, my phone buzzes with a text. I glance quickly at the screen.
It’s my father. My belly swoops, sudden fear gripping me.
Dad: I’ve given you enough time. You’ll have to make your move. And I know exactly what you’ll do.
I quickly swipe it off, and shove my phone in my pocket, my hands trembling, when I hear it buzz again.
“You alright?” Mac asks, as the car comes to a stop.
I nod. “Fine,” I lie.
Oh, God. My time is up? What is that supposed to mean?
Oh God oh God oh God.
I glance at the phone again when there’s another text from my father. I reluctantly pull it out of my pocket.
Dad: Your boyfriend is going to Paris next week on a trip. That will change, tonight. You’ll go with him. He’s scheduled to meet a contact at the rooftop bar at his hotel. You’re to be his contact. When you get him alone, you’ll follow my instructions.
Follow his instructions? What will he make me do?
I can’t do it. I bloody can’t fucking do it and I know it.
I power my phone completely off, as Mac steps out of the car and reaches for my hand.
