Drifting Dawn (Scottish Isles #2)

Prologue

Quinn

The Hebridean Islands, Scotland

October, This Year

The colorful row of buildings on Main Street grew more visible as the small ferry cut through the water toward Leth Sholas.

Relief, as well as urgency, thrummed through me as I took in the coastal front of my hometown on the Isle of Glenvulin.

The red-painted hotel and pub, the Fisherman’s Lantern, the blue-and-yellow home of the Leth Sholas Bakery & Tearoom. The harbor bustled with fishing crews.

But it was the pink-and-white building next to the bakery where my gaze fixed.

Macbeth’s Pages & Perks. Our local coffeehouse and bookstore. Now owned by Taran Macbeth.

The love of my fucking life.

The thought elicited a spearing pain under my sternum that I still wasn’t used to, my hands tightening around the railing as our boat bobbed across the water, drawing us nearer to home.

I was grateful the weather was calm enough to allow travel back to Leth Sholas—colloquially nicknamed Half-Light Harbor—leth sholas translated to half-light in English.

Ramsay and I had driven from our current location on the Isle of Thistles, where we were assessing whether we wanted to take on the job of fixing mistakes made by another construction crew at the site of an upcoming whisky distillery and an adjoining hotel.

The island’s real name was Isle of Scaris, but many decades ago a previous owner had planted an entire field of thistles in a boggy marshland beneath the bridge that connected it to the mainland.

Wild thistles were the first thing you saw as you approached the island, so the nickname had stuck.

I co-owned the construction company alongside my business partner Ramsay McRae, and this job, if we took it, would mean living on Scaris four days a week.

It was tough being away from home that much, for all of us.

The compensation, however, meant I couldn’t say no without great thought.

My crew would be glad for the work. I tended to take on jobs that were seasonal but paid well enough to cover my men financially for the entire year.

Staying on Scaris would allow us to work faster, and I was confident we could finish in six weeks, but it would be risky considering winter weather was heading our way, which could complicate back-and-forth travel.

That’s where my mind should be. Weighing the pros and cons. Logistics, plans.

Yet all I could think of was Taran.

There were days I missed my kids so badly, it burned like indigestion. When their mum, my ex-wife Kiera, moved them to the mainland, to Oban, it destroyed me. I saw them every other weekend and we alternated holidays. Now my oldest, Heather, had left for university.

It was a gaping wound not having them here.

To then be away from Leth Sholas, from her …

Like the six-foot-four ninja he was, Ramsay McRae suddenly appeared at my side as the boat pulled into Leth Sholas’s harbor.

“I’ll say it again.” My friend’s voice was just loud enough to be heard over the water and the boat engine. “You have to live your life as normal. Last year you would have taken this job.”

I scowled. “Aye? Eoghan is still out there on bail. It might have been quiet for a while, but I still don’t trust him.

How did you feel last year when Halston Cole sent that prick after Tierney?

How would you have felt if you were forced to be away from her for four nights a week when all that shit was going down?

” I referred to Ramsay’s girlfriend, the American owner of Leth Sholas Guest House, an old Victorian building that sat atop the hill above Main Street that we renovated last year.

Unbeknownst to us at the time, Tierney had been in the middle of trying to prove her parents’ helicopter accident wasn’t an accident—they were murdered by the man who ran their hotel empire.

Halston Cole had tried to shut Tierney up, and Ramsay stepped in to protect her.

While this was ongoing, it was clear to me Ramsay had feelings for the younger American, but it took him a wee bit longer to come to terms with that.

And yet he was just as protective, if not more, of Tierney as I was of Taran.

The difference was Taran and I had a complicated history.

I’d known Taran Macbeth my whole life.

We were born islanders. She was only a year younger than me, so we’d grown up together. She was my first love. The one I couldn’t forget. Even when she left for uni and it strained our relationship to the point where I fucked up royally and lost the person I needed more than anyone.

Nearly two decades later, she was back.

Ramsay grunted at my response and opened his mouth, probably to snap back with something smart, when the sound of sirens blared across the bustling harbor.

The boat jerked as Gillie, the driver, drew it to a stop by the dock.

The blood rushed in my ears as the only two police cars and ambulance on the island flew off Main Street and out of sight.

“What the fuck?” Ramsay muttered.

My mind jumped to the worst-case scenario, and I shouted uncharacteristically at the harbor crew to anchor the boat faster. I yanked my phone out of my pocket to call Taran, to reassure myself, and before I could even hit the button, Forde’s name flashed across the screen.

Forde Dallas was my best mate and one of the island’s volunteer paramedics and ambulance drivers.

I hurried to answer it. “What’s happening?”

“I’m pulling up to Taran’s,” Forde bit out harshly. “London called the police. Said an intruder broke in. You need to get here.”

I was already hanging up and running.

“Quinn!” Ramsay was at my back.

“It’s Taran!” I yelled as I sprang over the side of the boat and onto the dock. The impact of the drop shuddered through my feet and calves to my knees, but I barely felt it as I sprinted up onward. The sound of heavy footsteps hurried after me as I bolted across the harbor and up onto Main Street.

“Quinn!”

My vehicle was parked at my house on the outskirts of Leth Sholas. I usually walked the twenty minutes it took to get home, so I had no choice but to run to Taran’s bungalow.

Ramsay ran with me, not saying a word, knowing I didn’t have words in me. My heart was in my throat, choking the life out of me, and I had to push past the sensation.

To get to her.

The bungalow was in a residential area not even five minutes from Main Street. It had belonged to Taran’s mum before her death, and Taran inherited it last year. Taran was adamant she stay there with her roommate London.

I never should have bloody left the island!

Sweat dripped down my temples and soaked my shirt as I tore down the street toward the bungalow.

Blue lights flashed from the emergency vehicles parked outside, and neighbors were gathered in their gardens and on the street, peering in curiosity and concern at Taran’s home.

I shoved past Ennis, Taran’s neighbor, uncaring about politeness.

Seeing me coming, others hurried out of my and Ramsay’s way as we bulldozed toward the property.

William, a young police constable on the island, tried to step in my path, but I shoved him too.

“Hey! You can’t go in there!” he shouted helplessly as I ran through the open front door of the home.

“Quinn!” London tried to push past DC Alice Young, who stood with her in the reception hall.

Alice’s eyes flashed in irritation. “You can’t—”

But I was already marching past her into the living room, chest heaving.

The island’s detective constable was there with Forde. Their heads snapped toward me, and they moved ever so slightly.

My gaze dropped to the floor. I saw Forde’s ashen face from where he knelt on the ground.

There was blood. So much blood I felt the room spin.