Chapter 17
Kitt
“Aha! There it is. Exactly what I need!” I pull up the file, an old article about fishing practices from long ago here on the island. My foot taps with impatience as I wait for my dinosaur of a computer to load. I give her out-of-date tan top a pat. “It’s okay, girl. You’re not as flashy as a MacBook but you’re working just as hard, aren’t you?”
God, how I miss my pretty pink MacBook. And my phone. And my friends. But I’m starting to love it here, too. I glance out the window at the view I could never tire of looking at. A little shiver dances through me thinking of what happened on those hills.
Experiencing all these sensual firsts with a man, your entire body coming alive—well, there’s not much you can compare it to, is there?
I’m so over thinking about the unfairness of how I came to be in this situation, wrong place at the wrong time, then trying to do what I thought was the right thing. I’m weary from debating the Scottish law versus the Bayne laws out here. I’m worn out from worrying over my own past, things I’ve done.
So, I bake, I cook, I read, I walk the hills and the seashore alongside him at night, and I wait for him to touch me again. He’s kept me at arm’s length ever since I told him I was a virgin, like a man wearing a Hula-Hoop around his waist, orbiting around me. But I don’t give up hope on finding out more about this mysterious world of pleasure between a man and a woman.
I guess you might say I’m developing a crush. On my enemy? But take any sane, virgin woman, chase her down, and put a hot tongue between her thighs and?—
Is it hot in here? I must need more milk in my tea. I grab my mug, pattering off to the kitchen for a fresh cup.
While I’m waiting, I work. Regardless of my current situation, I find the island healing to me. I’m determined to give back. To find a way to protect this beautiful landscape while restoring the way of life of the people who have lived here so long.
And I’m almost certain I’m on the brink of something good. A plan that won’t only help the people but help myself as well. Maybe even make me valuable enough to earn my freedom.
I stand at the counter, my hip leaning against the wood countertops as if they were my own, waiting for the electric kettle to boil.
There’s a knock at the front door. Strange. Bayne would never knock on his own door, and he hasn’t told me he’s expecting anyone to come while he’s at work.
With the way he watches me—never letting me get more than two steps ahead of him on our nightly walks—I highly doubt he would send someone here when I’m home alone.
For a moment, I stand there, frozen, knowing how isolated I am in these hills, surrounded by sea and sheep and the aforementioned ponies I have yet to see. The knock comes again, soft, unintrusive. I don’t know what to do other than answer the door.
Maybe after this, Bayne will be convinced to give me my phone back so I can at least contact him while he’s gone. Funny, he’s so protective but has overlooked the fact that I have no way of calling him if there is a knock on my door in the middle of the day.
His ego has failed him.
“Coming!” I don’t feel fear as I make my way toward the door, my gut telling me I’m going to be fine. Maybe Fiona and Carol Ann have finally worked up the courage to sneak over. Surely they’ve heard from their watchful brothers that Bayne has been spending his days at the Bayne-Burnes house, the Kings’ Castle, attending to horse matters.
There’s no side window to peek out of, no peephole blemishing the smooth wood of his front door. I grip the handle, suddenly unsure if I’m making the right choice. But I want that phone. If I just tell him someone knocked, he might not believe me. I need to share more details.
“Hello?” I open the door, knowing it’s going to reveal Fiona’s smile and Carol Ann’s purple-and-black hair.
“Ah! Ms. Catherine. Exactly the face I was hoping to see.” His voice booms, echoing through the foyer.
And the last face I was expecting. “Oh. Um… hi there. Long time no see?”
He narrows his bushy gray brows at me. “I’d heard you made your way back to sunny California. Couldn’t handle our chilly summers.”
“No,” I smile, shaking my head. “I’m still here. But you know how easy it is for a rumor to get around the island.”
“I do.” He looks behind me, deeper into the house. “May I come in?”
I hesitate, my hand still on the door handle. “Um… Mr. Bayne’s not here right now. I’m not sure he’d want me to have guests.”
Scratch that. I know for a fact he wouldn’t want me to have anyone stepping foot in this house, much less the man investigating his crimes. He wouldn’t have even wanted me to come to the door in the first place.
Sensing my indecision, DI Collins presses on. “It’s just that we’ve had a call from a detective from your neck of the woods. Says he’s investigating a death. A young boy. The family thinks he was intentionally poisoned. He wanted me to ask you a few questions.” He studies my face, and I can feel the color draining from my cheeks as he does. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that. Would you?”
I feel faint, my past reaching out to grab me when I thought I was so far from it all. “Oh…”
“We spoke to your roommate in the dorms.”
“Raquel?”
“Let me see.” He slowly pulls his familiar black notebook from his breast pocket, taking his time, making me watch in agony as he flips through the pages. “Ah…No. A Rachel. She said you never did come back to the dorms that night of the party. The one the boy died at.”
My throat goes dry as my stomach drops. I think I need a lawyer. Or a bathroom.
He nudges a bit closer, his black boot dangerously close to the threshold. “And there’s still that matter of what happened at the research center. With no witnesses and every single person in this town having a solid alibi, I’m afraid I can’t get much further without your help. Don’t you think we owe it to Clive to come forward?”
Weare not living under the wrath of Mr. Bayne, Detective Collins.
And as far as Raquel telling someone this new piece of information… well, Raquel and I watched plenty of reality television end of season reunions together before she joined her sorority. I know exactly what to do when someone comes at you hard.
You turn the heat back on them.
I ask a question that’s been nagging at the back of my brain since DI Collins first came to the lodge to talk to the interns. “Why was Clive there that night? He didn’t have any reason to be at the research center. Did he?” I shake my head, pushing further. “He was never introduced to me, and I met the whole team that night at the bonfire. Clive wasn’t one of them. What was he doing at the center, anyway?”
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to push up my measly biceps in the threatening way Bayne so favors. The most I get is a subtle lift of my B cups. That could work. I push them higher. “I’m not so sure I owe Clive anything. I don’t even know the man. And like I told you?—”
A bright new voice enters the mix. “Ah! Cousin Kitty. I’m so happy to see you. Tell me, what’s the police doing here? Have you tired of my brother this soon and tossed him into the seas?”
There, standing beside a very serious looking Collins, is a bright, shining, jovial face of a good-looking boy with shaggy, dark blond hair hanging over mischievous eyes that look just like Bayne’s.
Brother? This must be Eamon! A wonderful surprise.
I play along. “Eamon. You’re late. I put the kettle on ages ago.”
“Cousins?” Collins asks.
“Distant. Romani people. From way back when my great-grandfather was still living in a caravan on the side of the road.” He moves past the detective, welcoming himself into the house. He gives the end of a lock of my hair a gentle tug. “That’s where she gets this dark hair from. Romani blood.”
He offers a kiss to my cheek and I accept, catching the clean scent of his soap.
Eamon moves to stand directly behind me, hands on his hips, making the most of his frame. “Anything else we can help you with, officer? My brother’s not too fond of strangers at the house when he’s not home. Especially with women and minors here.”
“You’ll be eighteen in days, Eamon,” DI Collins says, dryly.
“Still. I’d hate to get on my brother’s bad side.” Eamon’s tone drops to a threat. “Wouldn’t you?”
DI Collins gives Eamon a long look. Glances at me. Tips his hat to us and says, “If you think of anything, Catherine. You have my number.”
I thank him, closing and locking the door behind him.
“Catherine. That’s a pretty name.”
“I hate it,” I say, turning around to face him. “Too formal. Call me Kitt.” I walk past him, heading into the kitchen. “I did put the kettle on a minute ago. Want a cup of tea? Or I have iced tea. Your brother likes it.”
“Sounds good.” He pushes his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Bayne and I tend to like the same things.”
“I’ve heard siblings are like that,” I say. I wonder if their taste in women is similar, I can feel his young teen eyes innocently taking in my denim-clad backside as I reach into the fridge to retrieve the pitcher of tea. I get two glasses down from the cupboard. “I wouldn’t know. Only child.”
His tone is touching as he confesses, “I wouldn’t know what to do without Bayne. He raised me.” The kid is obviously way more comfortable expressing emotions than his hardened older brother.
“He told me. Your dad had a heart attack,” I say.
“Yeah. I wasn’t too sad about that, though. The man was a mean drunk. Bayne got the brunt of it, being so much older than me. He did whatever he had to do to protect me.” His blues eyes meet mine. “And I’d do the same for him.”
“Is that why you’re here? To interview me? Make sure I’m not a threat?” I tease. He’s taken a seat in the chair Bayne favors. I set a glass down in front of him, filling both our cups with ice and tea.
He thanks me, pulling his glass closer. “I’m not here to spy on you. More to protect you. We Baynes protect the ones we care about, and the ones our family cares about.”
“Bayne doesn’t care about me,” I say. A hot blush flames over my cheeks, thinking of the things his brother has done to me. “Not like that.”
“Then why is he here every night instead of drinking with us up at the big house?”
“Keeping an eye on me. I can be tricky.”
He laughs. “Good. He needs someone to keep him on his toes now that I’m not around to do it.”
I lift my glass, clinking with his. “To keeping your brother on his toes.” I take a sip. “Wait. Why aren’t you around? Do you usually live here?”
“Yeah, but I’ve been staying at the Bayne-Burnes house, the big house, you know—the Castle, with some of the fellas. Giving you lovebirds your space. I just came by to pick something up.” He takes a deep sip of the tea, pulling the glass away to examine the color. “God. This is delicious.”
The heat burns hotter in my face. “It’s not like that.”
“Only joking.” He sets his glass down.
“I don’t want to push you out. If you know I’m here, why don’t you come home? I’ll stay out of your way.” I think of the three-foot radius Bayne is currently keeping from my virginal self. “I’m getting good at staying out of people’s way.”
He eyes me, trying to read my emotions. Finally, he says, “I came because I need some help.”
Oh God. Another crime I have to cover up? I eye him with suspicion, wondering what it could be. He’s so adorable though, I’m probably gonna help him bury a body in these hills if he asks.
“With what?” I ask.
“Running my lines. Don’t tell my brother—he’d kill me—but I’ve always had this dream of being an actor. You’re from Hollywood.” He pulls a rolled-up set of papers I didn’t notice earlier from his denim jacket pocket, the ends of the white paper sticking out. “Thought you’d be the perfect person to help me.”
An hour later and an entire plate of cookies and pitcher of tea gone—him, not me—and we’re sitting on the couch together, laughing our heads off at the old stories he’s told me about the trouble Fiona and Carol Ann got into as kids and the American accent he’s trying to fake.
“Just be yourself,” I say. “Better to do no accent than a bad one. Besides, yours is beautiful.”
“Thanks. We islanders have our own, Scottish but with deeper roots.” His perfect, Hollywood-ready smile almost reaches his ears. “I like to think of it as Viking.”
“Or Romani?” I tease.
“You had the dark hair,” he says. “I had to come up with something. And it’s true. Our great-granddad was a gypsy. But you can’t say gypsy ‘cause you aren’t really in the bloodline. Cousin.”
The word “cousin” makes my face go hot and I awkwardly blurt out, “The things I’ve been doing with Bayne are not things cousins should be—oh…shoot. I can’t believe I said that.”
Eamon has such an easy way about him, he doesn’t even have to try to get you to let your guard down.
Being around him just melts your reservations away.
Like now, as he beams a reassuring grin at me. “No worries. Two good-looking single people living together. It’s bound to happen.”
“Not for me.” I shake my head, thinking about my inexperience before Bayne came into my life. I pick the papers up off the couch, totally uncomfortable having this inappropriate conversation with Eamon. “Let’s start from the beginning, but this time, just be yourself.”
“Better than myself,” he laughs. “Brickham Starfleet. Leader of the first colony on Mars.”
“There’s no reason they couldn’t write in a Scottish ancestry for your character. It is sci-fi fantasy, after all,” I say.
We’re really getting into our characters. After the strange time I’ve had, it’s fun, pretending to be Lady Starstruck, Brickham’s onscreen co-commander and budding love interest. Eamon’s good. Really good. It’s easy to run lines with him, much easier than it was with my old roommate, one of the girls who chose college in LA so her parents would pay for her education while she secretly tried to become an actress.
Rachel-slash-Raquel did not have what it takes to make it in Hollywood. Eamon does. That star quality that keeps your eyes locked on him.
We’re standing in the center of the living room, having our first fight. A lover’s spat that’s supposed to end in a kiss that we’ve already both agreed we do not need to practice.
We’re so into our characters, the heated disagreement, our fantasy world on Mars, neither one of us hears the door open.