Chapter 48 Taran
My unease at finding Edward White at my front door increased as we drew to a stop beside him. His pale skin looked sweaty and clammy, his eyes bloodshot. There was no mistaking the frenzied nervous energy emanating off him.
“Mr. White, what are you doing here?” I asked as London unlocked the front door.
He smiled tremulously, smoothing back his oily black hair with shaky fingers.
“I was on the island to visit Mrs. Gilchrist and thought I’d come here to discuss a certain item I valued last time.
However, I’m afraid on my walk over, I began to feel rather unwell.
I don’t suppose I could bother you for a cup of tea and something sweet.
I think it might be my blood sugar levels. ”
The good Samaritan in me couldn’t deny him, even as I felt adrenaline rush through my body like it was going into fight-or-flight mode. Even as he followed me and London into the house, I wanted to turn around in objection and shove him back out.
“May I use your bathroom first?” Mr. White asked. “It’s just off the kitchen, isn’t it?”
“Sure.”
Once he’d disappeared out of sight, I took London’s arm and led her into the living room. “Are you getting vibes?” I whispered.
“I am most definitely getting vibes. Should we call someone?”
“I think I’ll call Mrs. Gilchrist when I’m supposed to be making him tea just to confirm his story.”
“No one is calling anyone.”
We spun at the unfamiliar voice.
A strange man stood next to White in the doorway.
He gripped the antiques dealer by the nape.
He was an inch or two taller than me with a shaved head and chiseled cheekbones.
The man might even have been handsome in a rough kind of way if it wasn’t for the fact that his blue eyes were dead inside.
He was also dressed completely inappropriately for autumn on the island in navy joggers, a tracksuit jacket, and trainers.
Dread roiled in my gut, but I stepped half in front of London. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”
The man shoved White into the room and followed him in, effectively blocking our exit.
Edward White was terrified. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.”
Suddenly, it was like pieces of a puzzle all slotted together in my brain. “It was you. The break-in, the kidnapping attempt in Oban?”
“Technically, that was me.” The stranger shrugged nonchalantly.
“Why? I don’t even know you.” My gaze flew to White’s as I started piecing everything together. “What item? There’s something of my mother’s that you undervalued, isn’t there?”
“Clever girl.” The stranger had a thick Glaswegian accent. “If you’d just left everything here, it wouldn’t have come to this.”
“I’m sorry, Taran.” White flinched. “I owe him a great deal of money and … the pocket watch. It’s a real Patrice Pellier. An antique like the one you own could fetch between ten and twenty million at auction. On the black market, at least five to ten million.”
“Oh my God.” London gasped at my back as my head spun with this new information.
“You’re sure?” I demanded.
He nodded. “I studied it thoroughly.”
“And you told this guy!” I waved a hand at the threatening stranger. “Why?”
“Like I said, I owe him.”
“Mr. White has a bit of a habit. I’m his dealer. But I work for a larger organization, and let’s just say I don’t want to end up in prison for them. This watch is my escape and I’ve promised I’ll wipe out Mr. White’s debt.”
“He … he said he’d kill me otherwise. I’m sorry.”
Rage rushed through me. “You slimy bastard.”
Mr. White winced and lowered his eyes.
Coward.
“Drop the phone.” A gun appeared in the stranger’s hand, and my heart lurched in my throat as he pointed it at me.
No. Not at me.
I glanced back at London who was pale and trembling. She raised her hand that had her phone in it and dropped it where he could see.
“What are you doing with that gun?” Mr. White turned toward the stranger. “Pollock, you said nothing about terrorizing these women with a gun.”
“Don’t say my fucking name!” Pollock spat, gesturing with the weapon in White’s face.
The antiques dealer raised his hands defensively. “Okay, okay. Please calm down. You promised no one would get hurt.”
“And they won’t.” His cold blue eyes turned to me. “Where is that fucking watch?”
Something dangerous and reckless rushed through me at his demand. His entitlement to my family heirloom enraged me. “What did you think you would accomplish by kidnapping me in Oban?”
“Persuade you to tell me where the watch is.” He pointed the gun in my face. “Which is exactly what you’re going to do in ten seconds or I’m going to unload this gun into someone.”
At my silence, he began counting down.
“Seven, six—I will fucking shoot one of you—five, four, three, two, one.” Pollock sneered and then turned the gun to London.
“Eenie”—then White—“Meenie”—London—“Minie… Mo.” The blast of the trigger was jarring as Edward White’s entire body jerked with the impact.
His legs gave way and he collapsed, his head smacking off my sideboard.
He clasped dazedly at his stomach as blood seeped between his fingers.
London stifled a sob behind me.
“Think I’m bluffing now, bitch?” Pollock aimed the weapon at me.
My mind raced as panic attempted to take over logic, strategy. But I needed to focus. I had to keep London safe. She hadn’t escaped all that she’d survived in New York to be shot by a moronic thief.
“Everything is in a storage facility.” I raised my palms in surrender. “I’ll take you there. Now. If you promise to leave my friend alone.”
“How far away is this storage facility?”
Nowhere on this island was near enough to save him. What did he think would happen here? That he could hide on a small island after committing a crime? This was an idiot with a bloody gun. Even his attempt to kidnap me on Oban had been pathetic.
But idiots with weapons were still dangerous.
Disdain and wrath settled over me, but I kept a lid on it.
“Twenty minutes away.”
“Does she know about it?” He pointed at London.
“No one knows about it. That’s why you haven’t been able to find the watch.”
Pollock sneered but nodded. “Kick your phones to me. Now!”
Quickly, we did just that.
“Are there any other phones?”
We shook our heads.
With a grunt, he turned around and marched over to the curtains, ripping off the curtain ties. He strode around us and pulled a dining chair out into the room. He jerked the gun at London. “Sit.”
My instincts roared to stop him, to protect her, but London squeezed my arm as she passed and sat in the chair. She winced as the imbecile roughly tied her hands behind her back.
He thought this meant he was safe?
He did realize he’d shot a gun in a residential area, right?
Numpty.
Pollock gripped my elbow in a bruising hold and hauled me out of the room. “Lòchran Dòchas!” I called over my shoulder to London.
“What the fuck is that?” He shook me angrily.
“Gaelic for I love you,” I lied.
He grunted and tugged me so hard out the door, I nearly stumbled down the stairs.
Praying one of my neighbors proved to live up to their nosiness, I struggled just enough that if they were watching, they’d know something was wrong.
Pollock shoved me into the unfamiliar black car parked in front of mine. “Tell me where we’re going.”
And so I shakily directed him to the one place that had the highest guarantee of isolation so no one else was in danger of being hurt.
I just had to hope the Leth Sholas Police would reach us in time before Pollock used that gun on me.