Chapter Twelve
In which there are revelations and a lot of crying.
Scarlett…
The car ride is silent on the way back to Wallace’s house. His face is expressionless, but I think he’s processing something.
Murder Mittens is waiting by the door, looking deeply displeased. “Poor girl, you’re hungry, aren’t you?” I croon, picking her up and holding her like a baby as she wraps her tail around my arm. She agrees with a pitiful and deeply manipulative meow.
Wallace’s helpful cousin Sloan even remembered to drop off cat food, toys, and a litter box along with my clothes last night.
Murder Mittens put up her little nose at the kibble, maybe Scottish cat food tastes different, though it looks and smells the same to me.
Nonetheless, I’d slipped bites of lamb to her at lunch as she sat on my lap and Wallace had pretended not to notice.
I know Murder Mittens has won him over - at least a bit - when he pulls some chicken out of the fridge and chops it into tiny pieces.
“Here, ye wee beast. Try the chicken.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “I don’t usually give her people food. This chicken though, will make her like you. Slightly. I mean, she won’t go for your head with all her claws out.”
“Has she done that before?” Wallace leans against the counter, watching me.
“There was one time…” This shouldn’t be funny, but maybe time and distance made the memory more amusing than horrifying.
“Aye?”
“Oh, um… Well, Wicked Stepbrother #2, Steve, got completely hammered one night.
Marlena and Kyle were out of the house, and he knocked on my door.
Harder and harder until I was sure he was going to put a fist through the wood.
I picked up my old Lacrosse stick and opened the door, ready to slam it into his face.
“Murder Mittens shot past me and leaped from the floor onto his head. I’ve never seen anything like it.
He screamed and flailed around and she was shredding his face.
I finally got her off him and he ran down the hall, right into a pillar and knocked himself out.
The next day, he couldn’t remember anything about the night before, so he told his mother and brother that he got jumped outside of the club and they bought it. ”
“Murder Mittens, I’m going to feed you prime rib for a week for being an excellent guard cat.” He speaks lightly, but I can feel the fury radiating from him. “Did that gobshite ever try to go after ye again?”
“No. He just… lurked. I’d turn around and he’d be standing there like a creep.” The exhaustion of the last night and day catches up with me and I sway.
He’s next to me instantly, holding my arm. “Are ye dizzy?”
“I’m fine.” Embarrassed to look weak in front of this man, though. “I’m really tired. Can you show me where I can sleep?”
“A’course.” I follow him up the oak stairway to the second floor.
It’s as beautiful as the great room and kitchen downstairs, more warm wood, and leaded glass windows with stained glass accents- thistles on one, the moon on another, one window has a strip of stained glass with a beautiful line of tartan.
He opens a door, gesturing for me to go in.
“I brought up your box of girlie shite and your clothes. Will ye be comfortable here?”
“Comfortable? I’m never leaving this room.” There’s a king-sized bed with a wrought iron frame and a thick, blue comforter. A cushioned window seat is bracketed by two tall windows, and a fireplace is framed in antique blue and green tiles.
Of course, another fireplace.
“Bathroom’s through that door,” he points to a corner of the room, “and your closet is behind that one. Fresh towels and the like in the cabinet.” He’s close to me, looking down with concern that draws his brows together, a slight wrinkle there like he does that a lot.
“Can I bring up dinner for ye? You’ve not had enough to eat today. ”
“I’m not hungry, I promise.” I nod firmly, like that’s going to convince him. “Just really tired.” Stepping away from him, I hoist myself up on the bed. “I want to sleep and not think about anything for a while.”
“That’s nae surprise, lass.” He smiles reassuringly. Why is he so kind to me? I still don’t understand why he brought me here. “Get some sleep, aye?”
“Okay.” I’m keeping my eyes open wide so the tears hovering there won’t escape and cascade down my cheeks. I need to be stronger than this.
He’s hesitating, clearly still concerned. Murder Mittens climbs onto my lap, giving my hand a comforting little lick. “See? I have my emotional support feline.”
“My bedroom is at the end of the hall if ye need me. I’ll keep my door open.” He gives me one last smile as he shuts the door and I hear the soft tread of his boots heading toward his room.
Looking down at my kitty, lounging across my lap and getting cat hair on my sweater, I burst into a painful round of sobbing, slapping my hand over my mouth.
What the hell have I done?
“I’ll call Morgan,” I tell Murder Mittens. “She’s probably worried.”
It’s then that I realize that I don’t have a phone. I don’t have anything from home, aside from my kitty, Morgan’s necklace, and the sweater I’m getting wet because the tears keep streaming down my face.
“It’ll be better in the morning. Dad always used to say that.” Her gold and green kitty eyes stare up at me as she purrs soothingly. “We’ll get some sleep. I’ll figure it out.”
My exhaustion and that violent round of weeping sends me back onto one of the lovely, goose down pillows and I instantly fall asleep, dreaming of fire, heat, and ash. I dream of Wallace’s amber eyes, looking down at me, glowing with tiny flickers of flame.
“I need a phone.”
Wallace looks up from his fried bacon, sausages, black pudding, fried eggs, mushrooms, and scones.
He told me I needed to experience a “full Scottish breakfast.” It’s delicious, though after plowing through my meal with all the grace and manners of a farm animal, I can almost feel my arteries clogging up.
How does he stay in such spectacular shape?
“Aye, ye do.” Wiping his mouth with a nice linen napkin, he leans back in his chair. I met up with him in the hall this morning. He was sweaty, dressed in workout gear with shorts that clung to his perfect ass. Now, he’s wearing jeans and a tight black t-shirt that barely contains his biceps.
“One’s getting delivered in the next hour or so. It’s a MacTavish special.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“All the security features our tech team can devise. No one can bluebug ye.”
“Like malware?” I put down my fork, sliding the last bite of sausage down to the kitty.
“A hacker gains access by exploiting your Bluetooth vulnerabilities. There’s all kinds of ways to get into your phone,” he says, finishing his coffee. “None of them will work on MacTavish devices.”
As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door. Wallace takes the package from the courier with a polite ‘thank you.’
“One phone, as requested,” he says, giving it to me with a little flourish.
“Holy… is this an iPhone 17? People were clogging the streets in Boston, trying to get into the stores to buy one a couple of weeks ago.” It’s encased in a blue cover. Blue like the ocean, like the bay Salem surrounds.
Just a coincidence.
“Thank you, I don’t need anything fancy, though. My old iPhone 12 worked fine.”
He gives me a smile, a little one, curving the corner of his mouth. “Ye deserve nice things, Scarlett. Morgan’s number is already programmed into the phone, along with a rash of MacTavish numbers. The women will be demanding to meet ye soon, so ye may as well have all their contacts now.”
“You keep mentioning them and they still sound a little intimidating.”
“Dinnae ye worry. Call Morgan, then. I’m sure she’s raging to know you’re safe.
” Standing up, he stretches and oh, my god, it’s like his sculpted muscles are giving birth to baby muscles and it’s one hell of a show.
“I’ve got some work to do in my office. Explore the house, watch a movie. I’ll be here if ye need me.”
He’s so kind, I can feel my eyes welling up again. “Thanks, I’ll go check in with Morgan, maybe take a shower.”
His eyes flicker up and down me so fast that I almost miss it. Looking at me like he’s stripping me bare, like he can see everything I’m trying to hide.
“Aye. Ye know where I am.”
For an insane moment, I picture soaping up in the shower and the door opening, Wallace stepping in with me, naked, his skin glowing, covered in tattoos…
You cut that out right now. This is not a sex thing.
Try telling that to everything south of my waist that’s throbbing right now.
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