Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
CAT
The Glen Garve Resort swimming pool is everything you’d expect from a luxury establishment: crystal-clear water, elegant blue tiles, and not a hint of the heavy chlorine smell I remember from the public pools down in Glasgow. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dancing patterns across the water’s surface as David and I wade in.
“This is the life,” he sighs, sinking up to his shoulders. He’s rocking pink swimming shorts that are as loud and cheerful as he is. “Considering Johnny works at the resort, it’s criminal he and I don’t relax here more often. Mind you, if we did, we’d probably just end up in the bubble pool, making out like teenagers.”
I splash water at him. “Too much information, thank you very much.”
“Oh, please.” David rolls his eyes. “As if you’re some innocent wee lamb.”
I laugh then turn and tip backwards so I’m floating on my back. The ceiling above is painted with clouds that seem to drift lazily across an azure sky. It’s peaceful here, the kind of place where you can forget all your troubles and just... exist.
But today isn’t about relaxation. We’re here on a mission.
I straighten and plant my feet on the tiles beneath me. “I know we’ve been through this,” I say, keeping my voice low, even though there’s only one other couple in the pool and they’re way too busy chilling to pay us any attention. “But... Operation Undercover Spy kicks off at one, right?”
David nods then ducks under the water. When he resurfaces, droplets cascade down his face. “Yep. That’s when Samantha takes her lunch break, and Johnny said she’ll be out of her office for at least twenty minutes, probably more. More than enough time for us to have a snoop around her things and see if we can’t find anything incriminating.”
I glance at the ornate clock mounted on the wall. Half past eleven. No rush.
“I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” I say, half-excited, half-terrified. “If we get caught...”
“We won’t.” David’s tone is breezy, though I can’t tell if he’s genuinely confident or just putting on a brave face. “ Anyway , let’s talk about something else, like... oh, I don’t know, you and Robbie. I couldn’t help but notice some interesting tension between you two yesterday.”
“Oh?” I aim for nonchalance but miss by a mile.
“C’mon, Cat, your underwear was on his floor. Care to explain how it got there?”
I open my mouth then shut it again, and suddenly I’m fascinated by the ripples in the water. But who am I kidding? There’s no way I’m keeping this to myself. So, a smile creeping onto my lips, I meet David’s gaze again. “Let’s just say I got acquainted with his below-the-belt piercing in a rather intimate way. In the middle of the woods, no less. But he didn’t even return the favour! Just asked for my knickers then walked off with them like they were some kind of trophy.”
David lets out a low whistle. “Okay, I need more details. Wait—no, I don’t. That’s my boyfriend’s brother! I shouldn’t want to know about Robbie’s... hardware. I may have teased him yesterday about it to his face, but I really shouldn’t gossip behind his back.” David taps his chin. “And yet ...”
I snort. “How about I leave it at this: it wasn’t exactly a romantic stroll in the moonlight. It was... intense.”
David grins wickedly. “Oh, I bet it was.”
“But that was Friday,” I say, shifting gears. “Yesterday, the way I view Robbie changed a bit.”
David cocks his head. “How so?”
I hesitate, thinking back to the clootie well, to Robbie’s quiet confession. “Robbie mentioned something about his maw, about how he wished she’d treated him more like how she treated Johnny. It made me realise there’s so much more to him than I thought.”
David’s playful demeanour slips away, replaced by something gentler. “Ah. Fiona.”
“Has Johnny spoken about her? I know she left when Robbie and Johnny were young, but I was even younger, so I barely remember her.”
David paddles over to the pool’s edge and props his elbows up on the tiles, water beading on his arms. I follow suit.
“Johnny’s told me bits here and there. She... struggled. She was quite a bit younger than Craig—had Robbie when she was barely out of her teens.”
“That is young,” I agree.
“Some people do just fine becoming parents at that age. Others, though, aren’t ready for the responsibility, and Fiona fell into the second category. From what I understand, she felt trapped. Craig was working all hours here at the resort, and there she was, stuck at home with a baby, and then another one a few years later. Small town, no career, just nappies and housework day after day.”
I think about my own maw, how she managed to balance running the hotel with raising four children. But she had my da, and they were a team. Plus, she chose that life—she wasn’t thrust into motherhood before she was ready.
“And Fiona... took things out on Robbie?” I ask carefully.
David nods. “Johnny says she’d compare them constantly. ‘Why can’t you be more like your little brother?’ That sort of thing. Johnny was the ‘easy’ child—quiet, obedient. Robbie was... well, Robbie. And he got the blame for everything, whether it was his fault or not.”
I think about the man I’ve come to know the past week and a half. Guarded. Defensive. Quick to assume the worst in people. It makes a painful sort of sense now.
“Johnny only hears from her every now and then,” David goes on. “A text on his birthday, maybe a call at Christmas. She travels a lot. Has flings. Lives this wild, free life—the complete opposite of what she had here.”
I fiddle with the strap of my bikini top, letting David’s words sink in. “So she just... left them? To go live her best life?”
“Pretty much,” David says with a small shrug. “Left them both behind for adventures and hot men in hotter climates.”
Something uncomfortable shifts in my stomach. I think about my own life—the wild nights out in Glasgow, the string of casual hook-ups, the constant chase for the next thrill. My Project Bang a Bad Boy plan suddenly seems not just mortifying but cruel.
“God, I feel awful,” I mumble.
David lifts an eyebrow. “About what?”
“When I first saw Robbie again, I literally made a plan called Project Bang a Bad Boy. I even told Maisie and Iona about it.” I cringe at the memory. “I treated the whole thing like it was a challenge, something to spice up my return home to Bannock. Didn’t even think of him as a real person.”
David’s expression softens. “Cat?—”
“Chasing excitement, not caring about who gets hurt along the way... not so different from Robbie’s maw, right?”
“Cat,” David says firmly, “there’s a world of difference between being young and wanting a bit of fun, and abandoning your children because you resent the life you’ve built. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
I sigh. “Maybe, but it still feels wrong now. What if what Robbie really wants isn’t some wild fling, but someone stable? Someone who won’t leave him, the way his mother did?”
David doesn’t answer right away, and I can tell he’s genuinely considering my words.
“I’ve been thinking,” I continue, “if I keep pursuing Robbie, it can’t be because I want a bit of fun with the town bad boy. It has to be because I genuinely care about him.” I pause, struck by the truth of what I’m saying. “And I think I do care about him. These past few weeks, I’ve seen beyond his reputation, and... I like what I see.”
“Well,” David says with a small smile, “that sounds like growth to me. Johnny would be thrilled to hear you talking like this about his brother, by the way. He worries about Robbie—says he’s too isolated, too stuck in his own head.”
I think about Robbie in his secluded cottage, with his motorcycle and his punchbag and his walls built so high that hardly anyone gets to see the man behind them. The man who stopped fighting after witnessing death. The man who saved my brother’s life.
“Robbie deserves better than being someone’s rebellious phase,” I say.
“He does,” David agrees. “And for what it’s worth, I think you two might actually be good for each other. Yesterday, when he was looking at you... I don’t know. There was something there I haven’t seen before.”
My chest flutters for reasons entirely unrelated to our impending spy mission. “Really?”
“Really. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, we need to clear his name.” David glances at the clock. “Speaking of which, we should probably hit the steam room and sauna before our little... investigation. Make it look like we’re actually here for the facilities.”
I nod, pushing away from the edge. “Race you to the steam room?”
“You’re on, McIntyre.”
We splash towards the steps, our laughter echoing off the high ceiling.
* * *
After the steam room and sauna, David and I meet up in the resort’s plush lobby, both of us dressed in our normal clothes again. My hair is still damp from the shower, and water occasionally drips onto my collar, but I barely notice. My stomach is too busy tying itself in knots.
David glances around and then lowers his voice so only I can hear him. “Ready for phase two?” He’s wearing a navy-blue polo shirt with tiny embroidered flamingos on the collar, his idea of understated spy attire.
I nod then take out my phone and open the staff corridor layout Robbie sent me earlier. “Just to confirm what we’re doing...” I tilt the screen so David can see it. “Samantha’s office is here, just past the locker rooms. And we access the staff area from here.”
Despite the knots in my stomach, excitement builds inside me. This is the kind of thrill I used to chase in Glasgow—snogging strangers in dark corners, getting up to no good on sticky dance floors, dancing on tables when I’d had one too many. But this time, the stakes are higher than being chucked out of a nightclub.
“Let’s go,” I say, tucking my phone away.
We casually make our way through the resort’s grand hallways, past guests lounging in armchairs and staff carrying trays of drinks. I saunter along like if I’m heading for a hot stone massage and not about to channel my inner cat burglar.
As planned, we find Johnny near the entrance to the staff corridor. When he spots us, his eyes light up with perfectly feigned surprise.
“David! What are you doing here?” He pulls his boyfriend into a hug before turning to me. “And Cat! What a lovely surprise.”
I bite back a smile at his acting. For someone who’s supposed to be a rule follower, Johnny’s quite good at this subterfuge business. Only... there’s no one else around in this part of the resort, so it seems a little unnecessary.
“We’ve just been enjoying the spa facilities,” David says, playing along. “The steam room was divine.”
Johnny leans in, ostensibly to give David another hug, and whispers, “I’ve checked. Samantha’s not in her office, and the locker rooms are empty. Most of the staff are helping with a wedding, so the corridor should be quiet.”
He glances around to confirm we’re alone then swipes his keycard against the reader. The door unlocks with a soft click.
“There’s CCTV in the corridor, but it’s not actively monitored. They only check the footage if something goes wrong.” Johnny holds the door open for us. “So don’t let anything go wrong.”
I nod, my mouth suddenly dry.
“And if you do get caught,” he adds, his expression serious, “please leave me out of it. The last thing Robbie needs is for the police to think I’m interfering with their investigation.”
“We’ll be careful,” I promise.
He nods, but I can’t help but notice the tension tightening his shoulders. “Good luck.” He ushers us through then walks off, allowing the door to click shut again behind us.
“Right,” David says, his usual cheerful demeanour replaced with steely resolve. “Let’s do this.”
We move quickly down the corridor, our shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum, a far cry from the soft hush of the guest hallways. My heart is thumping like mad. If anybody clocks us back here, there’ll be questions I absolutely cannot answer. But luck is on our side: the corridor remains deserted all the way to Samantha’s office. David opens her door and we slip inside.
The office is small but neat, with a large desk dominating the space. There’s a window behind it that looks out onto the resort’s gardens, and a cupboard against one wall. A few framed certificates hang on display: management qualifications and employee of the month awards.
I eye the window. If someone wanders past, we’ll be busted faster than you can say “criminal mastermind”. I dare a quick peek through it, but it’s clear outside. For now.
“I’ll keep watch,” David says, positioning himself by the door. “You search.”
I nod and approach the desk, my fingers tingling with nervous energy. This is it, our chance to find something that proves Robbie didn’t commit the thefts.
I start with the drawers, carefully sliding each one open. The first contains standard office supplies—pens, paper clips, sticky notes. The second is filled with resort paperwork—schedules, inventory lists, nothing interesting.
When I open the third drawer, though, I hit the jackpot. There’s a leather-bound planner, and when I flip it open, several folded papers fall out. Bills, by the look of them. I scan through them quickly: credit card statements with eye-watering balances, utility bills marked final notice , a letter from a debt collection agency.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, flipping through more pages. “David, I was actually right. She’s in serious financial trouble.”
Mixed in with the bills are receipts for luxury purchases: a nine-hundred-pound handbag, the latest phone, a weekend “wellness retreat” down south. There’s also a receipt for shoes that cost more than I spend on food in a month. Samantha’s living well beyond her means, trying to maintain a lifestyle she clearly can’t afford.
“This is it,” I say, excitement bubbling up. “This is the motive. She needed money, and this proves it.”
I pull out my phone and take photos of the evidence, flipping through pages as quickly as I can while still making sure the images are clear.
“Cat!” David hisses suddenly. “Footsteps. Someone’s coming. Hide, quick!”
I fumble with the planner, trying to shove it back into the drawer, but unhelpfully, my fingers have gone clumsy with panic. The footsteps are getting louder. Two sets of them, moving quickly.
David darts across the room and squeezes into the cupboard, pulling the door almost closed. I try to follow, but one glance tells me there’s no way we’ll both fit. It’s barely big enough for David alone.
The footsteps are right outside the door now. In a moment of desperation, I dive under the desk and tuck myself into the cramped gap where your legs are meant to go, yanking the chair in after me. I realise I’ve left the drawer slightly open, and the planner might not be exactly where I found it, but there’s no time to fix it.
The door opens with a soft creak, and I hold my breath, praying I won’t be seen. As long as no one walks around this side of the desk—or decides they fancy sitting down—I should be fine. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Both sets of footsteps enter the office, the sharp click-clack of high heels closely followed by a heavier, more deliberate tread.
“We have to be quick,” a woman says. Samantha, I assume. “I’ve got to inspect the bridal suite in fifteen minutes, and if it’s not perfect, today’s bridezilla will have my head.”
“Quick is my speciality,” a man jokes, and they both snigger like teenagers.
There’s a soft thump above my head, followed by a jangle of keys. A handbag dropped onto the desk, perhaps. Then, to my horror, I catch a flash of black tights and killer heels through the gap between chair and desk. Samantha moves to the window and fiddles with the blinds, then shadows swallow the room.
Now another set of legs appears, these ones masculine and in practical navy work trousers. The pair giggle again, then comes a soft thud—someone being lifted or pushed against the desktop.
“In your office again?” the man murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “You really do like living dangerously.”
Samantha lets out a breathy laugh. “Don’t pretend it wasn’t your idea in the first place. Besides, the risk of getting caught makes it all the more exciting.”
“True. Plus, there’s something about you in your natural habitat, where you’re always telling people what to do... it drives me mad, you know?”
Oh God. This is not happening. I’m not hiding under a desk while our prime suspect gets it on with some bloke right above me. Except... I am, and it absolutely is happening. So I can add voyeurism to today’s list of misdemeanours. Brilliant.
There’s a rustle of fabric—a skirt being hiked up?—then the sharp whisper of a zip being undone. Shoes scuff dangerously close to my hiding spot. The air fills with soft moans and stifled laughter, the sort that definitely wouldn’t pass muster at a staff meeting.
I squeeze my eyes shut, except that only seems to make my other senses sharper. The smell of lilies from Samantha’s perfume. Their voices getting breathier and less coherent.
Oh God. This has to be the most mortifying moment of my life, and that’s saying something, considering some of the situations I found myself in during my uni days.
The desk jolts suddenly, and I bite my lip to keep from yelping. Then an urgent rhythm builds: creaking wood, scraping shoes, Samantha’s increasingly theatrical sighs (“God yes!”, “More!”, “Harder!”). My only comfort is all this noise probably means they won’t hear me quietly dying under here.
Suddenly there’s a loud clatter. I crack open an eye to see a handbag has toppled off the desk, spilling its contents across the floor: lipsticks, receipts, coins, a compact mirror, among other things.
“Oops,” Samantha laughs breathlessly, but neither of them stops what they’re doing.
My gaze snags on a piece of paper that must have fallen out the handbag—not because I’m particularly interested in Samantha’s shopping lists, but because looking at it is infinitely preferable to looking up. But, even from my awkward angle, certain details leap out at me. There are initials scrawled across it. “RM” appears more than once.
RM... Robbie MacDonald?
My heart rate spikes. I squint harder, trying to make out more of the note without moving from my hiding spot. There seems to be some kind of timeline or schedule on it, and then—my breath catches—I spot the name “Ashford”. That’s the guest whose watch was the first item to go missing. This could be the evidence I’ve been looking for!
My fingers itch to reach out and grab the note. Too risky? But they’re distracted, right? Just as I’m considering making a desperate lunge for it, Samantha and her companion shift positions again, and I hurriedly withdraw my hand.
The desk shudders violently, as though they’re determined to win a prize for Most Inappropriate Use of Office Furniture. Samantha gasps loudly, followed by a responding grunt from her mystery man as he... well... finishes what he set out to do.
Silence falls, except for their ragged breathing and my internal wailing for mercy.
“That was...” Samantha trails off, still catching her breath.
“Aye,” the man agrees eloquently.
Then comes the moment I’ve been dreading. Samantha crouches to scoop up her scattered possessions. I freeze completely, not even daring to blink. The chair may be mostly shielding me, but if I so much as twitch, I’m toast.
Thankfully, she seems distracted, adjusting her skirt as she hurriedly crams spilled items back into her bag. When she reaches for the note, though, her hand hovers over it for a second, like she’s surprised to see it. Then she snatches it up too.
“Bugger, look at the time! I need to run.” She stands, and I hear the soft snap of a mirror opening, then the slick click of a lipstick cap. A faint powdery scent drifts down as she dabs at her face with something, then comes the spritz-spritz of perfume. The blinds are whisked open again, flooding the room with light and spilling across my contorted shape beneath the desk.
Please don’t look down, please don’t look down, please don’t ? —
Miraculously, neither does. Footsteps retreat towards the door, and with a click, it closes behind them.
I remain utterly still, not moving or breathing or existing at all. It’s like time itself has stopped out of respect for my dignity’s passing.
At last, David stumbles out from his cupboard sanctuary. He pulls back the chair, crouches, then mouths at me, “What. Just. Happened?”
I groan, scrubbing both hands over my face before wriggling out from under the desk. My whisper comes out fierce and ragged: “I thought we were searching for evidence of theft, not playing accidental extras in an office-based porno!”
He grins then quickly sobers when he realises I’m actually shaking.
“I saw a note,” I murmur, frustration knotting my insides. “It fell out of her bag. I saw Ashford’s name on it, and RM.”
“Robbie MacDonald?” David asks.
“My thoughts exactly. It definitely looked dodgy, but she scooped it up before I could grab it.”
“Shit. Actually, do you think she put it back in there?” He points and—small miracle!—what’s sitting on the desk but Samantha’s handbag? She left it behind.
I pounce on it and rifle through it, searching for that crucial note, but... it’s not here.
No, it has to be. I search again. For a head of housekeeping who supposedly has a reputation for orderliness, she sure keeps a lot of junk in her handbag, but the note is definitely not among its contents.
“She must have pocketed it,” I say at last, defeated. “It’s probably halfway through a shredder now, or being burned as we speak.” A hot flush of failure prickles up my neck. We were so close! Close enough to smell her perfume and hear every mortifying noise.
“Absolute disaster,” David whispers. “But we need to go. We’ve been here too long.”
He’s right, so we slip out into the corridor and make our escape, my legs still trembling from both the cramped position and the sheer mortification of what I just endured.
I really hope Robbie appreciates what we’ve gone through for him. Because some things, once seen—or heard—can’t be forgotten.
Ever.