Chapter 5 #2
He exhaled slowly. “They're a religious organization.
Or organizations, depending on which paperwork you're looking at.
Different names. Same system. They move women, children, and entire families between communities they control.
Someone attracts attention in one country, they relocate them to another.
Someone tries to leave, they're isolated somewhere else.
New marriage. New residence. New documents.
Sometimes a medical facility if they're considered difficult.”
Cold moved through me despite the shelter overhead.
“And you think Isla found that?”
“I think she found a building altered to hide people who weren't supposed to be found.”
The hidden corridor at Blackridge Hall, the missing window at Alderwick House, and Isla's warning that the west corridor still didn't balance all flashed through my mind at once.
I swallowed.
“You said you found the same company connection.”
“Aye.”
“How?”
“That's part I can't give you yet.”
I laughed once without humor. “And there it is.”
“Skye—”
The sound of my name from him stopped me more effectively than it should have.
“You investigated me.”
“I made sure you weren't part of what took her.”
Anger surged so quickly it nearly eclipsed everything else. “You thought I was involved?”
“I didn't know you.”
“I have spent three weeks trying to get somebody to find her.”
“And people lie.”
“I don't.”
“So I learned.”
The response took some of the heat out of me before I could stop it.
“What exactly did you learn?”
“That you've called police enough times they've started recognizing your number before answering.
That you've contacted every contractor connected to Blackridge Hall.
That you've irritated at least two solicitors, one planning officer, three property managers, and a man at Calder Heritage badly enough that he filed a complaint.”
“He deserved it.”
“I read the email. He did.”
I hated the laugh that escaped me.
Irish's expression softened briefly.
Then he looked toward the arcade entrance again.
“They'll check cameras around Alderwick,” he said. “If they didn't know who you were before today, they will soon.”
“They already searched Isla's flat.”
His attention snapped back to me.
“When?”
“I don't know. After the police released it.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because they put everything back wrong.”
He stared at me.
I lifted my chin. “You read people. I read rooms.”
Something close to respect entered his eyes.
“Fair enough.”
I pulled Isla's sample label from my pocket and held it out. He took it carefully, studying the Alderwick House notation and date.
“She was there six weeks ago,” I said. “Which means Blackridge wasn't the beginning. She had already found something in Edinburgh.”
Irish handed the label back.
“And that means whoever took her may have been watching her longer than anyone realized.”
The words settled heavily between us.
I looked toward the rain beyond the arcade.
“What happens now?”
“You stop going into buildings alone.”
I turned back to him.
“Wrong answer.”
His jaw tightened.
“I have information you need,” I said. “You have information I need. I understand the plans. I know Isla's habits, her notes, the way she hides things. If she's leaving a trail, half of it will look meaningless to you.”
“I've got people who can read plans.”
“Can they tell you when a Georgian cornice was replaced twelve years ago because the plaster profile is three millimeters too shallow?”
Silence.
“Didn't think so.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I continued. “And before you say I'm a civilian and should stay out of it, remember that Isla is my family. You don't get to decide I care less because I don't wear that.” I pointed toward his cut. “You want my information? Fine. I want yours.”
“What exactly are you proposing?”
“A trade.”
“Information for information.”
“Yes.”
“And when I tell you something's too dangerous?”
“I decide whether I agree.”
“That isn't how operations work.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn't have involved an interior designer.”
A slow breath left him.
I could practically see him reconsidering every decision that had brought him to Edinburgh.
Finally he nodded once.
“Limited information.”
“For now.”
“You don't move without telling me.”
“I don't take orders.”
“You tell me before you move.”
“That I can consider.”
His eyes closed briefly.
I smiled.
He pointed at me.
“You're going to be a pain in my arse.”
“Considering we've known each other less than an hour, I think that's an impressive assessment.”
The reluctant amusement returned to his face.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere secure.”
I did not move.
Irish looked back at me.
“There are people I need you to meet,” he said. “And there are files you need to see before either of us goes anywhere near Blackridge Hall.”
That caught me.
“Your club.”
“Part of it.”
I studied him for another long moment.
Everything sensible inside me warned that walking away with a motorcycle-club member I had met inside a suspicious building belonged near the top of the list of decisions my mother would describe as catastrophically stupid.
Everything else reminded me that Callum O'Brien was the first person in twenty-three days who had looked me in the eye and spoken as though Isla's disappearance was real.
I adjusted the strap of my work bag.
“One condition.”
His expression became wary.
“I leave whenever I choose.”
Irish nodded immediately.
“No locked doors.”
Something passed through his eyes then, darker and older than the guarded man standing before me.
“No locked doors,” he agreed.
I followed him into the rain, not because I trusted him yet, but because for the first time since Isla disappeared I had found someone who not only believed there was something worth searching for but seemed to understand that bringing her home would require looking behind every wall someone had ordered us to ignore.
And if Irish and his mysterious American motorcycle club truly knew what was hidden behind those walls, then I intended to learn everything they did.