Chapter 32
Heather—Present Day
H e lunged before she could think of anything clever to yell.
“FLYNN! BEHIND YOU!”
The crowbar screamed against gravel as it swung. It clipped Flynn’s shoulder instead of his head, but the impact sent him staggering sideways. He snarled, teeth bared, blocking the next blow with his forearm, pain tearing a sound from his chest that wasn’t quite human.
Heather didn’t hesitate.
She grabbed the wrench that had fallen from the truck and swung with everything she had—no form, no fear, just instinct honed by a lifetime of bracing for the worst.
Metal met bone.
The man folded with a wet groan, collapsing into the mud like dropped weight.
Rain hammered the yard. Lightning split the sky, white and violent.
Flynn turned toward her, breath ragged. “Holy hell, Heath—”
“He was going to kill you,” she panted.
“Aye.” Flynn seized David Kerr by the collar and dragged him toward the porch, wincing. “Not tonight.”
Inside, Glenoran smelled of wet wool, smoke, and old stone; the kind of house that remembered more than it revealed.
Flynn shoved Kerr into the wingback by the hearth. The second man lay near the hall, groaning softly, wrists cinched tight with a ratchet strap.
Kerr sagged in the chair, blood streaking his mouth, one eye already swelling shut. He smiled anyway.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he rasped. “None of you do.”
Flynn loomed. “Start talking. Who sent you?”
Kerr chuckled, then winced. “You think this ends with me? Christ.” He spat blood onto the floorboards. “You’re all so earnest. It’s almost admirable. Cute, even.”
Heather stepped forward—not rushing, not shaking. The fury in her wasn’t loud. It was precise.
“Who was in my house tonight?” she asked slowly.
Kerr’s gaze slid to her, sharp now. Assessing. “You,” he said, wagging his index finger, “are not what I expected.”
“No,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. “I’m worse.”
His mouth twitched. “We’re tired, Campbell. Tired of losing what should be ours.”
Flynn’s hand fisted in Kerr’s collar. “Say that again.”
Heather lifted a hand.
Flynn stopped.
Kerr studied her more closely. Recognition sparked, and with it, something darker.
“You’re her daughter,” he spat. “Same eyes. That… hair . Same way of standing like the room owes you answers.”
“Don’t speak about my mother,” Heather said.
“She was reckless,” Kerr replied lightly. “Brilliant, sure, but reckless. Always poking where she shouldn’t. Always convinced she was the cleverest person in the room.”
Heather didn’t flinch. “She was careful.”
Kerr paused.
Just long enough.
“She thought she was,” he corrected. “Thought she could play custodian of history. Guardian of the truth.” His lip curled. “She panicked when she realized how far in she was.”
“You threatened her,” Heather said.
“I warned her.”
“You followed her.”
“I monitored her.”
“You killed her.”
Kerr laughed bitterly. “Is that what you need me to say?”
Heather stepped closer. Close enough now that he could see himself reflected in her eyes.
“No,” she said quietly. “Not unless it’s the truth.”
The fire crackled. Rain rattled the windows.
“She ran,” Kerr said, irritation creeping in. “Went to Arkaig like a fool. Thought the loch would protect her.”
“She didn’t fall in,” Heather said as the truth dawned on her in horror.
Kerr’s eyes flicked to hers.
“She slipped,” he snapped. “She lost her footing.”
“You grabbed her,” Heather grated out as her heart sunk.
“I tried to save the notes.”
“You grabbed her.”
His jaw tightened.
“She wouldn’t let go,” he said. “She dragged me in.”
“And you surfaced… she didn’t,” Heather whispered.
Silence.
Flynn moved. Heather caught his sleeve without looking.
Kerr leaned forward, eyes bright now. Almost fevered.
“She wouldn’t let go,” he repeated. “So I held her under.”
The words hit the room like a dropped blade. All the air rushed from her lungs in a pained gasp. The world spun, zeroing in on him, on his words, on her mother.
“You drowned her,” Heather hissed.
Kerr shrugged, correcting a technicality. “No time for heroics. We staged it. The car. The story.” His mouth twisted. “People prefer accidents. They sleep better.”
The slap landed before Kerr finished blinking.
The sound cracked through the room.
Heather stood there breathing hard, her hand stinging, her voice steady as stone.
“You killed my mother,” she sneered. “and you came back to take what she died protecting.”
Kerr wiped blood from his lip with a scowl, “You think you’re stopping anything? This is bigger than you. Bigger than me. The museum. The money. The gold—it’s restitution.”
Heather laughed once. No humor in it.
“You’re not historians,” she said. “You’re grave robbers with credentials.”
For the first time, Kerr’s smile faltered.
“You don’t have it,” he said. “If you did, you’d already be bargaining.”
Heather met his gaze.
“You weren’t thorough enough,” she said. “You left things behind.”
Hatred flared hot and naked in his eyes.
Flynn growled as he grabbed the intruder by his collar. “That’s enough.”
Police sirens cut through the rain—close now.
Heather turned from Kerr and placed her palm against the hearthstone. Beneath soot and centuries, the faint thistle carving caught the firelight.
“If the thistle endures,” she whispered, “follow it home.”
Behind her, Kerr slumped back in the chair—quiet now, finally understanding what he’d lost.
The hunt hadn’t ended.
It had only changed hands.