Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-seven
Achnasheen district, Western Scottish Highlands
The cottage Dane rented on the northwest coast of Scotland is charming.
It’s by itself down a little road, a solitary white rectangle with a thatched roof, overlooking the bay.
There’s a large expanse of grass leading downhill toward the water.
Generous flower boxes perch under each window, with fat pink petunias spilling out.
Dane drops his bags inside the great room, on the first floor, which is the living room, dining room, and kitchen all in one.
He checks the wood-burning fireplace. The good thing about this rental, besides the wild beauty of the coast, is that the driveway is gravel, so at least we’ll be able to hear anyone approaching.
I put my own bags down and explore. I climb steep, narrow stairs to the creaky-floored second level. There’s a bedroom with a queen-size bed and a little window with a nice view of the bay.
The second bedroom is closet size, with what appears to be a toddler’s cot shoved against the wall. I have to laugh, but I’m not bothered. I’d be the world’s biggest liar if I said I’m not looking forward to sleeping beside him at night.
A bathroom is the only other room up here, and it features a magnificent and enormous claw-foot tub, big enough for two. An image flashes of Dane and me folded into it, my head draped back over his shoulder. I feel my cheeks warm with desire.
Dane snorts from down the hall. I turn and find him looking at the child’s room. “This is exactly our luck.”
“And there’s no shower,” I say. “There’s a claw-foot bathtub.”
“At least it has running water.” He’s been cheerful since we left Edinburgh.
He said he loves the open space out here, the lack of civilization, and he’s been grinning since we got through the traffic of Inverness.
I follow him downstairs and put away the few groceries we picked up from a village market on the way here.
His phone pings, and he pulls it out, then swipes and taps. “Ah. Here we go. Someone accessed the dummy website. They entered the PIN 1982.”
I swallow. I still feel weird that we put a hit on a real human being. I remind myself that it’s us or Allard. “So he has the kill order.”
“If he can decipher it.” Dane’s tone is playful because of our earlier argument over the dancing-men cipher. I shoot him a little smile, and he grins back.
The plan is in motion. When we stopped for gas in Inverness, Dane duct-taped my phone under the front bumper of a car that had pulled into the gas station from the opposite direction we were traveling in.
We watched as the driver exited the gas station and continued south toward Fort William.
I’d wanted to ditch the phone in Edinburgh, but Dane argued that if the tracker showed a sudden stop there rather than movement, Eric and Allard might realize that we had discovered it.
I wasn’t sure that it mattered, but on principle I don’t want them having any information about our whereabouts.
A weight lifted from me as I watched my phone drive away.
“I’m going to go set up the tent and make sure it’s all intact,” he says in that excited tone he has when he’s talking about his camping gear.
Tomorrow we’ll hike out to Loch na Sealga, where we’ll camp for the night.
The day after that is June 5, but we don’t yet know what we’re looking for.
I feel the pressure keenly. I have to solve this puzzle tonight.
Dane takes the tent out to the lawn in front of the house and goes to work on it.
I should take the time to work on the puzzle—I didn’t get far on the way—but I can’t help but watch him.
He’s absorbed in the task, beautiful in his concentration.
Every time I look at him I feel that bone-deep attraction, and I’m beginning to wonder why I don’t simply kiss him again and see what happens.
■ ■ ■
I call my sister using Dane’s phone. Eric’s call in Edinburgh left me a little rattled even though Dane and I agree that was his goal.
“You really, really could have texted or called before now,” Christine says in her typical acerbic way.
She gets it from our mother, who was the polar opposite of our easy-going, fun-loving father.
Despite my worry over my sister, her tone immediately reminds me why we don’t talk much.
“Do you have any idea the amount of shit I’ve had to wade through to keep tabs on you? ”
“What do you mean?” Outside, Dane has the tent up. It’s ridiculously small, clearly made for hanging off the side of a mountain. I don’t know how both of us are going to fit in it. “What tabs?”
“I’ve had to talk to Eric, and I hate talking to him,” she says. “I’ve had to be in too frequent contact with him and God, he’s insufferable.” She makes a blueghh sound. “He’s been calling me incessantly. Please tell me it’s completely over between you two.”
“It’s extremely over. I’ve stopped taking his calls, and you should too. Just block him.”
“I will. I don’t know how you put up with him for so long. I know, I know, we’re not going to dwell on it, but he’s just so odious. And God, he’s mad, Zo. Whoever this guy is you’re working with? Eric haaaaates him.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I know.”
“I got your stuff out of his condo. He was really insistent about it, telling me that I had to go the day before yesterday. He’s not even in town and had to give me the door code.
He’s still in Europe! Asshole. And he said you’re playing some game and you’re being dumb about it and you won’t trust him or let him help.
That guy talks way too much—he was asking me about my work and how I like my company.
I’m like, I write code, what is there to like?
I don’t get paid enough, and I sit in male-dominated stand-ups every day.
I don’t know if he was trying to butter me up or what, but it was weird. ”
“How’s the furniture restoring going?” Part of me asks because of my earlier worry, as silly as it was. “Any good pieces lately?”
“I found a mid-century credenza on the street last week that I’m pretty sure is teak. It’s in terrible shape, which is great. I can’t believe whoever had it threw it out. Anyway, back to the point: What’s this game Eric was talking about? Or by playing, does he mean you’re toying with him?”
I smile because Christine cannot be deterred when she wants to discuss something. “He means I’m toying with him,” I say, burying the little ping of guilt at lying. “He’s mad I broke up with him. It’s the usual self-centered bullshit from him.” It isn’t untrue.
“Are you safe?” Her tone is serious. It’s a callback to the months after our parents died, when she was trying to figure out how to be an adult responsible for someone else—me—and she would constantly ask me if I was safe.
“I’m fine.” No point in saying there are people after us and a trail of bodies—and parts. “I appreciate you getting my stuff for me.”
“Well.” Christine doesn’t do loving overtures; she resorts to gruffness.
“Any more issues with the house?” I ask to change the subject again.
“You mean apart from the roof that’s about to cave in? One more rain and it might. Last week I put my foot through the rotten back porch, so that’s great. Can’t repair that either. So yeah, I mean, we’re still on track to lose the place, no status change there.”
I want to sigh, but I understand the worry she’s feeling.
She might bring in a tech salary as a software engineer, but we live in the Bay Area and she can’t afford the huge repairs the house needs on top of her normal living expenses.
The restored furniture she sells can’t cover big-ticket items like a new roof or foundation repair.
I badly want to tell her that she can stop worrying, that I’m going to win this challenge and the money will fix the house and every other financial concern she has, but I don’t want to promise something I might not deliver.
She and I might not be close, but I can’t stand the thought of letting her down after everything she’s done for me.
“Where are you?” she asks. “Eric said you left Spain and you were in France. You promise you’re okay, Zo?”
“I promise. I’m okay, really. I’m safe. I’m not in Spain or France.”
“Where, then?”
I look at Dane, who’s slid into the tent. I can see his shoes sticking out of the doorway, like he’s lying down in there and imagining himself on the mountain. It’s so damn cute.
I decide to tell her where we are. Dane’s phone isn’t being tracked, and mine is gone; we’re close to the end of this mad game. “We’re in the Scottish Highlands, on the coast. And you can’t tell anyone.”
“We, huh.” She snickers. “You and the guy Eric’s so pissed off about?”
It pleases me that Eric is annoyed. I don’t care that he’s jealous, but I think deep down he knows he lost something good.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s—”
“Complicated?” She laughs again. “You falling in love out there in Scotland?”
Outside, Dane has gotten out of the tent and is checking the tethering cords. I watch him, wondering if that could be remotely true. Affection floods me again.
“I don’t know him well enough for that,” I say finally. “But it’s something.”
“Any idea when you’ll be back?”
I bite my lip. I’ve given her too many details as it is. I have to rely on her utter repugnance for Eric to keep them to herself. “Soon. I can’t be more exact right now, but I’ll update you when I can.”
“Okay. I can hear it in your voice, you know. You sound…confident and happier than I’ve heard you sound in a long time.”
I don’t know how she picks that out of the maelstrom of anxiety and dread making up my blood type these days, but she’s not totally wrong. Dane or no Dane, this trip has opened my eyes. “I appreciate that. Listen, I have to go, but—”
“Call me for any reason, okay?” Christine says. “I love you.”
I’m shocked. I don’t think my sister and I have ever said that to each other.
“I love you too.” I want to tell her I’m playing this game for her, for the house. But it wouldn’t be totally true, anyway.
I’m also playing for me.