Chapter one #2
In the world she lives in, women are the property of their father until transferred to their husband.
It’s just the way it is. Autonomy is not celebrated in the Devane family.
Due to the ongoing issues within the family's darker business and their strict rules, she had been told not to go. In response to this, Tilly climbed out of her bedroom window and snuck out via the rear garden—something I’m certain she has done multiple times before.
Attached to the email is video footage from a perimeter CCTV showing her being picked up by a black Toyota pickup with darkened windows.
The registration plate reads TYE 56. As I read on, the email details the information on the vehicle's owner: Reece Calder, a man of a similar age to Tilly.
He attends the same community college and studies horticulture.
Miss Devane is a budding artist and is studying sculpture.
The pair isn’t known to be in a relationship, but they’ve been in the same friendship group since school.
Hunter’s team tracked the car as far as the Scottish border, but it was lost when it diverted off the motorways and onto country roads.
The only reason it is suspected the Highlands are their destination is that the Calder family spend their summers in Scotland and own a property near Inverness.
It seems a sensible assumption to make, but working in the world I do, practical conclusions aren’t always the case.
After re-reading the information, I pack a bag with all my essentials for a few days and head for my car to make the long drive north to Scotland, a place I once called home.
***
A small white cottage sits on the roadside.
When cars drive past the windows, they are reflected in the old, smoked-up glass.
The slate roof, covered in snow, warps in the center as the ancient beams give way to weight and age.
I tracked the pickup as far as here, Tracey’s, a small café on the outskirts of Inverness.
My friend in the police department located the vehicle while it drove through Glasgow and followed it to this point.
It’s gone now, but hopefully, someone will have information I can use.
As I lift my hand to knock on the short, painted red door, it creaks open. “What do you want?” an elderly female voice growls behind it. “We’re closed. It’s the Christmas holidays.”
“I’m not looking for service, ma’am,” I reply as professionally as possible. “Only some information if you possess it. Did a black pickup truck stop here yesterday?”
“Yesterday was Christmas day,” she spits back. “Do you people not take holidays?”
“I’m aware of that, ma’am,” I advise, unsure who the “people” she is referring to are.
This woman is vile. She hasn’t even fully opened the door, and I can almost taste the venom.
“However, there are concerns for the young woman's safety in the company of a twenty-two-year-old man. We followed their journey as far as your property. The road safety cameras indicate they stopped at this location for ten minutes.” She snorts with laughter.
“I can assure you that girl, as you call her, is in no danger. She and three lads appeared here on Christmas afternoon, rattling on my windows, looking for food. They were shouting obscenities when I refused to answer the door.”
Tilly sounds as charming as ever. Every inch the little princess.
Not. “The last I saw of them, she was standing in the back of the truck with her arms in the air, cackling like a witch.”
“Did you see where they went?”
“Away from the city, I would suspect towards the old estate.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask, surprised by her volunteering a suggestion but relieved it is the intelligence I was expecting.
“Whenever there are problems in the area, the Calder family are at the bottom of it. Groups of youths racing around in fancy cars tend to mean they are back for the holidays.”
“Did you recognize any of the group?”
“No,” she says sharply. “Now, leave me alone and go bother someone else.”
The minuscule gap in the door disappears.
I return to my car, a small, inconspicuous silver Volvo.
It helps me maintain my anonymity and blend in on an assignment.
The black flying machine in my garage at home is my pride and joy, but it can only be used when I’m off duty.
“Thanks for your help,” I mutter grumpily as I open the driver’s door. The information she gave me is what I hoped to be told. However, tracking down Tilly Devane within twenty-four hours and finding her where I expected to is deflating. I’d hoped this job would fill more of my endless time.
Pausing, I decide to check on my tool kit before climbing into my car.
I move to the trunk, opening it to survey my equipment.
After lifting the black sheet that covers the items, I gaze at the perfectly laid-out tools: a rope, duct tape, cable ties, my handgun, a short knife, and a dark pillowcase—everything I need to restrain someone and convince them to do as I ask. Simple, cliché, but effective.
Nodding to myself, I lower the trunk and return to the driver’s seat.
After closing the door, I start the engine and head off toward Archridge Estate to collect my cargo.
Maybe I can use my tools to make the job a little more interesting and provide me with some much-needed entertainment.
Hunter only said Tilly needed to be returned in one piece; he never instructed me not to dispense punishment on her accomplices.
***
The solid black iron gates lie wide open as I turn off the country road.
A hand-painted sign tells me this is Archridge Estate.
The arrow beneath the name suggests I follow the perfect tarmacadam driveway between the pine trees.
At this point, there’s no sign of a house or any building, for that matter.
The road extends into a forest. I slowly drive along, my eyes surveying the bleak landscape for danger.
There is none. This is simply a highland estate.
Within five minutes, I pull up in front of a large white house complete with a front terrace and pillars. Loud music blasts from the property, some sort of techno beat. It’s ear-bashingly awful.
As I sit in my car, I look up at the building. Every window looks open, which is unusual in the low December temperatures. Every so often, a body bounces past a window. I assume they are dancing, but it looks like they are randomly flailing around the rooms.
After glancing at my watch, which tells me it is two in the afternoon, I decide to get the task of retrieving Tilly Devane over with.
I push open my door and step out of the car.
The cool air bites my skin, and I zip my dark fleece below my chin.
With no obvious danger, I simply slip my handgun into my belt and walk toward the front door, which lies wide open.
Inside, dozens of bodies lie around or gyrate together on a makeshift dance floor.
Christmas decorations hang from wherever they can, including light fixtures, stair railings, and picture frames.
A tall tree bowing under the weight of stars leans precariously to one side at the back of the vast, open-plan space.
No one seems to notice that it may fall on a passed-out young person lying beneath it.
A tall, lean boy approaches me, stalking across the room, stepping carefully over the bodies beneath his feet.
“Who are you?” he snaps when he reaches me.
Dark, well-oiled eyes try to focus on my face, but he rocks from side to side with the alcohol flowing in his veins. I’m surprised he can see me at all.
“James,” I answer simply. “I’m here to collect my girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?” he repeats back, his brow furrowing in concentration. “I’ve never seen you before, and I know all the ladies here. This is my house and party; you weren’t invited. Leave.”
“Not without Tilly.”
He pauses, surprised by the use of her name. “Tilly is not your girlfriend,” he snarls, his manner darkening instantly. “She’s mine.”
“She is my concern. Please tell me where she is so I don’t need to hurt you.” He chuckles, then shakes his head. “Consider this your warning: if you don’t tell me where she is, I’ll break your arm.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snorts, dropping his hands to his knees while he bends over and laughs exaggeratedly.
“Your worst nightmare, Reece.” That brings him up short. His eyes snap back to mine and widen. “Yes, I know exactly who you are. Now, tell me where she is.”
“No.”
I step forward. He raises his hand to warn me off.