Will turned slowly at the sound of the voice, automatically raising his hands.
The first thought that entered his head was less than polite, but more than appropriate for the moment.
The second was that the woman in front of him was beautiful, even if she was holding a double-barrelled shotgun that was aimed right at his face.
‘I said, who the hell are you?’
Will blinked, his gaze fixated on the twin dark pits of the barrels, for a moment wondering if he’d see the double flash that would kill him if the woman’s index finger moved.
He risked a glance at her face, and his breath caught.
Dark brown eyes peered out from under a fringe of glossy black hair that tumbled around her face and over her shoulders. She stood a head shorter than Will, the shotgun angled up at his face, the stock held professionally into her shoulder, which was bare under a bright pink vest top. She wore black jeans that moulded to her legs, and stood barefoot on the parquet floor. A silver St Christopher pendant hung around her neck by a delicate chain.
She glared at him along the barrels. ‘Have you lost your fucking voice? I asked you a question.’
Will blinked, strangely shocked at the profanity from such a pixie-like figure. Did pixies use guns? He cleared his throat. ‘Sorry – I… I couldn’t find the toilet so I, um…’
‘Thought you’d steal something? You thieving bastard.’ The shotgun swung frighteningly closer to his nose.
‘No!’ Will raised his hands higher. ‘Please – I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not a burglar. I was at the press conference – out there.’ His mind raced. ‘Do you want to see my driver’s licence?’
She frowned, the gun jerking away. ‘Your driver’s licence?’
‘I’ve got a press pass too.’ Will’s gaze traced the line of the barrels as she lowered the gun a little.
‘Show me. Slowly!’
Will kept his left hand raised in the air while his right sought out his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, his fingers shaking.
He fumbled, dropping the leather case to the floor, and shrugged apologetically.
‘Very fuckin’ funny.’ The shotgun twitched to his face once more. ‘Kick it over here and put your hands on your head.’
Will stepped back as the woman held the gun with one hand and bent down. She flicked his wallet open, pulled out his driver’s licence and held it up. ‘Will Fletcher, eh?’
She stood, removed her finger from the trigger guard of the shotgun, opened the breach, and balanced it in the crook of her arm.
Will’s gaze twitched to the barrels and kept still. The last thing he wanted was to make her even more nervous and give her an excuse to shoot him.
‘Well, I suppose you’d be an idiot of a burglar to be carrying around your driver’s licence.’ Her words interrupted his thoughts and his eyes met hers. A slight crease twitched at her eyes. ‘So what the hell are you doing in my uncle’s house?’
Will exhaled as she finally lowered the shotgun and removed the cartridges. He dropped his hands from his head, his heart rate slowly returning to some semblance of normal, and cleared his throat.
‘I’d heard he was recuperating here,’ he began. ‘I was hoping he could help me.’
‘Help you?’ she frowned. ‘Does he know you, then?’
Will shook his head. ‘He met my girlfriend yesterday morning – before the attack on his car.’
The woman’s mouth opened a little, and she raised her eyebrows. ‘Amy? The journalist?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is she okay?’
Will shrugged. ‘They tell me it’s too early to say.’ He looked away, sniffled, and tried to ignore the stinging sensation at the corner of his eyes. He blinked, and then looked back at her. ‘Sorry.’
She shook her head. ‘No – I’m the one who ought to be apologising. Shit.’
She turned and leaned the shotgun against a small decorative table, made sure it wasn’t going to slip, and then glanced back at him. ‘You gave me a fright.’
Will’s mouth twitched. ‘I think we’re even.’
She laughed, a gutsy splutter of sound. ‘That we are.’ She sighed. ‘I think we need to start again, Will Fletcher.’ She held out her hand. ‘Erin Hogarth. I’m Ian Rossiter’s niece.’
Will shook her hand, surprised at her firm grip. ‘Nice to meet you – I think?’
She laughed again. ‘It can only get better, right?’ She put her hand on his arm, and then pointed down the hallway behind him. ‘Come on. I don’t know about you, but after that little scare, I could do with a drink.’ She bent down, picked up the shotgun and slung it across her arms. ‘I’d better put this back too.’
‘Do you actually know how to use it?’
‘Of course,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘How fast can you run?’
Will swallowed, then heard her chuckle under her breath, and shook his head.
She led the way along the hallway, her bare feet soundless on the ornamental rugs that covered the parquet flooring in places.
Will followed mutely, his head turning left and right as he stared at the ostentatious surroundings.
Oil paintings hung on opposing walls, traditional hunting scenes tangling with portraits of humourless men dressed in eighteenth century clothing. Will sensed their unfavourable expressions were frowning down at him.
‘Awful, aren’t they?’ Erin scowled. ‘I wish he’d take them down, put something better on the walls.’
‘Are they relatives?’
She snorted. ‘No. They came with the house. Like everything else around here.’ She rapped her knuckles on a mahogany dresser as she passed.
‘Listen,’ said Will, stopping. ‘Would you mind if we got out of here? Maybe go to a pub nearby or something, if you still need that drink?’
‘What?’
‘I’d rather just leave if you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I – I really shouldn’t have come here. Is there a back door?’
‘Back door?’ She turned, a confused look on her face.
‘Yes. If you don’t mind?’
His heartbeat raced. If Erin turned the next corner, he’d be back at the front entrance, facing a minimum of two security guards and one very pissed off press secretary. He had to get out of here and find out what was really going on.
He silently prayed that she wouldn’t demand to know why he wanted to avoid the assembled throng at the front of the house, and especially the press secretary – not until he’d fathomed out why the man had threatened him, or what the man’s intentions might be in relation to Rossiter.
‘We could go for a drink.’ The words burst from his lips before he’d had a chance to think.
Erin frowned. ‘Um, okay, I guess.’
‘Great – my treat, all right?’
‘Sure. I’ll get my coat and put some shoes on.’
To Will’s relief, she turned right, away from the front door and along a passageway that eventually led to a mud room. He watched as she pulled on an old pair of sneakers and shrugged a grey woollen coat over her shoulders.
She opened the back door before turning back to him. ‘Come on then, Will Fletcher. I think we need to have a chat anyway.’
Perplexed, Will followed her through the door, and then led the way to his car.