Chapter Thirty

Luke

Kirsty got to escape in style, inside a Jaguar driven by her demonic biker cousin who apparently doubles as a stunt driver. Damn, that man is cool. But I only think about that for two seconds after the Jag disappears down the alley. Since the back door was unlocked, I held it open just enough that I could watch Magnus and Kirsty make their daring escape. It was like something out of a James Bond movie. The demon biker used flash-bangs too, and those evil jerks who came to harass Kirsty got out of Magnus's way faster than I've ever seen a crowd break up.

Yeah, maybe I've developed a slight man-crush on that guy. He's even tougher than Logan, I think, and he relishes any chance to show off his badass persona. I will never admit out loud that I admire Magnus, though. That wouldn't be cool. Not that anyone has ever accused of me being cool. No, I was the shy geek in college, then the science-obsessed psychophysicist after that. I got plenty of dates, but not because girls dig my career choice.

I bet women throw themselves at Magnus.

The only woman I want to throw herself at me is Kirsty, but I don't see that ever happening. The way she'd looked at me when I told her what I'd done… Maybe I should've explained the rest, but it wouldn't have made a difference. I screwed up so badly that nothing can fix it.

At least she'll be safe at Dùndubhan. I know her family will take good care of her.

I shut the back door and turn around to slump against it. Maybe I can't erase what I've done, but I'm not completely useless. Right? I can still do…something. To protect Kirsty. Don't care what happens to me.

Kirsty's aunt, Glenna, stares out the front windows.

Logan and Evan are standing on this side of the sales counter, both eying me with curiosity.

"What should we do with the cacan?" Logan asks his cousin.

Evan tips his head to the side like he's seriously considering the options. "Dump him in Loch Fairbairn? It's not as deep as Loch Ness, but it should do in a pinch."

"No, that's not punishment enough. He needs to suffer first."

"You may have a point."

It's bizarre to listen while a man wearing glasses who dresses like a businessman discusses how to punish me. Sure, I expect that from Logan and Magnus. But I thought Evan was a billionaire tech mogul, not a member of the MacTaggart Family Assassination Guild.

"You guys are hilarious," I say, without any humor whatsoever. "Don't need you two to remind me of how horribly I screwed up."

But suddenly, I know what I need to do.

"Maybe we should lock you up in the police station," Evan says. "Give you time to think on what you've done."

"I'm well aware of what I've done." I push away from the door. "And I know what I have to do to set things right."

Logan's brows hike up. "Do ye now?"

"Yes." I approach them, halting an arm's length away, and force myself to stand up straight as I fix my gaze on Logan. "I need to go back to England to confront my ex-boss. I might've gone along with Melvin's plan at first, but he's the one who sicced the sleazoid pseudo-journalists on Kirsty. Let me fix this. Please."

"Do what you want." Logan leans forward, staring into my eyes with unnerving intensity. "But I'm watching you, laddie."

"Fine, whatever. Not even your deadly spy stare will make me shit my pants." I glance at the windows and see a few of the sleazoids have come back. "Do any of you MacTaggarts have a private jet? It would be the quickest way for me to fly back to England and do what I need to do. Then I'll come right back."

"Come back?" Logan says. "Why?"

"For Kirsty. I'm sure you hate my guts, and that's cool. But I am not giving up on her, not this time around."

Both men observe me for several seconds, though I can't figure out what their narrowed gazes mean.

"You can take my jet," Evan says. "But I will need it back tomorrow. My wife and I are flying home to Utah."

"I'll bring the jet back before then. You have my word."

"Then you can borrow it."

A long sigh blusters out of me, though I hadn't realized I was holding my breath. "Thank you. I really appreciate this."

"Donnae be grateful yet," Logan says. "Ahm coming with ye."

"That's not necessary."

"Aye, it is."

What's the point of arguing? This trip will be the most un-fun excursion ever, whether or not Logan accompanies me. "Fine, we'll go together."

Evan glances at the front windows. "How will we get out of here?"

"I'll distract them," I say, "while you and Glenna go out the back."

"How do you mean to distract them?" Logan asks.

"Not with as much style as Magnus did, but I'll manage. I'm part of the story, after all, so the sleazoids ought to love to jump on me."

"Sleazoids?" Logan says. "And you Americans think Scots have a strange way of speaking."

"Let's call it a draw."

Logan squints at me for a moment, then sighs. "Go on, distract them. I'll meet you at the police station. That ought to discourage the 'sleazoids' from following you."

"Good idea. I'll meet you there." I skirt around the counter, heading for the front door. Then I glance over my shoulder at the others. "Ready?"

Logan leads Glenna and Evan toward the back door. "Aye, we're ready."

"Here goes nothing."

I swing the door open and step outside. The lock engages behind me with a click.

Half a dozen reporters have gathered on the sidewalk, and the instant they see me, they rush forward to surround me and shout questions.

Phase one, complete. On to phase two.

I spin away from the group and bolt down the sidewalk, aiming for the police station that I'd seen the other day when Kirsty took me to her house. I think the station is about three blocks away. Can I run full speed for that long? I'm about to test my physical fitness.

The sleazoids pursue me, just like I'd hoped they would.

Down the sidewalk I run, faster than I ever have in my life before today, keeping one thought in my mind to bolster me. This is for Kirsty. I dodge unsuspecting bystanders and pray the jerks chasing me will do the same, but I can't worry about that right now. My leg muscles start to burn from the exertion, and I'm breathing so hard my ears start to ring, but I don't stop or even slow down, despite my heart pounding and sweat streaming down my face. This is for Kirsty.

I reach the police station and bang through the door, skidding to a halt inches from the main desk, which is more like a counter than a real desk. Nobody is there to man the counter-desk whatsit.

"Took ye long enough."

Leaning against the counter, I turn sideways to look at Logan. "I'm not an Olympic sprinter."

I sound as breathless as I feel, but I am regaining the feeling in my face. Apparently, running flat-out for three blocks will make a person's face numb. I learn something new every day.

"What happened to Glenna and Evan?" I ask.

"Evan is driving our aunt home." Logan gets up from the plastic chair he'd been sitting in and approaches me. "Getting to the Inverness airport will be simple once we acquire transportation."

"You planning to steal a car?"

"No. Our transportation will be here any minute."

Tires squeal outside.

Magnus couldn't have gotten back to town so fast. He'd been driving Kirsty all the way out to Dùndubhan.

Iain saunters through the doors. "You two ready to go? The Land Rover is waiting."

Am I ready for what's next? Doubtful. But I'll do what I have to do.

The drive to Inverness takes three freaking hours, but finally, I'm climbing the stairs to board Evan's jet with Logan right behind me. Shortly after that, we're in the air, flying to London. The trip doesn't take long in a fast, fancy jet like this one, but it feels like forever to me. Yeah, okay, I can admit I'm nervous about what will happen when I confront Melvin in person. It's easy for the toad to ream me via the cellular network, but I doubt he'll have the balls to confront me that way in person. Before I left for Scotland, he'd never been as nasty as he has been lately. The jerk knows I can't punch his lights out long distance.

I've never been a violent person, but Melvin has pushed the one button he shouldn't have touched. The button labeled Kirsty MacTaggart.

Her face appears in my mind, like a mirage or wishful thinking. Her smile. Her lips. Her beautiful, shiny hair and those gorgeous, shimmering eyes. She said she loves me, but now I've made a mess of everything.

"Don't do that," Logan says.

He's sitting across the aisle from me, his chair rotated so he faces me since I've got my seat turned too. Logan, naturally, watches me with squinted eyes and an indecipherable expression.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"Don't think about Kirsty and whether she'll forgive you. Right now, you need to focus on what you want to say to Melvin Prickett."

"I want to tell him to shove a cactus up his ass."

Logan lifts a single brow. "You might try something more instructive."

"Do you mean constructive?"

"No. I meant what I said. Teach that bod ceann a lesson in whatever way seems appropriate to you."

It's my turn to lift my brows at him. "You want me to beat up Melvin?"

"Did I say that? Listen to my words and don't reinterpret them."

"Uh-huh. I'll have to think about that for a while."

Logan checks his watch. "Don't think for too long. We're landing in ten minutes. Evan arranged for a car to pick us up at the airport and take us directly to the British Institute for Psychophysics."

Just like Logan said, our jet lands ten minutes later and we're whisked away in a waiting car—a limousine, no less—headed for the institute. At least I get to ride in style instead of turning up in my old beater like I have every day since I started working with Melvin. He loves to make snide comments about my car, my clothes, basically everything about me, including the fact I'm American. He harasses anybody who's not British, so it's not just me. He also insults other Brits who don't meet his snobby standards.

The security guard at the entrance to the building doesn't want to let me or Logan go inside. I'm no longer an employee here, and Logan doesn't have a visitor's badge, so the guard tries to order us to go away. He sucks at being tough, though. Logan insists, in that deadly calm way he has, that the guard should allow us inside or he'll regret it. I swear the guy cringes, then he calls upstairs to get permission for us to enter the building. But of course, the person who responds is Melvin—and he says no.

Like that will stop us.

I glance at Logan, who smirks.

And we push right past the guard to board the elevator. The rent-a-cop wannabe runs after us, but he clearly hasn't exercised in the past ten years and can't get to the elevator before the doors close behind us.

Up to the fourth floor, we go.

And that's the actual fourth floor, not the fourth level above the ground floor. This ain't no castle. Yeah, I get Southern when I'm about to confront my jackass boss.

The secretary who occupies a desk outside Melvin's office tries to stop us too, but Logan and I burst through the doors and march straight up to Melvin's desk. He's sitting there frowning at his computer screen. When we barrel into his domain, he jerks his head up. His eyes go wide, and I swear his face turns a paler shade of sallow.

"You do not work here anymore," Melvin says, trying to sound tough, but it comes off as whiny instead. "You have no right to enter the building, much less—"

"Shut it, Melvin," I say. And yeah, I actually sound tough. "It's time we had a real conversation, man to man. Oh wait, what am I saying? You're not a man, you're a slimy rat in a designer suit."

"If you don't leave immediately, I will ring the police and inform them of what you did."

"Gimme a break, Melvin. It wasn't illegal. It was an honest mistake that you perverted into a crime by falsifying evidence. I let you hold that manufactured crime over my head and use my guilt and fear as leverage. That's over. I don't care who you tell."

Dr. Melvin Prickett leaps out of his chair, which sends it reeling backward. It thumps into the wall.

Logan just stands there, slightly behind and to the side of me, wearing his usual "I could kill you with my pinky finger, but you're not worth the effort" expression. His posture is apparently relaxed, but somehow gives off a deadly vibe too.

Damn. I wish I could do that.

"As far as anyone else will know," Melvin says, "you stole two million pounds from the institute. Unless you finish what you started in Scotland, I will make certain you go to prison."

"Go on, you slimy, spineless worm. Call the cops. I don't care anymore."

Logan chuckles softly, the sound laced with a kind of subdued menace I doubt anyone else except Magnus could pull off. "You think you're a clever sod, but you have no idea who you're talking to."

"Of course not," Melvin snaps. "You are a complete stranger who has no right to be here."

"Throw me in jail, if that makes you feel like a man," I tell Melvin. "But call your dogs off Kirsty. Do it now."

"Why should I?"

"Because if you don't"—I slant over the desk to grab the knot on his tie and yank him toward me—"I will beat you until you're covered in your own blood and your teeth are lying on your desk like a modern-art installation."

His lips quiver, but he juts his chin up. "You wouldn't. A mild-mannered researcher—"

"I'm not like that anymore." I shake him hard. "Even after I go back to Scotland, you won't be safe. I can fly back here on my buddy's private jet just to hunt you down and toss you into a shark tank. I'll come back as many times as it takes and stalk you until you're too terrified to pee in a public restroom, much less get any sleep, because I might be right there behind you in the shadows."

"Aye," Logan says, "and I'll help him. My years in MI6 taught me every method for dealing with uncooperative subjects. I also have a large family that's full of men who love to exercise their fists by skiting them on the faces of scunners like you."

I raise my fist. "Last chance, Melvin. Call off your dogs."

"All right," he says, cringing when I pull my fist back like I'm about to wallop him. "I'll do it. Let go of me and I'll make the call."

"Uh-uh. You do it while I've still got you in my grip."

Melvin picks up the phone on his desk, his hands shaking, and dials a number.

"Speakerphone," I snarl. "Let us hear it."

He punches the speakerphone button, and we hear the call ringing on the other end.

A Scottish male voice picks up with a gruff hello.

"It's Melvin Prickett," my former employer says. "There's been a change of plans."

"What now?"

"Cancel all of it. Leave the girl alone and stop everything we had planned. It's over."

"Are you sure? We went to a bloody lot of trouble—"

"Just do it." Despite Melvin's harsh tone, tears have pooled in his now-bloodshot eyes. "Stop everything."

"It's your decision. We'll cancel it all."

"Good." Melvin hangs up. "Happy?"

No, I won't be happy unless Kirsty forgives me and comes back to me, but that seems unlikely. Then again, I did just browbeat my ex-boss into doing the right thing, even if he didn't want to do it. Maybe the spine I've suddenly grown means there is hope for me and Kirsty after all.

I release Melvin and start to back away from his desk. But I change my mind, slanting forward instead.

And I slug him in the jaw.

Melvin staggers backward. He starts to sit down, then stumbles as he remembers his chair isn't there.

Damn, it felt good to punch that prick.

"Sayonara, Melvin," I say, and turn to walk away. "The bruise you're going to have will remind you not to mess me with me ever again."

Logan aims his glare at the slimy worm. "Remember, Dr. Prickett, we have eyes and ears everywhere."

We both stride out of the office.