Page 68 of Twilight Tides
It made me feel a bit raw. Like Forde could see all the less than gentlemanly thoughts and fantasies that increasingly invaded my mind now that London was under my roof.
“You sure it’s just the Kelly stuff?” Quinn prodded.
Over the years I’d observed the way people were drawn to Quinn for advice. It had become a habit of his to feel like he had to take on the burden of other people’s problems. But the man had finally found true contentment and happiness for the first time in almost nineteen years, and I had no intention of ruining that for him by bringing him into the Walsh brothers’ issue.
Ramsay and I would deal with it.
I’d called McRae last night as soon as I’d gotten off the phone with Jill. She’d had the audacity to call Kelly because she knew I wouldn’t answer if she called me directly.
What she’d said chilled me to the bone.
Jill knew exactly who Dorian Walsh was.
She promised she hadn’t known when he first came into her life but that now, because of me, she was his goddamn hostage.
“And it’s not just me in danger if you don’t do what they want,” Jill had hissed, panicked down the phone. “They’ll hurt your precious Kelly too.”
“Does that not terrify you, Jill? Is there no part of you that feels an inkling of motherly instinct?”
“You stopped caring about me as soon as Kelly came along. You put this wall between me and her by making it very clear she was the priority over me,” she snapped. “But that doesn’t mean I want her hurt. All right? Is that what you want to hear? She’s in danger, Murray, and you are the only one who can keep her safe.”
Even as I’d choked on my anger at her accusations, I’d asked her what the Walsh brothers wanted.
“A yes or a no by next Friday. If there’s no answer, they’ll hurt me. If it’s a no, they’ll hurt me and then they’ll come for Kelly.”
I’d relayed the conversation to Ramsay, standing outside on my front deck, staring out at the tranquility and beauty before me. The dichotomy of it. The irony. All I’d ever wanted was to give my family a comfortable life. When the house was completed, I’d stood on the deck and looked out at the water and felt a gratitude so big, it was overwhelming.
How blessed was I to live in a peaceful haven?
But it turned out, nowhere was safe in the modern world.
Evil could infiltrate from anywhere.
“I spoke to the detective in Inverness this afternoon,” Ramsay had replied when I’d told him what Jill said. “The police will be in touch tomorrow.”
And sure enough that morning, I spoke with the island’s Detective Inspector Paul Young. He was head of the island’s small station where his wife Detective Constable Alice Young worked alongside Police Constable William Shearing. During big events, Police Scotland’s N Division sent extra officers to help deal with the tourists. But otherwise, the small force was enough for Glenvulin.
Usually, officers were referred to by their surnames, but we were all so close knit here in Leth Sholas that they were called by their first names. DI Paul had invited me to the station on Monday morning to discuss the situation with him and two detectives who worked in the Specialist Crime Division. I was anxious that we weren’t meeting immediately, but the detectives worked out of Inverness and were in the middle of an operation.
“You better get the drum on.”
“What?” I blinked, coming out of my thoughts.
Quinn frowned in concern. “It’s almost time to go onstage.”
I quickly strapped on the drum and a minute later, I marched out of the office, hitting the sides of the instrument with the beaters in a staccato tempo as I strode into the low-lit pub area of the Fisherman’s Lantern. The stage was really a space near the back of the room where Aodhan removed tables and chairs.
All the other tables and chairs were turned to face the makeshift performance area.
Cheers and greetings in English and Gaelic met my ears despite the booming bass of my drum. I turned to stand straight and center, lifting my knees in a march along with the beat. Most spring/summer gigs we wore our kilts with T-shirts or jumpers, but it was a Baltic spring evening, so we’d forgone the kilts for jeans and long tees.
My gaze automatically zoomed in on familiar red hair, and I found London clapping along to the beat with everyone else, her attention steadfast on me. Even when the wail of Ramsay’s pipes joined in, followed by Quinn and Forde on their drums, London kept her focus on me.
She was a bright light in all this messed-up darkness.
Had she almost kissed me yesterday?
The idea that my wife might want me as much as I wanted her filled me with the kind of anticipation I hadn’t felt since I was a boy.
