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Chapter 6

Sinclair stood on the dock and watched as Jock brought the boat in. The morning's chill had given way to warm afternoon sun, the storm having moved farther north to the islands. Jock tossed him the bow line and he tied it off. "Did you find your shoals?" he asked the old man.

"Aye, beautiful and unexpected."

"If you helped her, you've put her in more danger than you realize."

"She asked for my help, son, and she's a clever lass."

Sinclair stiffened at the term. "Where did you take her?"

Jock jumped down, the dock rising and falling with his movements as he walked up the gangway toward shore. "Are ye daft? Where would an American lassie with no money or passport go?"

"Straight back to Auld Reekie and the lion's den."

"Ye should nae have taken her." Jock stopped, pointing his finger at him. "She was nae yers to take."

"She was in danger, and you know better than anyone why I had to."

"Aye, well, I ken she's just a lassie. You'll be lucky she does nae report you to the polis."

"Aye, there's that." Sinclair shook his head. "I'm sure she will."

"Does Alex ken?"

"I'm sure he does by now. Are you going to call him?"

"Nae. It's no me business the noo." The old man walked him to his car, the dog bounding after them. "Sin, be careful, lad. You've been given a second chance. Don't muck it up."

Sinclair opened the back door for William then got in himself, driving away. He stopped by his cottage to lock everything up. Upstairs in the loft, he opened an old chest. Charcoal sketches filled the trunk. He shuffled through them, picking one up. It was of a woman sitting on a rock in the cove, the tide water crashing around her. He ran his finger over the sketch, the light and dark shades contrasting from a soft gray to a very deep black, bold and dramatic. But it wasn't the focus of the drawing, it was the woman's eyes, the only color on the paper, a pale lavender that lured him in, calling to him. He had hundreds of them, sometimes the woman was walking on the beach, or she lay naked on the sand with the ocean pooling gently around her as she touched her breast and other times she stood at the window amongst the ruins of Sinclair Castle. He put it back and closed the lid, fisting his hands to block out the images and desires that invaded his mind. Damn. He went downstairs and grabbed his bag, locking the doors and his past behind him.

Headed south on the highway, he called Gabriel.

"Sin, where are you?" Gabriel's voice came through the speaker.

"Headed to Edinburgh," he said.

"Where's the girl?"

"Gone." He noticed a car behind him, but it was still a good distance back.

"Gone. Is she going to be a problem? You need to get back here. Alex is livid."

"Where's the bastard Phinneas?" he asked, speeding up. The car sped up too but remained far enough back to where he couldn't read the plates.

"We have no idea. Like I said, he called after you ran off, but he never showed up here."

"Tell Alex I'll be back in a couple of days. It's still too dangerous." He hung up before Gabriel could respond and turned his phone off, keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror. If he was lucky, he would beat the train to Edinburgh and intercept Charlotte at the station. The car had gotten closer. He slowed, letting it catch up. The road continued to wind along the coast, twisting and turning as it climbed up and down through the moorland. He could see the car clearly now, a silver Mercedes, no plates in front. It pulled up on his bumper. Sin sped up. His pursuer swerved into the other lane, coming up alongside him. He looked over, but the windows were darkened. The car bumped him from the side, pushing him onto the verge. Fuck. He let the car pass. It pulled in front of him. A window was rolled down and a round of bullets barely missed the front of his car. Warning shots. He pulled his gun from his holster and lowered his window, firing back. He was going to have to stop the Mercedes. He sped up, hitting it from behind as they both maneuvered a hairpin turn. He pulled into the other lane and came up beside the car, gently making contact. A bullet hit his passenger door. Warning over, they meant business. He steered sharply into his target's side, accelerating. The Mercedes' rear tires spun out, losing traction, and it started to skid across the highway. It careened over a ditch and landed facing the opposite direction. Sin looked back. Fuck. It had to be one of Sokolov's men. He didn't have time to stop and assess the damage to his car. He put his gun back in its holster and prayed he wasn't too late to find Charlotte.

* * *

Charlotte exited the train, looking around. She was worried he had followed her here. A crowd of tourists had formed, listening to their guide, and she inserted herself into the middle of the group, following them out of the station and onto Princes Street. The historic street was one of the major thoroughfares in central Edinburgh and was filled with shoppers and visitors enjoying the hotels, boutiques and various monuments. She broke away from the group and hailed a black cab, slipping into the backseat.

"Elgin Terrace off Easter road. I only have twenty pounds so drop me as close as you can."

"You're not from around here," the young man said, his Pakistani accent rich and musical to her ears.

"No."