Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“What is it?”
She waves her hand at the view from the porch, and texts me.
This. OMG this is so amazing!!!
I see the view with fresh eyes, just as she does.
She’s right. Snow-capped mountains, and smoky clouds that look as if God himself breathed them into life. They’re imbued with majestic dignity. The stark gray and white of the jagged peaks make my heart ache with the knowledge that we’re only small beings in a massive, wide universe.
My phone dings with another text.
I’d love to sit on this porch with you when the weather’s nicer.
I nod. “Och, aye, doll. We’ll make sure that happens.”
She flushes a bit. Gorgeous.
She’s got a bag over one shoulder, and I can see the very corner of the book the girls gave her last night. There’s a bookmark in it, a good third of the way in.
“So you’re reading that nonsense about the mafia, hmm? You know that’s not real, don’t you?”
She gives me a withering look and rolls her eyes, and she clearly has a thing or two to say, for my phone buzzes, then buzzes, then buzzes again.
First, it isn’t nonsense. It’s entertaining genre fiction.
Second, it’s not like you’ve given me anything better to do.
Third, if you’d read this book like your sisters suggested, you’d see how eerily similar it is to this place.
I frown. “Really?”
She nods as if to say, really.
Should that be something that concerns me? Being private and anonymous is paramount importance to the Cowen clan.
“Interesting.” Why would there be a book on the market similar to our actual clan life? It must be the girls’ imaginations. Still, I’ll take another look later when we get back.
We reach the lodge in a few minutes and Islan meets us at the entryway. She’s got a large bag filled with all sorts of beautifying paraphernalia, and I leave Cairstina to get dolled up with her.
“Make her look nothing like her actual self,” I warn Islan.
“On it, brother.”
“Has anyone seen Paisley?”
“No, but she texted me and said she’s in town doing some shopping and will be back at dinner.”
I grumble to myself. “She’d damn well better have men on her.”
Islan waves me off. “I’m sure she does.”
But when I ask our security team if anyone’s with her, they all come back with a resounding no.
Goddammit it.
I text Paisley myself.
Where the hell are you and why aren’t you with a detail?
I’m not surprised when she doesn’t respond.
I call Mum and tell her what’s going on.
She sighs. “You’ve been too heavy-handed with her. Do you want her to rebel? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing to her.”
“You know I don’t, but we also need to make it clear what’s at stake.”
There’s a pause before she says, in that steely yet gentle way of hers, “I don’t think we’re the ones that need to know what’s at stake, Leith.”
I hang up the phone and shove it in my pocket.
Tate and Mac join me in the house, Mac holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and an enormous scone in the other.
“Y’alright, brother?” he says, spraying crumbs everywhere.
“No,” I mutter. “I’m bloody well not. Paisley’s gone into town without men on her.”
“Doesn’t seem like her,” Mac says. “Jaysus.”
“Not sure I agree,” I say.
Tate frowns. “Was she alone?”
“Might’ve gone with Fran.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fran’s more trouble than she’s bloody worth. I’ll find them.” There’s a flicker in his eyes, though, and he looks away from me. Have I grown bloody soft? Am I imagining things? Is everyone in this house affected or bewitched?
I agree. She’s more likely to talk Paisley into doing something reckless or dangerous.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Cairstina: she maybe wanted some space after the argument last night.
I sigh and nod.
“Okay, then, we’re ready,” Islan says. She comes downstairs with a bag over her shoulder, and a stranger beside her. Jesus, does she have a guest, too? Then I blink.
Wait. That’s Cairstina?
She’s wearing a skin-tight black leather skirt and a top with fucking chains in place of buttons, high-heeled boots that go to high heaven, and she has a short black wig on.
“Mother of God,” I mutter. “What the hell did you do, get her ready for a strip club?”
Islan laughs. “She won’t stand out in Inverness, Leith, you know that. But you have to admit. She doesn’t look anything like she did before.”
“You’ve got that fucking right,” I mutter. “Jesus.”
Cairstina’s eyes come to me, abashed. Is she ashamed of looking this way? Is she afraid she’s disappointed me?
“You look beautiful,” I tell her. “I just don’t want any other fucking eyes on you.”
She flushes and bites her lip.
“Who looks beautiful?” I look over to the high, reedy voice coming from the direction of the kitchen. Nan stands behind us, nibbling a chocolate-covered biscuit in one hand and holding a few more in the other.