The House on the Shore (32 page)

“Someone’s on the yacht.
Call the dogs.
Lock yourself in the cottage.
Don’t open up until you see me.”

“But—”

It was too late.
Luke sprinted barefoot across the lawn.
Crippled by renewed terror, Anna stared as he untied the rope securing the small inflatable dinghy and
started rowing across the loch.

Luke pulled steadily on the oars
.
T
hey hardly made a ripple on the surface of the loch.
He circled
Sandpiper
.
Tied up against the hull, out of sight of the croft, was an inflatable
dinghy
.
He
felt
the casing of the outboard engine.
It was still warm.
He shipped his oars, being careful not to
bump into
the hull. He
tied his dinghy to the
swim step
and climbed aboard.

The hatch leading
to the accommodation was open.

He hadn’t left it that way.

He drew his gun and flipped off the safety.
Crouching and listening, he stepped into the cockpit and crept down the companionway to the galley.
Even in the twilight
,
the interior of the yacht looked like it had been through a hurricane.
Books, CDs, DVDs, and charts lay s
trewn all over the cabin floor.

Silent
ly, he
tiptoed
passed the table toward the master suite.
He swept the
gun in an arc
a
round the cabin
.

R
ough soles
scraped
against the deck.
A
drawer squeak
ed
open.

His mouth spread into a tight-lipped smile
.

His cabin door was ajar.

The bastard was still inside.

He kicked the door open.
It slammed against the bulkhead.
He dove for the floor.
He looked up.
He was alone.

Suddenly, something hard connected with the back of his head.
His heart slammed.
The walls and floor spun.
The bastard had been hiding in the shower stall all along.
He struggled to reclaim his balance and stumbled through
the cabin after his assailant.

He heard an engine
start
.
With a silent curse
h
e crawled up the companionway ladder.
As he reached the top, he saw the
intruder’s
inflatable head for the far shore
, the dark figure of a man at the helm
.
His body sagged.
There was no point in trying to follow.
His assailant had too
much of a head start.

He climbed back down
in
to the galley and pulled some ice out of the fridge
. He
wrapped it in a cloth and held it to his
pounding
head
.
He
poured himself two fingers of bourbon and sat down
until his vision improved
.
He looked around the cabin.
As far as he could see nothing was missing, but the knowledge gave him little comfort.
It did
tell him something about the prowler.
He might be an experienced burglar, but he was an
amateur when it came to boats
fitted with expensive gadgetry
.

Which meant only one thing.

Whoever had crept aboard was looking for information.

He put down his drink and went on deck to examine the lock on the hatch.
There were scratch marks on the woodwork.
It had been picked, not forced
, which meant
his uninvited guest had come tooled for the job.

While he stowed his books, CDs, charts
,
and drawing materials away, Luke wondered what the
h
ell he’d go
t
t
en
himself into.
His dark eyes narrowed.
It wasn’t often that he thought about his old life, but tonight was one of those rare occasions.
For the first time since he’d left the service, he wished he had access to
the Bureau
’s vast da
tabase and resources.

He’d retired five years ago.
Most of the
forgers and thieves
he
’d
had a hand in convicting w
ere still serving jail time, although it was possible one or two might be up for early parole
by now
.
What if they’d somehow tracked him down?
His
very presence could be endangering Anna’s life.

He’d felt uneasy ever since she had told him about the prowler.
Burglars targeted towns and cities
,
places where they could make a quick buck.
They didn’t drive into the countryside unless they were planning to rob a million dollar country mansion stuffed to the rafters with antiques.
If this had been Boston or New York, he could believe some asshole was stalking a woman with the intent of scaring the bejesus out of her.
But out here?

By her own admission, Anna wasn’t rich.
Her father was a diplomat in China.
C
ould that be
the reason
behind the attack
?
He chewed on this for a while.
If her father had upset the Chinese Government, they
woul
d
have
simply expel
led
him
from the country
.
They wouldn’t threaten his daughter.

Luke swallowed the last of the bourbon and poured another.
Perhaps her father had been instrumental in some company or other failing to win a lucrative contract, and they were planning on using Anna as leverage.
He tossed that idea out.
Anna would have to be in China
for that to work.

The more he
tried to reason it out
, the more his head ached.
He picked up the small oil painti
ng
and wrapped it in a bag.
Better to keep it in the croft than here on the yacht.

He glanced at his watch
,
almost
seven
,
time to get back to the croft.
He’d left An
na on her own for way too long.

Anna stood on the pebble beach, cl
utching the collar of her coat
as
Luke
dragged the dinghy ashore.

“The next time I tell you to stay put, you damn well better stay put!”
He grabbed her hand and
dragge
d
her toward the croft.

“Ow!
Let go!
You’re hurting my fingers!”

“You’re lucky it’s only your hand.”

“Listen, you—”

He spun her around.
“No,
you
listen.
S
tanding
here makes you
a perfect target for a marksman.
Am I missing something critical about your personality?
Do you just
want
to die?”

Anna’s face drained of colour.
Her mouth opened.
No words came out.

“Somebody could shoot you where you stand
,
and you’re practically inviting them!
Now do you understand why I told you to stay indoors?”

Anna understood only too well.

“I’m—I’m sorry.
You were gone so long I was worried you were hurt.”

“There’s nothing that a hot shower and some food won’t cure.”

“And Sandpiper?
Is there any damage?”

“
Whoever broke in picked the lock.
They trashed the cabin, but as far as I can tell, they didn’t take anything
of importance
.”

“Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“Yeah, well, it’s happening now.
Your glen’s having a regular crime wave.”

Fin
Armstrong steered his ruby red sports coupe through the twisting glen toward Killi
l
an House.
The little car hugged the tight corners as if on rails.
It was heaven to drive.
It might not be brand new, but it was new to him, and there was plenty of life in the engine and hardly a mark on the paintwork.
He smiled.
If it hadn’t been for the chance meeting with Alistair Grant, he’d still be driving that old heap of a Mini.
At last things were on the up.

He turned through the tall
,
ornate granite archway, topped by the Grant family crest, which marked the entrance to Killilan House.
He pulled the car to a halt, lit a cigare
tte
and wound down the window.

When times began to change
,
the Gr
ants grew more safety conscious.
Alistair’s father had added white metal bars and fencing to ensure that the great unwashed stayed out of Valhalla.
Fin
laughed at the thought
. H
e used to be one of the gods.
Now he was unwashed, and no longer great.

Before going off to Oxford
University
, he’d been a constant visitor to the estate.
The Grants
were
known throughout the county for their lavish parties.
He’d rubbed shoulders with dukes, earls and princes, even kissed a few princesses in his time.

The country set from all over Scotland and Europe
came
to shoot grouse and deer on Killi
l
an estate.
They’d
be
up before dawn fo
r a breakfast of porridge, eggs
and bacon, topped off with a glass of whisky, then venture into the hills for a day’s stalking.
They woul
d walk miles in search of their quarry.
Around noon, a leisurely lunch would be served at one of the many bothies on the estate.
Champagne, caviar, smoked salmon
,
better than a Fortnum and Mason’s hamper.
Then it would be off stalking again before returning to the house in time for a sumptuous dinner of pâté foie gras,
grouse, pheasant,
salmon, venison or beef, rounded off wit
h numerous wines and
a bottle of
vintage
port.

One year, he recalled, he’d caught a fourteen pound salmon in the morning, shot three brace of grouse and a stag in the afternoon, and danced with Alistair’s sister, Sophie, until dawn.
It
had been a capital day’s sport.

He pitched the cigarette
and started the engine.
The driveway seemed to have more
potholes
than he remembered, and the overgrown bushes on either side
desperately needed pruning
.
The front offside wheel bounced over a particularly deep rut.
He cursed.
As he turned the last corne
r
,
the house came into view.

The Georgian mansion
,
complete with grand port
ico
and perfectly symmetrical façade,
had always impressed him.
In fact
,
he’d always been envious of Alistair living here.
Alistair’s great, great grandmother had designed the formal gardens, which stretched down to the river
.
Set against the mountains
,
and surrounded on either side by trees
,
it
was
one of the finest houses in Scotland.

Or it had been.

He got out of the car and stretched his back,
and
star
ed
up at the front of the
house
.
Most of the windows in the east wing were closed and shuttered, something never seen when Alistair’s father had been in charge of the estate.
Two
of the four centre chimney
s leaned at an alarming angle, and tarp
aulin covered part of the roof.