“You’ve got a good imagination. All I saw was tourists.”
Poor Quinn. He’d stuck to the plan of bringing her to see the castle even though he was emotionally drained from the night before—and more than a little hungover. He’d suffered through countless stairways, two museums, high tea at the tea garden, and every square foot of the castle open to the public with good humor.
“The view from the Argyle Tower was amazing. Oh! I loved the crown jewels, too. How about you?”
“Och, well, some of the weapons were interesting—the Lochubar axe.” He spun her around, pretended to hold a sword to her throat, making her gasp. “I like the great swords, too. And you like being’ overpowered, so you do.”
Her cheeks burned. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret is safe wi’ me, doll.”
They ate dinner with the same view of the castle they’d had last time, lingering over their conversation and dessert. Then they used the car’s GPS to find the last location from Jack’s phone data.
“That’s it. Wow. It’s a mansion.” Elizabeth looked out the window as they passed. “All the lights are on, and there are security guards at the front gate. Would they be Jack’s former coworkers?”
“Aye, I suppose they would.”
It was strange to think that Jack had been at this same villa every Friday night until exactly two weeks ago, when he’d gone to work but never come home.
“Ava said Jack came home upset on a Friday night exactly one month ago tonight. She remembered it vividly, which tells me that his behavior was unusual enough to stick in her mind.”
“You’re thinkin’ that whatever upset him happened here.”
“Possibly.” She never wanted to assume anything.
“What does this have to do with that bastard Grant? I’m certain he’s the one who planted drugs on us.”
They had talked about this, and Elizabeth wasn’t so sure. “I don’t think his goons have the skill to hack door locks.”
Quinn parked down the street from the mansion. “What if he’s got someone else workin’ for him—a cleaner, some fella who lurks in the background until he’s needed.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You’ve watched too many American TV shows.”
They got out of the car, Quinn taking care to arm the alarm, and made their way down the street, the dull thud of bass audible from several houses down.
“It sounds like one hell of a party.” She stopped before they reached the house. “Look. There are cars pulling up to a side entrance. There must be an alley or back driveway.”
“Aye, I see it.”
A teenage girl stepped out of a shiny dark BMW, followed by an older man, no doubt her father, the noise from the party growing louder for a moment when they walked through the side door, the older man’s hand shifting to the girl’s butt.
So, the man wasn’t her father.
“I’m going to try to get in. Maybe we can talk with this MSP—Jack’s boss.” She’d dressed nicely for exactly this reason, passing over heels for less dressy but more comfortable flats.
“Aye, we can try.”
“Just act like you belong here.”
“You want me to impersonate a pompous arse?”
She bit back a laugh. “You’re a patriotic Scotsman who served his country. Wear that tonight.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
They walked up to the front gate, where two men in suits stood guard, equipped with radios.
Elizabeth put on her game face. “Elizabeth Shields and Quinn McManus.”