Legacy of the Highlands (39 page)

“No! Shhhhh,” Alex said as she covered his
mouth with her fingers. “I don’t want to know. I told you I don’t
ever want to know.” She was surprised that she felt nothing,
neither relief nor guilt. Maybe those emotions would come later. If
she knew the details she’d be able to picture what happened and
that could be a problem. It was better to remain ignorant.

Diego opened his arms and she went to him. In
a few short months he had become adept at recognizing her needs and
fulfilling them. His body was solid and radiated security and
comfort into hers. “We better go,” he said, reluctantly breaking
the embrace to check his watch. It was a few minutes after 3 a.m.
“At this time of night the motorway will be deserted and we can
make excellent time,” he said as he picked up their overnight bags.
The comment made Alex’s lips twitch, but she didn’t say anything.
She’d spent enough time racing around with Diego to know that an
empty road was irrelevant when he wanted to get someplace in a
hurry. But this wasn’t the best time for one of their verbal
jousting matches.

Serge ended his brief call to Diego, flipped the
phone closed and stuffed it in his pocket as he climbed into the
Range Rover to begin the journey to London. He turned the key in
the ignition and the rugged vehicle’s powerful motor roared to
life, but an approaching car’s headlights made him freeze as he was
about to put the 4 x 4 in gear. He waited for the late night
traveler to zoom past the spot where he was parked, but instead of
passing, the vehicle slowed. Not a tourist then. It had to be a cop
on night patrol. He knew better than to run from the police. As
anxious as he was to get going, he had no choice but to stay where
he was. He got out of the Rover and stood next to it with his hands
visible so the cop could see he posed no threat, but he left the
motor running and the door ajar.

He’d already changed into jeans and a Miami
Dolphins sweatshirt and wedged his gear into the tire well until he
could dump it. There’d be no trouble passing for an American
tourist. He’d show his U.S. passport and the car rental papers, all
in the name of Steven A. Spencer of Florida, and explain that he’d
pulled over to rest before continuing the nine-hour drive to
London. The cop would suggest that he check into a hotel and get a
good night’s sleep. Serge would thank him and agree to find a bed
when he reached Aberdeen, less than a half hour away. The whole
thing might take five minutes, max, a minor glitch.

Serge never took his eyes off the approaching
vehicle as it veered off the road, scanned the car park with its
headlights and moved toward him. He cursed the pitch-black night
that kept him from clearly seeing the car as it closed in on
him.

Cop, Serge thought. Yet every instinct in his
body told him to jump into the Rover and get the hell out of there.
He’d learned to pay attention to the internal warning system that
had saved his life more than once. But if this was a cop — and who
else could it be —it would look suspicious for him to suddenly take
off. There’d be a chase. And questions. And a delay he couldn’t
afford. Logic overruled his inner voice.

The car’s high beams blinded him. In the
split second before his eyes readjusted, the driver leapt out and
shrieked hysterically, “Where’s Jamie? What have you done with
him?” There was the glint of a gun.

Reflex propelled Serge’s body into the
driver’s seat and he threw the SUV into gear before the man’s words
traveled from ear to brain. His foot hit the gas and he had the
Rover moving before he’d even closed its door. Then he felt the
unmistakable searing pain of a bullet. The wound didn’t matter,
survival did. He gunned the engine and tore out of the parking lot,
tires squealing, gravel flying, as another bullet or two pinged off
the tailgate. He checked the rear view mirror and saw that the
other car was no match for his. The shooter would know that too.
There’d be no chase.

The waking sun turned the sky over Inverness into a
pink, gold and peach masterpiece as the plane Diego chartered
taxied to the runway for take off for London. Against the warm glow
of dawn, Alex’s face was pale and she could barely keep her eyes
open.

“Put your head on my shoulder and try to
rest,
Preciosa
.”

“No, not yet. This country’s so
beautiful...but I have to say good-bye to it. I don’t ever want to
come back here.” She gazed out the window as their route took them
south, down the Great Glen and over Loch Ness. Then she closed her
eyes, overcome by memories of Will, and felt her heart break.

Diego held her hand until she fell asleep. He
hoped that the pain that he’d seen in her eyes would be gone when
she woke.

Less than two hours later, the jet touched
down at the small London City Airport and taxied to the area where
the Navarro Gulfsteam was parked. Diego gently kissed Alex’s
forehead. “Wake up sleeping beauty.”

“Are we in London? Have we really left
Scotland?” she asked hopefully and felt immense relief when Diego
replied, “Yes, thank God.”

“Good. I feel like a huge weight is
gone.”

Minutes later they walked down the steps of
one plane and onto the other. The nap had done her good and Alex’s
mood lifted the minute she stepped aboard. “Is that coffee? Do I
smell coffee?” she asked the cabin steward who welcomed them. He
brought her a steaming mug as soon as she was seated and then
served a breakfast worthy of a four star restaurant.

“I keep forgetting that you really live
differently from the rest of us mere mortals,” she commented as she
dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin and opened the top button of
her jeans to relieve the pressure of too much food.

“Yes, I do. Is that a problem?” Diego
snapped, then immediately apologized. “I’m sorry. Serge should have
been here by now. I’m worried.”

“Could he have radioed the pilot? Maybe your
mobile isn’t working or Serge’s can’t get a signal,” Alex
suggested. Diego’s anxiety was contagious.

“Maybe. I’ll go forward and check.”

Diego returned from the cockpit a minute
later and exhaled loudly as he collapsed into the cushy leather
seat opposite her. “Nothing. Serge assured me it went off without a
hitch when he called last night. If anything happened to him...” He
wouldn’t allow himself to finish the sentence.

Alex got out of her seat and began to massage
his shoulders. He groaned as her fingers kneaded away the knots of
tension that had become a constant presence since...well...for a
long time. Alex scolded herself for being so consumed by her own
needs that she hadn’t considered the effect all of this was having
on him. Diego was tough and he was brave, but even the strongest
men crack and need to lean on someone once in a while. She not only
owed him her support, she wanted to give it.

“You’re very good at that,” he said as her
thumbs did their work. “Ever think of opening a massage parlor? You
could wear...nothing?”

“Very funny, Navarro. You had to go for the
lewd comment just when I was starting to think that some of your
other body parts might want my attention too.” She laughed as he
tumbled her into his lap.

“Does this mean you’ve stopped worrying about
Serge?” she whispered as she ran her tongue around the edges of his
ear, pleased that she was able to distract him.

“No, but maybe there’s something we could do
to help pass the time. After all, worrying won’t bring him here any
sooner,” he said as he ran a hand up her leg and nuzzled her
neck.

“Oh it won’t, huh?” Serge teased as he stood
leaning against a seatback. “I’m crushed.”

Diego forgot that Alex was on his lap and
jumped to his feet, toppling her to the floor. When he bent to help
her up she yanked his arm hard enough to pull him down beside her
and they both began to laugh hysterically to relieve their
tension.

“I see nothing’s changed,” Serge muttered.
His shoe squished with each step as he tried to limp around
them.

“What’s that sound? Why are you limping?”
Diego was already on his feet when he spotted the source of the odd
sound and the color drained from his face.

“You’re bleeding! What happened?”

“It’s nothing, just a flesh wound. It bled
into my shoe like a son of a bitch, but I think it’s okay now.”

“How did you get shot? Who did it? You told
me everything went fine and that you were on your way to London.
What happened?”

“I got careless, ignored my gut. So I took a
bullet...not the first time,” he said as if this were an everyday
occurrence. “I’m not sure who the shooter was, but he was screaming
about Jamie so best guess is it was Duncan Buchanan, the guy with
the safe house. Lucky for me the bastard’s a lousy shot and drives
a piece of shit car. Bullet grazed my ankle before I got the
Rover’s door closed. The rental people will be pissed.”

“Lean on me,” Diego snapped as he gripped
Serge around the waist and helped him into a seat.

“Stop pushing me around, I’m fine,” Serge
protested.

“I can see how fine you are bleeding all over
the place. Take off your shoe. Alex, get the pilot. He can decide
whether we need to call an ambulance.”

“I’m not going to any hospital with a gunshot
wound. You’re smart enough to know what would happen if I did.”

“I do,” Diego agreed. “Fortunately, my father
hired a pilot who was a medic in the Gulf War.”

Wound cleaned, closed with butterfly strips and
bandaged, Serge allowed Diego and Alex to fuss over him as he
reclined in a seat, sipping a third medicinal vodka as the plane
sat on the runway, waiting to be cleared for take off.

He’d been through a lot worse and was no
stranger to stressful situations, but Alex and Diego weren’t.
They’d been under intense pressure and had handled it better than
he thought they would, so if Alex felt better spoon feeding him and
Diego couldn’t stop glancing at the bandage to assure himself the
wound was closed, he’d go along with it. But he’d be damned if he’d
let them put him to bed in the aft cabin like some invalid.

“If you won’t use the bed, I will,” Alex
finally mumbled in between yawns after Serge’s third and final
refusal. ”I’m so tired I can’t think.”

The moment the door to the aft cabin closed, Diego
moved closer to Serge. “What the hell happened?“ He’d always
believed that his bodyguard was invincible, an iron man, and
because he’d risked his life on Diego’s orders, he blamed himself
for his friend’s injury.

“I told you, everything went off as planned.
No one can survive a fall into the sea from the height of those
cliffs. Especially when they’re unconscious. He’s dead. I’m sure of
it.”

“I know that already! Tell me how you got
shot!”

“It was a stupid mistake. It’s always a
stupid mistake.” Serge described the incident in the car park and
his misguided assumption that the approaching vehicle was a police
car. “It was pitch black, but when the driver started screaming
about Jamie, I knew it had to be Buchanan since that was where
Mackinnon had sent his grandson.”

“How did he even know to look for you?
There’s no way that they could have found out that we discovered
where the son of a bitch was hiding. And if it was Buchanan who
followed you to the cliffs, why didn’t he use his gun to stop you
before Mackinnon went into the sea? I don’t get it.”

“Neither did I. On the drive down to London I
went over everything that happened from the moment I left
Inverness. I analyzed every detail over and over and over. It was a
good distraction from the pain.”

“And?”

“And I came up with nothing solid, just
theories. Want my best guess?”

Diego nodded.

“We know that Michael Graham didn’t find me
when he went to the hotel and that had to have made him suspicious.
Don’t forget he was sure I’d lied about you and Alex. He’s a smart
guy, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for him to figure out that I
wasn’t who I said I was. Now, because Buchanan saw me at the
cliffs, they know it for sure. Graham must have warned the others
and Buchanan came looking for Jamie to ship him off to another safe
house. We’ll probably never know for sure.” Serge cursed under his
breath and smashed his fist into the arm of the chair. “I hate
loose ends. They always come back to bite you in the ass.”

“Let me think about this for a minute.” Diego
got up to pace, then sat opposite Serge and leaned toward him. “You
said you got the tapes to MI-5 and they planned to arrest all of
them this morning, right?”

Serge nodded.

“You said Michael Graham might have been
worried enough to warn everyone and even order them to disappear.
When the cops come to arrest the bastards, are they going to find
them gone?” Diego’s eyes narrowed and his face reddened as the
potential repercussions of this theory hit home.

“It’s possible,” replied Serge. “Give me a
minute to check,” he said as he punched numbers into a satellite
phone.

Diego listened and watched Serge’s face,
trying to read his expression until he ended the call.

“It’s mostly good.”

“Mostly? What does that mean? Tell me exactly
what they told you before I wring it out of you,” Diego snapped as
the anger, guilt and worry that coursed through his body erupted.
“Did they get them or not?”

“They got four them around dawn.”

“Four? Are you saying that one got away?”

“So it seems.”

“Stop being so fucking calm!” Diego exploded.
“Was it Buchanan who got away?”

“No, they have him and he won’t shut up about
a murder on the cliffs, but no one’s paying attention to him.”

“Then who…?”

“Michael Graham. He’s disappeared.”

“He’s gone? But they’ll find him, right? This
is the British fucking secret service! How could they screw up and
not bring him in? He was the brains of the thing.”