Ariadne's Thread

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Ariadne’s Thread Copyright © 2008 by Marie Treanor ISBN: 978-60504-219-0 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Angela Waters All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2008 www.samhainpublishing.com

Ariadne’s Thread Marie Treanor

Dedication

To my family: unwitting heroes and heroines

Some Scots words and their meanings:

Hogmanay: New Year’s Eve

First footer: first visitor of the New Year, literally first foot over the door; often used to describe all visitors after midnight on 1st January

Cludgie: bathroom/toilet

Deid: dead

Teuchter: Highlander/country dweller

Schemie: someone who lives in a (usually rough and deprived) Council housing scheme

Polis: police

Bam, short for Bampot: “nutter”; someone whose erratic behaviour verges on the insane

Marie Treanor

Chapter One

The burglar hanging out of the first floor window stared down at her in disbelief. Wearing black from neck to toe in the finest tradition of his profession, he stood out through the falling snow like a negative beacon in the white night. “Addie?” he hissed furiously—for he was her brother. “What the fuck are you doing here? Where’s Malky?” “Fixing the car. How do I get up there?” “You don’t!” “I thought you needed another lookout?” Jim ran an anxious hand through his hair. “Oh, shite. Here.” He ducked down for an instant and a knotted rope began to snake down the wall. It wasn’t difficult to climb, especially since Jim pulled it in to speed things up. Slithering through the window, she had an upside down glimpse of the house—a big Victorian folly of a place, all towers and turrets and fake battlements. It looked rather beautiful amidst the falling snow, like a fairytale castle, and then she was inside, blessedly sheltered from the icy wind. There was a distant hum of voices, interspersed with the familiar delicate clink of touching glasses and the occasional louder burst of laughter. Addie stood, listening, 6

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ignoring Jim who shone the battery torch directly in her face. She could hear music now, too, traditional accordion stuff. A breeze ruffled her hair. Just for a second, she imagined it came from inside the house rather than through the open window and she shivered. Jim said, “Shug’s going to go ape shit. He didn’t want you here in the first place.” Addie shook herself and pushed the torch away. “Well if he thinks I can fix the car better than Malky, he’s an arse. Malky’s got an NVQ is car mechanics. Or something. Don’t you have a safe to crack? What do I do?” “Watch out the window,” Jim said grimly, already moving away across the room. His dancing torch beam wavered over a faded carpet, a corner of a grand piano and a wood-paneled wall. “It’s our way out, so we need to know it’s safe. Divide your time between that and the hall—come here.” Obediently, Addie followed him across the room. He shone the torch for her in case she blundered into anything. She saw the wooden floor surrounding the faded carpet, and the polished castors on the grand piano. Jim put his ear to the paneled door, then opened it a crack to peer out with one eye. Addie felt hysterical laughter rise up in her throat. Well, it was certainly a different way to spend New Year… Apparently satisfied, Jim opened the door further and looked to right and left, beckoning Addie with one hand. Addie slipped out after him into a long, semi-lit hallway. Jim pointed to a closed door diagonally opposite them. “That’s the office, where the safe is,” he whispered. “So what am I supposed to do?” she whispered back. “Look out for us!” “From here? Jimmy, by the time I’d warned you someone was coming, they’d already be past—or watching you stealing.” Jim looked harassed. “Aye, right enough,” he allowed. “Well, maybe Malky was meant to thump whoever came near.” “Shug is an arse,” Addie observed. “Shut up,” Jim warned, shoving her back into the room with the piano. “Just look out, all right?”

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“Jim, I’ll phone if there’s a problem, OK?” He looked so relieved at that—they already had instructions to communicate in this way, with their phones set only on vibrate—that Addie wondered yet again how they were not all in jail already. She had spent enough time with them driving up here from Glasgow to work out that her brother’s criminal associates were not the sharpest tools in the shed. In fact had she known beforehand that Shug Campbell (whom she remembered only too well from school) was involved, she would never have agreed to do this. But, the money was good and, as Jim had pointed out, she needed it more than whoever lived in this bloody great house in the Highlands. Closing the door silently, Addie walked across to the open window. The snow continued its graceful, silent fall, piling up a soft, white carpet on the ground below. Addie had serious doubts about driving in the hills in this weather. In fact the whole plan was bloody stupid. Turn up here on Hogmanay while the owners were having a New Year party and rob them under cover of general jollity. And if they encountered anyone, they just said “Happy New Year!” and no one would suspect a thing. Apparently. Oh, yes, Shug was an arse. Addie closed the window as quietly as she could, though it still screeched painfully, and turned back to the room. For a moment, she just gazed at the shadowy piano, till the distant merriment of the house receded and she could imagine only too well the glorious music… Inevitably, it drew her—although since Jim had taken the torch, she had to feel her way toward it with outstretched hands and feet, avoiding possible obstacles like a blind woman. Once there, she discovered a lamp. She hesitated only briefly. The door was closed. No one would see so dim a light from the hall. She clicked it on, and the piano was bathed in light. It was a beautiful thing, overwhelmingly so. Polished dark wood, gorgeous curves, intricately carved ornamentation on the lectern… Addie slid onto the stool—old and comfy.

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Something made her shiver again, a cold fluttering from the base of her spine to her neck. She twisted quickly to check she was alone. For a fraction of an instant, she imagined a shadow disappearing from her view, but when she turned her head further, there was nothing. Of course. Feeling slightly foolish—she prided herself on being down to earth, the sensible one of her ridiculous family—she returned to the piano, lifting the heavy, shiny lid to reveal the ebony and ivory keys beneath. The maker’s name, Bechstein, stood out in gold lettering, causing her eyes to widen further. Never in her life had she been this close to such a wonderful instrument. Greatly daring, she touched her fingertips to the keys. Love at first touch, she thought wryly, before she’d even heard it sound a note. Tenderly, she glided her fingertips along the keys. Sparks of excitement flowed up her wrists. Desire to play twisted through her, all the more forceful for the years of abstinence. Delicately, so gently she wasn’t even sure it would sound, she depressed the middle C with her thumb. It was soft, barely startling her at all, yet clear as a bell, full-toned and gorgeous, in perfect tune… Addie risked another note, then another. She brought up her left hand, watching her fingers settle over the keys as if they owned them. She gave one uneasy glance toward the window, cocked her head for any untoward sound, then looked back at the keys. Very softly, she began to play Beethoven’s “Für Elise”. It had been her party piece as a kid, on the bashed up old piano in the church hall. There was no comparison. On this instrument, you could make music… For an instant, Addie had a glimpse of another world, beyond the music she had learned and loved, of a talent and knowledge nurtured way beyond the level of her own. Abandoning Beethoven, she began the most difficult piece she had ever played, Christopher Maxwell’s “Sonata in F”. It was a beautiful, evocative piece that made her think of bubbling streams and high mountains, the sort of wild nature you didn’t get in the city. It had brought her peace in the past, along with fresh excitement in life, and powerful, reasonless happiness. In this particular situation, she hardly lost herself in the music. She was in the house of people

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she was helping to rob. She had to play extremely quietly while listening for sounds of approach. Her nerves jangled, and she had to ignore the creepy, guilty feeling of being observed that had freaked her when she first sat down. Besides which, she’d forgotten some of it and had to improvise. With a frustrated gasp, she dragged her hands upwards off the keys as if they’d been burned. Enough of this, Ariadne! Twirling round on the stool, she leapt to her feet—and faced the man standing in the open doorway. “Fuck!” she uttered before she could prevent it. It wasn’t Jim, or even Shug. Dimly lit from behind as well as from the piano lamp, she had only the impression of a large man in a kilt, arms folded as he leaned against the doorframe to watch her. “Before we’ve been introduced?” he enquired. His voice was Scottish, but only just. The sort that would be considered English where she came from. Worse, it was deep and low, with a devastating timbre that vibrated right to the bits you didn’t want to think about while trespassing with criminal intent. To her alarm, he pushed himself off the wooden frame and came toward her. His kilt swung round good, strong legs—stop looking at his legs!—as he walked, leisurely and graceful as a big cat. He was tall, rumpled as you’d expect of any self-respecting New Year reveler, tieless, his kilt and unbuttoned jacket crushed, shirt open askew at the throat, his dark, curly hair falling in wild disorder across his forehead. Black eyebrows stretched upwards in straight, dramatic lines from the bridge of his nose—devil’s eyebrows—and beneath them, intense, unquiet brown eyes regarded her without blinking. Shadows lurked beguilingly below finely sculpted cheekbones. His nose was slightly hooked, adding a predatory air to already Byronic good looks. He didn’t look happy. It was only willpower that prevented her climbing backwards across the stool to get away from him.

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Releasing her gaze, his dropped to the region of her lips, flickered lower across her body and back up to her face. Surely that wasn’t a lustful gleam in his eyes now? Trick of the light… In fact, he looked thoroughly pissed off. “Or have we?” he asked sardonically Addie found her voice at last. “Have we what?” she demanded with more aggression than she’d intended. “Been introduced.” Christ, I hope not! Yet something suddenly seemed familiar about him… Surely to God they hadn’t met before? He was not the sort of man you generally met on a thirtyseven bus. “No,” she said baldly, as if the force of her single word could make it true. “What’s your name?” At this point, in real life, she would have said “Fuck off.” But she was standing in someone else’s house, supposedly watching out for her brother and his mates who were robbing it. Whoever this arrogant git was, and however annoying his presence, there was really no high ground from which to look down on him. “Kate,” she blurted, and could have kicked herself. Determined not to give her own, she had said the first name to come into her head. Her daughter’s. For some reason, it seemed to mean something to him. His annoyance appeared to soften to merely resigned irritation. “You’re a friend of Tammy’s?” “Aye,” said Addie, clutching at the lifeline. “Yes.” “Well, Kate, let me show you where the party is. For future reference it is not in my study.” Oh, Jesus Christ, he’s the owner. He just had to be the bloody owner. She dragged her gaze free. “Sorry,” she mumbled, brushing past him toward the door. At least she tried to brush, but since he made no effort to get out of her way, it was more of a bump. He felt solid, immovable.

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Yet by the time she got to the door, he was there beside her, his hand on the knob, ironically bowing her through. He said bad-naturedly, “It seems I should have locked it to make the position clear.” Arsehole. He closed the door almost on her back and reached into his jacket pocket. Which was when she realized that he intended to rectify his oversight. Addie grabbed at his wrist. “All right, don’t rub it in. I get the message. I will not go near your piano again, ever.” For a moment, his hand resisted her tug without effort. Then a faint glint of amusement crept into his stormy brown eyes and he allowed his hand to be drawn out of the pocket. Keyless. It was a nice hand. Large, long-fingered, strong. Veins and sinews stood out in an intricate, fascinating pattern. Unbidden, she wondered how it would feel to be touched by such a hand. Intimately. On her breast, those fingers closing tenderly around her nipple, rubbing… Her breath caught. Talk about untimely fantasies! Afraid to drop his hand in case it reached once more for the key, she floundered for a way to get him out of this corridor. “Show that you forgive me,” she blurted, tugging him in the direction of the stairs. He allowed himself to be drawn. “Want to dance?” “No.” “Hey, don’t beat about the bush,” she babbled. “I can take rejection.” The noise of the party below grew louder as they reached the top of the staircase. A woman in a long, black evening dress rushed past her line of vision, reminding her forcefully that this was really not her kind of party. She would get him downstairs, lose him, then sneak back up and get Shug and Jimmy out of there. They should have cleaned out the whole damned safe by now. Deliberately, she let her fingers trail down his hand to his fingertips before she released him. At the same time, she glanced up at him and smiled in blatant invitation. That should at least get him down the stairs.

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For a second he looked startled. Something else heated his troubled eyes, a maelstrom she had neither the ability nor the time to interpret. It did cross her mind to wonder if she’d just bitten off more than she could chew, but then he snapped, “I don’t dance. Nor do I flirt with my little sister’s friends.” That did it. She let a lifetime of scorn seep into her face. “Why’s that? Too much man for the silly wee lassies to handle? You’re obviously doing them—and me—a big favour there. But for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t take an arsehole like you in a lucky bag.” It came from the heart, and also got her past him with an excuse to storm away at the foot of the stairs. Behind her, she thought she heard a breath of laughter. A moment later, he swung round in front of her, bringing her storming to an abrupt halt, his hands on the handsome wooden banister on either side of her body, imprisoning her. A rueful, dangerously charming smile lurked in his eyes, twisted his full, sensual lips. “Was I being a pompous wanker? Sorry. I forget neither my sister nor her friends are sixteen anymore. For the rest, I’ve always been a rude bastard, even to my guests. I won’t dance with you because I’d walk all over your feet. Besides, you don’t seem the Jimmy Shand type. But I can find you the best booze in the house.” It was a devastating charm offensive, all the more effective for being so unexpected. Women must have fallen over themselves for half that much attention from him. Fortunately, Addie was made of sterner stuff—and a much less pure motive. She could ignore the butterflies in her stomach, the sudden heat in her body generated by the proximity of his. She could curl her lip and say with all the contempt of Glasgow’s inverted snobbery: “From the family cellar, no doubt.” “Maybe, but not this family’s. I swipe the best as my first footers bring it in. What would you like?” She would in fact have liked a large whisky to help her deal with this ridiculous situation. Instead, she said awkwardly, “Look, I was only kidding you on. I’m a bit underdressed for a party like this…”

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“Over-dressed,” her host corrected with a flickering smile. For an instant, his long fingers brushed the sleeve of her thick black sweater. Through the wool, her skin felt burned. “Doesn’t this come off?” Whoa! Now who’s flirting? She had a brief, overwhelming vision of him taking her sweater off, running his strong, sensitive hands upwards over her breasts…which were covered only by that new camisole she’d bought for Christmas. It had cost all the money she’d been given, plus some more. A stupid expense for something no one would ever see…and yet when she’d bought it, it had crossed her mind that it would pass as an evening top in the unlikely event she’d ever need one. It was embroidered silk, gorgeously red and clingy, and the most luxurious garment she’d ever owned. Just why she’d worn it tonight on her most reprehensible expedition to date was one for the psychiatrists. Well, she had little choice but to go along with this to facilitate her escape. And if it lit up the eyes of this rich and intriguing bastard, well that was a bonus for her ego—and more fodder for those shrinks. Holding his challenging gaze, she took hold of the bottom edges of the sweater and pulled it over her head in one movement. She shook out her untidy, uneven chestnut hair and glared defiantly back up into his dark eyes. They didn’t light up. They darkened alarmingly, save for tiny flecks of gold that seemed to dance at the edges. His hands, still on the banister, moved inward. He took a step nearer so that his kilt brushed against her denim-clad legs, his sporran against her abdomen. “There you are, Johnny!” exclaimed a woman’s voice from the foot of the stairs. “The ceilidh band are drunk and trying to confiscate your mother’s record collection.” “Good luck to them,” murmured her host. Over his shoulder Addie glimpsed a beautiful young woman in a dark blue dress with a stylish tartan sash. His wife? Girlfriend? Please not his sister Tammy! Whoever she was, he seemed in no hurry. He didn’t even glance at the newcomer. He said, “What did you say you’d drink?”

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Really, you could drown in those eyes. And those lips must taste like… “Whisky,” she said shakily. “Please.” The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “Good choice, as it happens. Don’t go away. I want to know more about you.” “Like what?” she demanded. Like where she went to school? Or what she was doing in his house? He straightened, removing his enclosing arms, and stepped back. “Like where you learned to play the piano.” His hand twitched the sweater from her lifeless fingers and slung it over the banister. A moment longer, he held her bemused gaze, then his lips quirked upwards. He took the final few stairs in one bound, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of his lower thigh. “Have you met Liz, by the way? She’s a journalist, so watch what you say. Liz—Kate.” Feeling more than slightly dazed—and ridiculously happy because he’d almost implied a compliment about her piano playing—Addie blinked after his disappearing back. Reluctantly, she walked down the steps towards the journalist, who appeared to be waiting for her. “Charming, isn’t he?” the other woman said mildly. “The trouble is, he knows it. I’m Liz Conway, by the way, and I’m a music journalist, not a scandal sheet reporter. Just so you know I’m not looking for gossip here.” “’Course not,” said Addie. Though if you asked her, the woman looked far too…interested. “So which side of the fence are you on? You don’t believe he killed his wife, or you don’t care if he did?” Addie blinked. “Which scandal sheet are you not working for again?” The woman’s mouth twitched with surprise. Then, recovering quickly, she laughed, a bright, tinkly sound that grated on Addie’s nerves. “Sorry, I’m more of a family friend than a mere journalist. I’m afraid I was testing you. Poor Johnny has had a lot to put up with recently. How do you know him?” “I don’t,” said Addie. “Excuse me, where’s the nearest toilet?”

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Liz waved her elegant hand across the hall. Damn—not upstairs as Addie had hoped. Never mind, she could still hide in the downstairs cludgie until the coast was clear enough to find Jimmy and get out of here.

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Chapter Two

Tammy Newton glanced at her watch again. One fifteen. The bastard should have phoned by now. He always phoned when he was working high days and holidays— birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, New Year… She’d been so sure he wouldn’t let a little thing like impending divorce get in the way of tradition. Oh, well, stuff him. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t having a good time. It was wonderful to be home, great to see old friends again, talk and dance and drink to New Year and new life. Johnny, looking rumpled and rather devilishly handsome as well as purposeful, swung his way through the dancers, carrying two glasses of whisky. Not that she grudged him a bit of fun, but she hoped the second glass wasn’t for Liz. She wanted him to meet someone exotic and different. Someone who could enchant him and put up with him at the same time. Well, there were plenty of women here, and some she’d never laid eyes on before, so there was hope. Tammy felt glad all over again that they’d decided to hold their usual New Year party. Last year, with Julia’s murder and the trial hanging over them, it hadn’t been feasible. She’d wondered if people would actually come—but they had, and not just from

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curiosity, but from solidarity and support, as well as determination to enjoy the best pissup for miles. Across the room, her mother destroyed the blessed silence by putting on another old Jimmy Shand record. A few of the guests gamely set out on a lively Gay Gordon full of twirls and “Hooch!”s. And the pissed ceilidh band that had entertained them so royally before the bells of midnight retreated under the table with their bottles, waiting, no doubt, for Tammy to turn her back so they could change the record. “That would drive you to drink!” Gran snapped from her winged armchair, waggling her glass significantly under Tammy’s nose. Obediently, Tammy sploshed some whisky into it and clinked with her great-grandmother. “Can’t you put on one of those loud CDs and drown out the racket?” “Well, I could, but she’s having such fun. She loves New Year. Reminds her of Dad.” Gran snorted. “Well if she thinks your father would have tolerated this rubbish in his house, she’s madder than we all thought!” “Shut up, Gran, she isn’t mad. She’s just a little—lost.” She had of course been lost for many years now, deep in her own world. Tammy had long ago learned to shut her heart to the ache of that, but she could no more spoil her mother’s fun than she could shoot herself. “Ha!” Gran had considerably less sympathy with those frailer than herself. “You really are an ill-natured old bat, aren’t you, Gran?” said Tammy amiably, peering inside the bag resting on the arm of the old lady’s chair, just to make sure no message was registering on her phone. “Just take it out,” Gran advised. “It’s not as if we don’t all know what you’re doing.” Tammy cast her a glance of dislike and yanked out the phone. It was not only blank, but stone dead. “Damn! The stupid thing’s run out of charge.” Which could well explain his silence—why hadn’t she noticed this before?

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“Better run upstairs and use the office phone, then,” Gran mocked. “If you go quickly, you won’t have to explain to your new boyfriend why you’re so desperate to speak to your ex.” “Has anyone ever told you you’re a nasty old woman?” “Frequently,” Gran boasted, and this time it was Tammy who snorted before she left her grandmother without a backward glance, slipping between the merry dancers and across the hall to the stairs. With the speed of someone who had lived with them most of her life, she took two steps at a time, uncaring that her sleek little black dress rode too far up her thighs for modesty. Vaguely, she noticed a dim light under the study door as she passed. She supposed Johnny must have got fed up with the party after all and escaped to do some work instead. Boring old fart. With more hope than she knew was healthy, she pushed open the office door and dived inside. The first thing she noticed was that the light was on here, too. The second thing she saw was a thin-faced, villainous-looking man in a black leather jacket with a scar down one cheek. He was staring at her, his mouth open with almost as much surprise as hers. “Grab her, Jim,” he said grimly and pulled a handgun from his inside pocket.

Addie emerged from the cloakroom toilet warily, peering round the door until she could see that Liz the journalist had vanished. Nor, fortunately, was there any sign of her host among the throngs. His guests, some in tartan, some in evening dress, others in jeans and most stages in between, seemed an odd mixture of the wealthy and ordinary local people. So at least she didn’t stand out as much as she’d feared when she first met Liz Conway. Pausing nervously by a tall Victorian grandfather clock, Addie glanced at the time. It was no help. The hands pointed straight up at midnight. She suspected they always did.

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Taking a deep breath, she moved among the crowd of people—both new arrivals and people leaving—in the hall, making her way inexorably toward the staircase. Snatches of conversation in many accents reached her. “…terrible lot of snow—it’ll be a long walk home!” “Oh, yes, the Maxwells always have a fantastic party at New Year.” “Nice that they’re still doing it, after all their—trouble.” “Christi! Happy New Year! How’s your gorgeous husband?” “So good to see Johnny back on his feet. He’s had a terrible time with the media, even after the trial.” Trial? What trial? Despite herself, Addie paused to listen in to that one. She heard the serious reply: “Well, a not proven verdict isn’t really regarded as a statement of innocence, is it? There will always be people who think he did it. And probably he’ll never prove he didn’t. But the really sad thing is he hasn’t played in two years, not since Julia died, and I very much doubt he will again.” “But that’s terrible! What will happen to this place if he doesn’t earn?” “Well, look about you,” came the dry response. “What do you think?” Addie found herself looking, too, and finally recognized the decayed appearance of the place beneath the lights and the glittering company. There was the broken grandfather clock, of course. But also, the Victorian bowl shades and chandeliers were dusty, far beyond what her mother would tolerate. The carpet under her feet may have once been good, but now it was so worn that the colour had disappeared. In fact, there were holes and patches all over it. The long, velvet curtains looked as if they’d been put up with the house and never removed or cleaned since. Houses like this were meant to be shiny and well maintained by a small army of servants and tradesmen. Weren’t they? Shit, she had to get out of here… Grabbing her black sweater off the banister, she ran back upstairs before “Johnny” came looking for her. She wondered what he’d been on trial for, what it was he would never prove he hadn’t done. The murder of his wife that Liz had brought up? Well, he

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looked like he had a nasty temper, and he now appeared to be on the same shady side of the law as herself. Which was disturbingly disappointing. Well, there was no honour among thieves in the real world: he was still getting robbed. Again, the upper hall was empty. The door of the piano room remained closed. Ignoring it, she ran for the one diagonally opposite and went quickly inside. Her harassed looking brother was on his knees beside a metal cabinet. He gazed up at her with the frightened despair of a rabbit caught in headlights, before his shoulders slumped in relief as he recognized her. Shug stood to one side of him, pointing a handgun at a girl cowering in the corner. “What the fuck are you doing with that?” The words erupted from Addie’s throat even while the blood drained from her head, leaving her dizzy. “Saving your ass, hen,” Shug growled. “You haven’t shot her, have you?” “Of course he hasn’t shot her,” Jim said with what he must have imagined was reassurance. “She came into the room—nothing else to do.” “Nothing else but wave a gun at her?” Shug said furiously, “Listen, smart-arse, if you’d been doing your job, we’d have been warned and she’d have seen nothing. And if you’d stayed out of the way and let Malky come like he was meant to, he could have thumped her.” Hysterical laughter rumbled in her chest. Oh, Jesus Christ, what am I doing here? Kate, Kate, if I ever get out of this, I will never ever do anything like this again, I promise… “Give the gun to me,” Addie said, holding out a hand that shook. “I’ll watch her now…” “No you will not,” said Shug, jerking the weapon out of her reach. The girl on the floor whimpered. “You go and get Malky. Jim, have you not got that bloody thing opened yet?”

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Jim shook his head miserably. Clearly, his term at borstal, combined with long association with Uncle Eddie, safe-cracker extraordinaire and long-time guest of Her Majesty, was not enough for this task. “Fuck it,” said Shug. “We’ll take the whole bloody safe, shoot it open when we’re clear of here.” Addie said, “Wait…” Her heart quailed at the thought of trying to manhandle the safe out of the window and down to the ground. Looking at the trembling captive—a young girl with dark, spiky hair, wearing a short black dress and smudged make-up—she ruthlessly squashed the inevitable pity and said, “What’s your name? Who are you?” “Aw for fuck’s sake…” Shug breathed. “Thomasina Maxwell,” the girl whispered. “Tammy? Johnny’s sister?” There was a horrible inevitability about all this. The girl nodded. Ignoring Shug’s snarl, Addie knelt down between him and his captive. “Tammy, can you open the safe? It’ll get rid of us much faster, I promise you.” Her terror-filled eyes widened. She nodded dementedly. “Good girl,” Addie breathed, turning away from her. Her insides wrenched. She rose and walked past Shug, pausing only to hiss on the way past, “You hurt her, Shug, and I swear I’ll crash the car into the nearest tree.” “Where are you going?” Jim demanded. “To get Malky!” She couldn’t bear to watch the girl “betraying” her family by giving away their safe combination. In fact, there was very little about this night she could bear now. A gun, for God’s sake! Where did that total arsehole get off? Crossing the still empty hall, she pushed open the door of the piano room. The icy air struck her naked shoulders like a blow. With a shiver, she hurried across to the window where she paused, staring stupidly at the firmly closed sash. She had shut it. It was still shut. So how come it’s so bloody cold in here?

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She stared out into the darkness. It was still snowing steadily. Addie didn’t see how they could possibly drive back to Glasgow tonight—even tomorrow it seemed likely that the roads would be closed. Who was going to work New Year’s Day to clear them? There was no sign of Malky or anyone else, save for the shouts of departing—or perhaps arriving—guests declaiming, “Happy New Year!” Significantly, she heard no cars, only the faint trudge of feet on thick new snow. Because the locals were too smart to drive in this weather? Or just because it was New Year and they were all pissed as farts? Addie reached for the rope, to throw it back down—and couldn’t find it. Frowning, she knelt down to look, felt her way along to the heavy desk leg it was supposed to be tied to. Nothing. It wasn’t there. “Why is nothing simple?” she murmured. Again, she went to the window. She pushed it up and peered hard through the snow to the white ground below. If the rope was there, it was well covered by now. Sliding the sash back down, Addie crouched under the window, faced into the room and dragged out her phone. She scrolled down to Malky’s name and pressed call. From nowhere, an icy breeze ruffled through her hair and down her spine, making her shiver again and start scanning the room for the source of the draught. Though she tapped her feet waiting for Malky to answer, it didn’t bring him any quicker. In fact, it didn’t bring him at all. She was switched over to the answer phone service. “Oh, shite!” That was when she saw him. It wasn’t startling. It wasn’t as if he suddenly appeared. It was as if he’d always been there. A handsome man in a suit—old fashioned, faintly reminiscent of what her dad had called a monkey suit. A dark tail coat, bow tie, Edwardian beard. Watching her. Through the substance of his body, she could still make out the piano and the lamp. Her throat closed up. The figure moved, slowly shaking his semi-transparent head. His mouth formed the universal tutting position. Bad girl, Addie…

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For some reason, she wasn’t afraid. Instead, she wanted to cry. “I know,” she whispered. “I know…” She swallowed. Dragging her eyes free of the apparition, she launched herself to her feet and sped out of the room. Trembling, she barely remembered to check for company in the hall as she crossed back to the “office”. Shug was now crouched down beside Jim and Tammy, one hand still holding on to the wretched gun, the other rifling impatiently through the safe. “We’re deid,” he said flatly, sitting back on his heels. All for nothing then, Addie thought, brushing past them to the window. Another year in that bloody hole…but at least the ghost would be pleased. And at least they didn’t have to steal from this wretched girl or her strange, compelling brother… Or the woman she’d never met with the Jimmy Shand record collection. Come to think of it, she couldn’t hear Jimmy Shand anymore. There was a slightly woozy fiddle—the drunken ceilidh band had taken over again… “Where’s the money?” Shug demanded, and Addie spun round to see him loom over the captive girl. “There isn’t any money,” the girl retorted with the sort of courage born of desperation and total truth. “Look around you! The whole house leaks like a sieve, it’s freezing cold and there’s been nothing new bought for twenty years. Or at least two…” she corrected, presumably in the interests of accuracy. “Then why send us up here?” Jim demanded. He blanched. “Shug, we have got the right house?” “Shut it, of course we have.” It wasn’t a convincing denial. And seeing the eyes of the others on him, he swore and shouted at the girl, “Your name’s Maxwell, isn’t it?” “Yes,” she whispered, scooting away from him. When Shug started after her, brandishing the gun, Addie sprang forward to catch his attention. “Actually, we have another problem—the rope’s gone and I can’t raise Malky.” Shug stopped dead and stared at her. “Gone? How can it be gone? You were in the room the whole time, weren’t you?”

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Ignoring the inconvenient question, Addie shrugged. “Can you guys get out from this floor without it? Because I’m pretty sure I can’t. If I break my ankle, I won’t be able to drive. I’ll have to go out the front door and meet you. Can we leave now, please?” “Without the stuff? It’s not just we won’t get paid, we’ll be mince!” “You’ll be mince,” Addie corrected with the most satisfaction she’d felt all night. “Look, there must be something here your man wants, even if it’s not money. He can’t have picked this house at random. What’s in there?” Joining the throng around the safe, she knelt on the floor and picked up the large pile of papers Shug had rejected. “Music,” she said blankly. “Screeds and screeds of sheet music…hand written…” The letters across the top of one page seemed to dance before her eyes. “Sonata for J” by Christopher Maxwell. “Maxwell…” She stared at Tammy. “You’re Christopher Maxwell’s granddaughter? Great-granddaughter? And your brother…” Her brother was John Maxwell, the great concert pianist who had been tried last year for the murder of his wife. The verdict had been “Not Proven”. Jesus Christ. No wonder he’d seemed familiar. She’d seen him play at the Royal Concert Hall in Glasgow. Twice. And tonight she’d played his piano. In front of him. She cringed at the mauling she’d given his grandfather’s great work—no wonder he had been grumpy… And the man who may or may not have killed his wife was not the man to anger lightly. That journalist’s strange questions made a lot more sense now, as did the overheard conversations. With difficulty, Addie dragged her mind back to the important issue here. “They’re valuable,” she said flatly. “Original manuscripts by Christopher Maxwell, the greatest Scottish composer ever. Some say he was the greatest British composer, better even than Elgar.” “Who?” said Shug, bewildered. “Land of Hope and Glory,” Jim explained helpfully.

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“That’s shite,” said Shug succinctly, turning back to Addie. “So you’re saying this stuff is what we’re meant to take?” “I’m saying it’s valuable. I don’t know what you were told to take.” “Contents of the safe,” Shug remembered. “I just assumed it was money. Or at least jewelry.” He regarded the heap of papers. “All right. Nab it and let’s get out of here.” Obediently, Jim began to stuff it into the sports bag he’d brought for the night’s loot. “Not like that,” Addie said alarmed. “That manuscript is a hundred years old. Be careful with it!” Snatching the papers from him, she smoothed them, tidying them in her hands while her eyes scanned for an envelope or some card to protect them. Under the other girl’s curious stare, she reached up to the desk, brought down a large envelope and slid the papers inside in two bundles. Which is when another name caught her attention. Music written on newer paper. The writing across the top was in a strong, distinctive hand, but less copper-plate than Christopher’s, sloppier. More notes littered the margins. She said slowly, “This is by John Maxwell.” “Is that good?” Shug asked. “Not as good as Christopher.” She began to draw it back out. “We’ll just leave it…” “Wait a minute,” said Shug, frowning with the effort to remember anything not directly associated with himself. “Is he not the bugger who did in his wife? Scottish pianist? That’ll be valuable and all, then. Take the lot.” Addie, who’d acted more from instinct than thought, reluctantly pushed the papers back in and placed the envelope inside the sports bag. She supposed it was harder to steal from someone you’d actually met, especially something so personal. Her gut twisted. But hadn’t she met Christopher, too? Was he not the Edwardian ghost in the piano room? Dredging up her memory of old pictures, she tried to match faces. “What about her?” Jim asked, interrupting her train of thought. “She’ll scream as soon as we’re out of the room,” Shug said with displeasure. “And then we’ll have a trail of pissed teuchters after us as we’re trying to get away.”

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“I won’t,” Tammy whispered. “Aye, right,” said Shug with heavy sarcasm. “We’ll take her with us.” “We can’t,” Addie protested. “You’re going to have to climb out the window! Without a rope!” “Jim can pass her down to me,” Shug said stubbornly. “I’ve got a better idea,” Addie said. “Leave her with me till you’ve gone. I’ll stuff her mouth and lock the door—no one’ll hear her for ages. There’s a party in full swing downstairs. Give me the gun, and she’ll be good.” Shug hesitated over the last bit. The struggle waged visibly across his thin face before he eventually began to hand over the weapon. Jim said disparagingly, “She doesn’t need that, Shug. She can keep the lassie quiet without it.” Shug snatched the gun back, and Addie glared at her brother. Shug was still capable of shooting someone before this night was done.

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Chapter Three

As the door closed behind the two men, the women regarded each other. Tammy’s face looked a little wild now. The fear seemed to have vanished with the gun, leaving reaction and new courage born of hope. “Don’t,” Addie said severely, “even think about it. Like the man said, I don’t need a gun. Ever been to Castlemilk, hen? No, I thought not.” The girl closed her mouth. No way had she been to the great, sprawling housing scheme on the edge of Glasgow, but she’d heard of it. Uncertainty was back in her face, so Addie felt quite justified in further blackening Castlemilk’s not entirely deserved reputation. “And if you don’t want that mad bastard with the gun back here, you keep your mouth shut for a good fifteen minutes so we can get clear. Do you understand?” “I’m helpless, not stupid.” “Good. I’m going to go now.” Addie stood. “Bye,” said the girl sarcastically. Addie flicked her a quick grin. “Happy New Year.” Rummaging in the key-tray, she found the one handily labeled “Office”. Exactly why Shug and Jim hadn’t used it earlier was beyond her. “Has anyone ever told you your house is haunted?” 28

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The girl smiled derisively. “Spooked you, did they?” “They? There are more of them?” “Who did you see? The maid with the kitchen knife? The naked bloke? The one in the kilt? The kids?” “Actually, I think it was your great-grandfather.” “Beardy guy in a stuffy suit?” Addie stared at her. “Don’t you mind living here with…all of them?” Tammy shrugged theatrically. “They don’t come near me now. It’s Johnny they plague the life out of. Especially old Christopher.” A hundred questions started to Addie’s tongue. She’d even opened her mouth to start asking them before she remembered what she was meant to be doing. Escaping the scene of the crime. She reached for the door handle. Tammy said, “They’ll follow you, you know—the ghosts. Hunt you down wherever you go, haunt you to madness until you return what’s ours.” Addie grinned. “Nice try, Tammy—but I don’t believe you.” “Watch out for the psycho with the gun,” Tammy said vindictively as Addie opened the door. Addie’s smile twisted. “Honey, I’ve been watching out for him most of my life.”

For John Maxwell, the party had come to life. Somewhere ’round about the time he’d ejected the Glaswegian girl from his study, he’d stopped wishing his guests would all fuck off. Stopped being angry that he’d let his mother’s shining, pleading eyes talk him into the party in the first place. Why? Because a sexy girl had looked at him without the veiled fear he’d grown inured to. Because he’d actually enjoyed crossing verbal swords with her. Because her casual touch had inspired an unexpected rush of lust, reminding him, if he needed reminding, of his long months of celibacy. www.samhainpublishing.com

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He didn’t even care that he couldn’t immediately find her again. She wasn’t local. A friend of Tammy’s from Glasgow, she must be staying the night. He’d taken no interest in the domestic arrangements until now, but he reckoned he could afford to be patient for once. Nevertheless, moving among his thinning guests, he almost felt he was hunting— which brought a self-deprecating smile to his lips. He wasn’t exactly an inexperienced teenager on the pull, desperate for a quick fuck on a Friday night. Although he wouldn’t mind… Where had she disappeared to? Somewhere with Tammy, maybe—he couldn’t see his sister, either. As he made his way back into the hall, he reflected that Kate was quite an unusual friend for Tammy: unpretentious in speech and manners; direct, prickly, with more than a hint of fire. An intriguing mixture of brashness and vulnerability he found oddly touching—especially when she snapped at him to cover up whatever attraction she felt. And he was almost sure she felt something. Her eyes gave her away. Although that could be wishful thinking on his part because the way she moved, so quick and unconsciously graceful, set off all sorts of erotic fantasies in his imagination… Liz Conway emerged from the dining room. Maxwell swerved the other way and surprised the speculative stares of a group of guests. At least two were neighbours he once counted as friends. Long ago, he’d refused to let such stares and whispered conversations behind his back hurt him. Though it was bloody rude to do it in his house while accepting his hospitality. “Happy New Year,” he said cynically, raising his glass to them. They almost fell over themselves to return the greeting, but he’d already moved past them. Liz caught up with him before he’d even got as far as the grandfather clock. He sighed, biting back his ill-tempered words for the sake of his newly discovered good mood. But he’d rarely met anyone so single-minded as Liz, and being her pet project had grown irksome.

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“Johnny. How’s it going?” “Fantastic,” he returned, dropping his glass into his free pocket for later. Liz’s eyes widened as they followed it. “Seen Tammy?” “She was with Lady Maxwell. Then she went upstairs.” He stretched his lips. “Not much gets by you, does it, Liz?” “I’m a journalist. It’s my job to observe. Which reminds me, I’m not sure I trust that Kate girl. She seems quite…out of place here.” “Wrong accent?” John mocked. At least Liz had the grace to blush, although she didn’t back down. “Common as muck springs to mind, and it has nothing to do with her accent. Who is she?” “No idea.” “Well I hope you watch what you say to her. This kind of party is really too open.” He stared at her. “It’s New Year.” Was she actually warning him that Kate was a reporter? Of a less respectable variety than her own? He laughed aloud, then wondered if it was true, and if he cared. “It won’t be so funny if you’re splashed all over the front pages again,” Liz snapped. He only grinned, and she stepped closer, veiling her irritation. He didn’t move away, merely regarded her with the cool mockery that kept most people at a manageable distance. “Johnny…” she began. “Got to go, Johnny, my lad,” interrupted Archie Brown, another jovial neighbour. He and his wife Betty and his daughter and son-in-law already had their coats on. “Got to put the wife to bed before she disgraces me,” Archie explained with a wink. “The wife” gave Archie a hearty thump on the shoulder that would have felled many lesser men flat. Feeling Liz’s disappointment battering at his back, Johnny began to walk with his departing guests to the front door, where Betty gave him an unexpected hug and a wet kiss on the cheek. Amazing what a bucket full of booze will do… Which is when, over Betty’s plump shoulder, he caught sight of Kate again.

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She was running lightly down the stairs, trying to avoid looking at him. Under the slinky red top, her breasts undulated, making his mouth water. Her untidy hair flew even more askew, and yet somehow that only made her sexier than ever. Hastily, Maxwell released Betty before she could notice his fast-growing erection. Something soared in him, at once glad and predatory, and he smiled right at Kate. Inviting her to share, inviting her to… He wasn’t quite sure. But God, she looked so fuckable… Caught in his gaze, Kate’s eyes widened, and for an instant she froze. Even over the distance between them, he saw he hadn’t been wrong. She did want him. Either she didn’t know or didn’t care about his past. And in a fit of lust, Maxwell realized he didn’t care, either, if she was a tabloid journalist ferreting for salacious copy. He’d give her it on a plate just for that look of genuine desire. For the first time in more than a year, a sense of fun began to bubble up inside him. Kicking the front door shut behind him, he resolved to enjoy the hunt.

It should have been easy now. Home straight. Just getting out of the house had become Addie’s prime concern. Actually going home seemed so distant that it wasn’t worth worrying about. It was right over there with the fantasy about moving out of Castlemilk and into that nice little house with a garden and a piano, and a music teacher for Kate who lived just up the road. She should have been able to walk down the stairs, mingle with the guests as she drifted through the hallway and escape via the front door without anyone noticing. But inevitably, as she reached the stairs and looked down, the first person she saw was her host, John Maxwell, concert pianist and suspected wife killer, standing right in front of the bloody door with a whole bunch of people who looked ready to make their departure—all faux fur coats and loud laughter. A middle aged woman threw her arms around his neck, soundly kissing his cheek. John Maxwell tolerated the embrace rather than returned it with any enthusiasm, but at 32

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least he smiled faintly. Then, over the woman’s shoulder, he saw Addie descending the stairs, and his smile became real. Flatteringly, stomach-churningly real. Desire hit Addie with unexpected force. Not just the powerful physical attraction she had felt earlier, but a fierce longing. Why couldn’t it be real? Why couldn’t she be a friend visiting with Tammy—whom, in spite of everything, she rather liked? Why couldn’t she go down there and have a New Year drink with this amazing man who, whatever his private life, played music like a god? Why did she have to be the lying little schemie, a trespasser, doing what she knew was wrong just to get an easy way out of the mess she’d made of her own life? God, he was coming toward her. She darted glances to left and right as she reached the foot of the stairs, even swerved to the side in a hopeless effort to avoid him, but inevitably, she found him right in her path, his mouth curved in a crooked smile. “Elusive Kate,” he observed. “Where are you off to now?” He was even more overpowering than she remembered. This man killed his wife and got away with it! Isn’t that what “Not Proven” always meant…? Hoping her voice wouldn’t shake, she said, “Looking for Tammy. Or a drink,” she added, inspired, as she realized he wasn’t holding one, either for her or himself. “Ah.” He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a short glass tumbler with a hefty measure of amber liquid. Addie blinked. “How did you do that?” “Practice.” Since she couldn’t do anything else, she took the glass from him. When their fingers touched, electricity sparked from his through her whole body. God, why couldn’t it be real? Well, maybe just for this moment, she could pretend… What, that he didn’t kill his wife? Or that you haven’t just locked his sister in an upstairs room? That you haven’t just stolen his unique work? And his greatgrandfather’s valuable original manuscripts? Unexpectedly, his finger touched her cheek, making her flinch from his gentleness. His hand fell away at once. “I’m sorry. You just looked so sad. What’s the matter?”

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She smiled. Pretend, pretend, it’s only for a moment… “Nothing,” she said brightly. “Nothing at all. Happy New Year.” He sighed, producing another glass from his other pocket, and clinked glasses. “What is it about New Year? All humbug, superstitious nonsense and very temporary bonhomie. And yet you still find yourself hoping.” “Hoping for what?” She took a cautious sip from the glass. Fiery and smooth, its flavor filled her mouth, burned down the length of her throat. A smile flickered across his face and was lost. “For it to get better. What about you? What do you want from this year?” “A house,” said Addie promptly. “And a piano.” “To make it all go away?” Arrested, she stared at him. He spoke sardonically and yet there was a disturbing compassion in his deep, dark eyes. “Whatever your trouble, it’s only transitory,” he said. “You’re far better living your life than losing it in…obsession.” Greatly daring, she said, “Is that what you do?” His lips twisted. “It’s what I’ve done. But I’d rather talk about you—can I tell you something?” “Sure.” Don’t get involved in this, Add—get yourself out the door. Any minute now, someone’s going to discover Tammy locked upstairs… She’s going to scream… She lifted the glass to her lips. He said, “You’re beautiful.” Startled, she almost choked. “Aye, right,” she said cynically and became fascinated by the way his eyes laughed at her while the rest of his face remained straight. “And that’s the other reason I like you.” His gaze dropped to the region of her lips, causing those butterflies in her stomach to tighten once more. Heat began to spread outward. She wondered how he would kiss, how he would taste. Hastily, she took another gulp of the gorgeous whisky. He said, “So is there a boyfriend lurking somewhere?”

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“What’s it to you?” she demanded from habit, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Absolutely nothing, as it happens, but I thought it might matter to you.” “Do you always speak in riddles?” His intense gaze remained steady. “You know exactly what I mean. I like you and I’d like to know you better.” Oh, Jesus, why does this have to happen now? Does he know what these words do to me? Of course he does. He’s just another man… She said, “Aye, well I know exactly what that means.” “Tell me,” he invited. He really thinks I won’t. She looked straight into his eyes. “You fancy a quick fuck.” Laughter and something far hotter swept over his stormy face. “Not quick.” Oh, Christ. Heat swamped her, melting her jeans. Before the conversation got even further out of hand, she downed the last of her whisky and laid her glass down on the nearest table. “Look, I have to…” “I want to show you something,” he interrupted with a bewildering change of mood. “Come on.” He took her hand, and it felt so good there that although she’d truly meant to leave at that point, she actually found herself going with him. Worse, he was leading her back upstairs. Where Tammy was, no doubt, banging on the office door. “Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly. “I thought the party was downstairs?” He laughed. “Why do you think we’re going up?” She pulled away. “I’m not going up there.” He glanced down at her, his devil’s eyebrows arching in a look both tempting and challenging. Beneath them, his eyes gleamed with that curious darkness she’d noticed before. And something else that she recognized as bitterness. Half the country believed he’d murdered his wife. Certainly, no one had proved he hadn’t. He said, “Why not? Are you afraid of me?”

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There were several good answers to that. Answers that would have lost him and got her finally out of the house. Unfortunately, her mouth always answered a challenge before her head gave it permission. “Don’t be daft.” And she was climbing the stairs again. “Maybe I’m scared of your ghosts.” “No, they’re second rate ghosts, not scary at all. Mostly.” “I think I saw your great-grandfather.” “Bad luck, to quote my great-grandmother.” She blinked at that, but since she really wanted to know, she asked, “Is that his piano I was mangling?” Laughter hissed out between his teeth. “You didn’t mangle it that badly. I’ve heard a lot worse played on it, believe me. Though the old bugger would prefer if you played the notes he actually wrote.” Suddenly she wanted to laugh, too, at his casual disrespect of a national icon as much as at the outlandish nature of the conversation. “Did you learn to play on that piano?” He shrugged. “It was always there.” “Did he lean over your shoulder and encourage you?” “Well, he swore at me when I got it wrong.” “You mean he speaks?” “Constantly. As the ogre said, it’s getting him to shut up that’s the trick.” Shrek? He knew Shrek? How incongruous was that? They had reached the top of the stairs now. Turn right, please turn right, away from Tammy… He drew her to the left. Addie was sure she could hear the office door rattling. She coughed to cover up any shouting, then found herself whisked into the piano room and the door firmly closed. “What are we doing here?” she demanded. “I thought you might like to play the piano with me.”

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The lamp was still on. By its poor light, his face looked rugged and more devilish than ever. And he stood too close, much too close. With the door behind her, there was nowhere she could go. God help her, there was nowhere she wanted to go… “Though now we’re here, I find I don’t give a stuff about playing.” You could drown in the storm of those eyes. She so needed to be away from him… “Shit, Kate.” His breathing seemed suddenly uneven. “Remember what you said about the lucky bag?” She opened her mouth to deny that she’d meant any of that, but he didn’t let her speak. “You’re right. It would be a bloody unlucky dip that dropped me in your lap. Tell me to sod off. Tell me quickly, and mean it—right after this kiss…” His head swooped down and his mouth seized her parted lips before she could think, let alone react to his words. She wasn’t prepared for it. She had no time either to reject him or to savor the moment. He went from speaking straight to kissing, his hands on either side of her face while his body pressed her back into the door. Paralyzed, she hung there while his mouth devoured hers, moving across her lips with a strange, tender hunger she’d never encountered before. It astounded her, enchanted her. So when his tongue slid between her lips, she opened wider to him, meeting his tongue with her own. He wound it in his, danced with it, sucked it into his own mouth while he explored every nook of hers. Sensation rolled inward like a tidal wave. Every caress of his sensitive fingertips at the corner of her lips, every movement of his devastating mouth, dragged her further in. She clung to him, kissing him back with forgotten passion till he groaned into her mouth. His hands left her face, trailing down her neck to her shoulders, and down the sides of her body, just teasing her breasts on the way to her waist where they lingered, stroking. Her hard, needy nipples pressed into him through the thin camisole. She moved in his arms, rubbing them against his chest. His hands swept down her hips, holding her while he pressed his lower body into her, his sporran jabbing into her abdomen. With an impatient jerk, his hand pushed between their bodies, pushing the sporran aside so that he could grind his erection into her instead. Through the thickness of his kilt, she could feel it already hard and thick. Desire flooded her, soaking her jeans. Her pussy pulsed with need.

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This can’t be happening…how can I want him so much so quickly? Changing the angle of his mouth, he deepened the kiss even further. One questing hand found her breast, cupping and caressing, his thumb flickering back and forth across her rigid nipple, making her moan into his mouth. She pressed forward into the delicious hardness of his cock and obligingly he rubbed it against her. She wanted it inside her, pushing, thrusting. She wanted him naked, to feel his skin, every inch of the hard body pressed so beguilingly against her now. At last, as if it were a supreme effort, he dragged his mouth free. “Tell me now,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. “Tell me quickly… ‘Sod off, John Maxwell, you’re nothing but trouble.’ Kate…” His mouth found hers again, brushing back and forwards across her lips as reality flooded back, bringing shame and guilt and a pain so sharp it made her gasp aloud. She grasped his head between her hands to stop his devastating mouth. “Johnny… I… Johnny, I’m not…” Something bumped inside the room, crashing against the window frame at the same time. A body fell into the room, cursing in fluent Glaswegian. Appalled, Addie watched over Johnny’s shoulder as Big Malky rose to his feet, shaking his shaggy head as if to clear it. Johnny span round. “What the…?” Malky blinked at the pair of them. “Aw right there, big man?” he said amiably to his host. “Happy New Year.”

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Chapter Four

Johnny said, “Who the hell are you, and why can’t you use the front door?” At that point, a scream rent the air. From inside the house. From across the hall. Accompanied by a huge thump, it yelled in muffled tones, “Johnny! In the office! Johnny! Mum! Gavin! Anyone!” Johnny swore. In an instant, he’d wrenched open the door behind Addie’s back and dived outside. Addie drew her shaking hand through her hair. “Jesus, Malky, what are you doing here?” “Looking for the rest of you!” She stared. “Shug and Jim left fifteen minutes ago. Didn’t you see them?” “Naw, I went for a pish up behind the house…” “Christ, let’s just go.” She grabbed up her sweater from the floor where she’d left it and pulled it over her head while charging toward the window. “Can you get back down there, Malky? And catch me?” “Aye.”

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Like Shug, Malky was apparently adept at climbing stone buildings. He slithered down the wall, and Addie, all caution forgotten in her desire never to face John Maxwell again, launched herself out of the window on top of him. The force of her jump knocked Malky over in the snow. He made a sound like “Ouf!” But without objection, he simply got up and began to amble after her as she ran slipping and sliding for the gate. Her feet inside her boots already felt cold and wet. “Did you get the car started?” she demanded. “Aye…” “You don’t sound very certain.” “Well, it started. It’s just I had to stop it again when I went for a whiz. But that’s not our problem anymore.” She paused to stare at him. “It’s not?” “No. Somebody pulled up to tell me all the roads south are impassable as far as Loch Foy. Nice bloke,” he added thoughtfully. “For a teuchter.” “Bloody hell,” Addie said furiously. “I knew this would happen.” Abruptly, she wanted to cry because all that had ever made this bearable was getting home to Kate, and now she couldn’t even do that. She could hear voices in the night, calling to each other, laughing. The Maxwells’ guests heading home by foot, perhaps. Or other locals first-footing each other. Why couldn’t she be one of them, instead of the burglar escaping the scene of her crime with Big Malky? Throwing off her self-pity with an impatient toss of her head, she trudged on through the snow. She shivered uncontrollably. There was a big mess of footprints and slide-marks all round the solitary car parked in the road, but no sign of Shug or Jimmy. “Well, that’s weird,” Malky said, scratching his head. Peering in the side window, Addie could see the sports bag on the back seat. “They’ve been here,” she said grimly. “They must be back up there looking for us.”

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And with all hell breaking loose over Tammy’s discovery, “up there” was not a good place to be. Whether or not John Maxwell had murdered his wife, the alacrity with which he’d sped off to rescue his sister did not bode well for whoever had hurt her. And Shug… “Malky, did you know Shug had a gun with him?” “Aye, but it’s no’ loaded,” Malky said comfortably. He frowned. “At least that’s what he told Jim. Can’t see the point of bringing it if it isn’t. Look, hen, you wait in the car—I’ll go and find them.” “No, no, we’ll all be wandering around separately for hours. Let’s stick together, and when we find them, clear off. Which way’s the nearest village? Or hotel? Or B&B?” “Miles,” said Malky gloomily. “That’s what I thought.”

Tammy Maxwell held on to her brother tightly. He supposed grimly that after what she’d been through, she was coping very well. When he’d kicked the door open, she’d thrown herself into his arms, clutching him like her one salvation as she sobbed out her unbelievable story. Now they sprawled on the office floor to give her time to recover, and she was calming surprisingly fast. Over her head, Johnny ruefully regarded the empty, open safe. “And they actually threatened you with a gun?” he demanded, making a genuine effort to keep the fury out of his voice. She nodded. “As soon as I walked in on them, he whipped it out of his pocket and told me to sit down over there and keep my mouth shut.” “Was it real?” “I don’t know! The others certainly behaved as if it was. In fact, if it wasn’t for the girl, I think he might actually have shot me.” Something twisted in his gut. Oh, no, not… “What girl? I thought you said it was two men?” www.samhainpublishing.com

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“At first it was. Then, after they’d been wrestling with the safe for ages—I don’t think they’re very competent criminals—this girl turned up, too. She seemed very angry about the gun. But then she made me open the safe. I’m so sorry, Johnny, they took your concerto…” “Well, what does that matter? It’s in my head if I ever want it again.” “Yes, but Johnny, you do want it. Now! It was to be the basis of your…” “Nothing’s changed, Tammy. Listen, would you recognize these people again?” “Oh, yes,” she said fervently. “Psycho-Weasel Shug and Jimmy the Lamb.” Johnny blinked. “You know their names?” “Must be any number of Shugs and Jims in Glasgow. Castlemilk, to be precise.” Johnny gave her a quick hug of admiration. “Good girl. They’ll be sorry yet they crossed the Maxwells.” He hesitated, but only briefly. He already knew the answer to this one. “And the girl? Was she called Kate?” Tammy frowned. “Might have been. I don’t think they used her name. But I’d know her again all right. Cheap jeans and bad hair that hasn’t been cut in two years. And a red silk top probably mugged from someone else. I think she’s the Lamb’s moll—certainly she didn’t care for Psycho-Shug. Johnny, are you…?” He was spared the necessity of responding to that as Gavin appeared in the doorway, looking white faced and terrified. “Tammy? What’s happened? Liz said you were screaming…” Mutely, Tammy reached out her arms to him, and for once Johnny was glad to stand aside and let the other man in. He had to move, he had to do something, use up some of that anger or he’d burst. Already striding from the room, he flung words back over his shoulder like machine gun fire. “Stay with her,” he commanded. “We’ve been robbed, and in this weather I don’t think there are many places for the bastards to go.”

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It was surprisingly difficult to find the others. There seemed to be a general exodus from the Maxwells’ house, with indistinguishable figures milling darkly through the snow. Since news of the robbery was no doubt out by now and someone might even have been looking for the culprits, they had no desire to draw attention to themselves or to each other. Eventually, sneaking around the outhouses at the back, Addie caught sight of her brother’s face at a window. A second later, the door wrenched open. “Malky, thank God. In here.” It was a relief just to get shelter from the biting wind. However, it was a short lived relief, because sitting on the floor with one trainer off and an expression of angry pain on his face was Shug. “Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded. “Why weren’t you at the car?” “Pish,” said Malky laconically. “What happened to you?” Shug jerked his head in Jim’s direction. “This arsehole pushed me over.” “I didn’t,” Jim protested. “That is, I didn’t mean to. I lost my footing climbing down, Shug tried to catch me and we both fell over.” “He landed on my ankle,” said Shug. “It’s sprained.” By the light of Jim’s torch, Addie regarded the swollen mess of his foot and ankle. “Looks broken to me,” she observed. “It’s not broken,” Shug said dangerously. “Aye all right, Shug, it’s your ankle,” Jim said peaceably. “We limped round here, then I went to get Malky…” “And left the bloody bag in the car.” Shug snorted. Addie turned to show she had it on her back, and Shug grunted. “What are we going to do?” Addie asked. “The roads are closed. Even Malky can’t carry you for miles…” “Get back into the house. Take the buggers hostage till the weather clears.” Addie’s mouth fell open. Jim watched her anxiously.

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“No way,” she said, when she could speak. “I am not going in there again. If you want to do this, it’s on your own. You can call a taxi to take you back to Glasgow. Unless you decide to hijack an aeroplane or something.” Shug regarded her with dislike. “You were always a sarcastic wee…” The door crashed open. John Maxwell stood there, a black leather jacket open over his kilt, a shotgun held casually at his side. Snowflakes covered his shoulders and glistened in his hair. His eyes were dark, swirling storms as they took in the scene before him. Addie wanted to die. Then Malky remembered why he was there and lunged at his host. “Malky!” Addie yelled, grabbing at his arm. Surprise stopped Malky in his tracks. “Exactly,” said John Maxwell. “Now, which of you gentleman carries the firearm?” His gaze raked across all of them, not pausing longer on Addie than anyone else. He knows, he already knows. A pain, like loss or grief, twisted through her. His eyes rested on Shug. “You, I think.” Shug grinned viciously. “Come and get it.” “No. You…” Without taking his attention from Shug, he waved the shotgun in Addie’s direction. “Go and get it. Very slowly. Drop it on the floor and kick it over here.” Addie didn’t hesitate. Dropping to her knees, she felt inside Shug’s pocket. Shug swore at her, fluently. “You want him to shoot us?” she demanded, realizing she wasn’t actually sure he wouldn’t. Impulsively, she turned on her knees to face Maxwell. “Look,” she began awkwardly, and his eyes flickered over her, icy hard, yet boiling with fury. There was no point. What they had done to his sister was unforgivable. “Kick it to me,” he said. Addie gave it a half-hearted push with her toe. At least it was out of Shug’s reach. “And now I’ll have the envelope from that bag on your back.”

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Addie slid the bag off her shoulder, opened it and took out the envelope. Thrusting it toward him, she muttered, “Sorry.” As if that startled him, his gaze actually flickered toward her. Which was when Jim decided to be a hero and threw himself at the shotgun. John Maxwell wrenched it free, but by then Malky was joining in, fists flailing. The three men wrestled and rolled and punched. Through it all, Johnny kept hold of the gun. Ice closed around Addie’s heart and squeezed, paralyzing her. The fatal shot was inevitable now… Dragging her attention from the writhing, struggling bodies, she stared at Shug’s handgun. She had no idea how it worked. But if she picked it up and yelled at them to stop—would they? She had to do something. If only she wasn’t the one who ended up shooting someone by accident. She took a step toward the gun—just as Shug, with a mighty roar of agony and effort, threw himself past her and landed on top of it. Oh, bloody, bloody hell! Now the psycho will have two guns! Panting furiously, Shug stretched out on his stomach and pushed his gun into the nearest flesh, which happened to be Malky’s denim clad backside. Malky went suddenly very still. “That you Shug?” he shouted. “Aye!” “Well get that out of my arse!” With a grunt and a heave, he rolled everyone over, and Johnny, still clutching the shotgun over his head, was made aware of Shug pointing the pistol straight at him. “That’s right,” Shug encouraged, “let it go.” Reluctantly, Johnny let it go. Jim held on to it now. There was an untangling of limbs, a process which granted Addie a tantalizing glimpse of John Maxwell’s powerful thighs. For some reason, it made her even more miserable. When it was complete, Jim stood behind him with the shotgun, breaking it as if he’d been handling firearms all his life. Malky got to his feet, shaking his head like a large, shaggy dog, while Johnny sat up cautiously. Fortunately, perhaps,

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they’d all been too concerned with getting and keeping their hands on the gun to have done each other much real damage. Shug regarded his captive with dislike. “Malky, thump him.” “What the hell for?” Addie said furiously. “Two guns and three men not enough for you to hold him with?” “Addie, why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Addie barely heard him because John Maxwell’s eyes were on her now, sneering, his lip curled with sheer contempt. “Addie?” he repeated. “What’s that short for? Adder?” Addie dragged her gaze free. With the help of Big Malky, Shug was attempting to stand. “Come on,” she said urgently. “Let’s get out of here. Shut him in…” Shug stared at her. “What, like you shut the lassie in the office? That really worked!” “Gave you fifteen minutes, didn’t it?” Addie demanded. “Aye, well, in this state, how far do you think I’m going to get in fifteen minutes? Even supposing this bastard sits still that long. Jim says the car’s buggered again anyway.” “Well, you should have stolen one that worked,” Addie snapped. “In fact, there are several decent cars parked out there—nick one of them!” Jim and Malky brightened perceptibly. Even Shug looked undecided. “Save walking all the way down that drive again,” Addie coaxed. “Get us to Loch Foy in no time—and there’s a hotel there…” John Maxwell sneered. “And everyone within a ten mile radius will recognize it, whatever car you take.” “Will you shut up?” said Addie furiously. Didn’t the eejit understand the alternatives? “Sound advice, by the way,” Shug agreed, waving the gun meaningfully at his captive. “Mind you, he’s right. He’ll have to take us back into the house instead. We’ll spend the night there, and he can get us better transport in the morning.”

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“Shug, that’s the crappiest idea of all the crap ideas you’ve ever had! You cannot take an entire family and Christ knows how many house guests hostage!” “That what you think, Addie,” sneered Shug. “That’s what I know, Shug.” “Who brought the bloody woman?” Shug wondered. “All right, pal, on your feet and start walking. You’re going home with some new friends.” Johnny stood slowly, his gaze flitting from Addie to Shug and Malky then back to Shug. Apart from the tension in his shoulders, he looked no more fazed than if he’d discovered a gatecrasher at his party. His lips parted. “No.” Shug blinked rapidly. “What?” “I said, no. There is no way I’m letting you in the house to threaten my family again.” Just for an instant, the flat certainty of his voice seemed to throw the others. But Shug recovered quickly. “That right, pal? You seem to be forgetting, I’m the one with the gun.” Johnny’s gaze didn’t waver. “So shoot me.” “You think I won’t?” Shug sneered. “I don’t need to kill you, you know. I can shoot you in the arm—blow your hands off. Or your kneecaps. Or your—sporran!” Shug grinned viciously. “I know, I know, and you’d enjoy doing it—I get that bit. I’m sure I’ll scream horribly and beg for mercy. But I still won’t let my family be subjected to you wankers and your strident trollop.” This time, nobody told Malky. He thumped him.

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Chapter Five

Liz Conway looked appalled. “They stole his concerto? But that was to be his big comeback piece!” “It still can be,” Tammy said impatiently. The woman annoyed her. Neither the robbery nor the concerto were any of her business. They were all in the sitting room now—Tammy, her mother and uncle and great-grandmother, with Gavin and Liz. Together with the ceilidh band, the last of the first-footers had departed—or at least, they thought they had. But no one was remotely sleepy, apart from Uncle Herbert, of course, who was snoring it off in the fireside arm chair. “It’s probably recorded somewhere, and anyway, he carries it all in his head if he can be bothered to remember it.” “If he can be bothered…!” Liz exclaimed. Tammy laughed. Beside her, Gavin smiled and urged her to sit on the sofa, his arm still around her shoulder. Gavin explained, “He moves on to the next thing, whatever’s in his head at the time, loses interest in what’s gone before. It’s why the public never got to hear his compositions before. But as Tammy says, his concerto isn’t irrecoverable. It’s Christopher Maxwell’s manuscripts that are the real loss.” “Surely the insurance will more than cover their value?” Liz asked. 48

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“What insurance would that be?” Tammy enquired. Liz blinked at her. Stupid cow probably thought Johnny was wealthy and eccentric, instead of penniless and insane. Liz stared at her. “Nothing in this house is insured? Not even that magnificent piano?” “Not even the house itself. What you see is what you get here. All you get.” At that, Helen, Tammy’s mother, paused in her interminable flitting around the room. “Get—the house?” she repeated with a rare trace of alarm. “Who’s getting the house? I couldn’t live anywhere else now, you know. Marcus wouldn’t like it.” “Of course you won’t have to live anywhere else,” Tammy soothed. “Frankly, there’s nowhere else for us to go.” Gran snorted. “Well, if you’d try to get a bit more out of your faithless husband when you divorce him, maybe that wouldn’t be true. At least for you.” “I wouldn’t take a thing from that bastard,” Tammy muttered. “He’s a cheating, conniving ratfink.” Liz regarded her with pity. “Darling, that’s all the more reason to take him for every penny.” “And you’ve got me now,” Gavin said softly, squeezing her shoulder. It was good to hear and she’d have given it more attention had not the front door slammed as he spoke. Relief flooded her. Johnny was back. The whole night was about to be relegated to just another family nightmare to be forgotten as quickly as possible. “I had a silver penny once,” Helen said vaguely. Uncle Herbert woke with a snort and patted her hand. “’Course you did, my dear.” He closed his eyes again. The sitting room door opened and Tammy’s worst nightmare came rushing back. The Psycho-Weasel limped in, white faced and clearly pissed off, his arm around the shoulder of Jimmy the Lamb. Both of them wielded guns. Worse, the Lamb’s was her father’s shotgun. And worse than anything was that behind them came a big bruiser of a man carrying Johnny’s lifeless body over his massive shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

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For an instant the shock paralyzed her. The silence in the room seemed to throb. And then, without conscious volition, she hurled herself out of the sofa, throwing off Gavin’s restraining arm to launch herself at the one she knew instantly had killed her brother. “Bastard!” she roared. “You killed him! You killed him!” Her flailing fists never even touched the Weasel. Suddenly that girl was in her way, the one with red silk top, only now it was a black, shapeless wooly sweater. Tammy’s wrists were caught and held in a vise-like grip, and the girl was saying grimly, “Shut up, you fool, he’s not dead.” Tammy shut her mouth, swallowing with the effort. The girl’s face swam before her eyes. She looked furious, though with whom wasn’t clear. “He’s not dead,” she repeated. “Malky thumped him, but he’ll wake up with nothing worse than a bruised jaw. Sit down. And don’t wind him up.” “Don’t wind who up?” Helen asked. “Is Johnny asleep?” “Aye, hen, he’s asleep,” Malky grunted, shoving past to the sofa. “Shunt,” he added laconically to Gavin who sprang out of the way so that Malky could dump his load on the faded cushions. “What’s going on?” Gavin blustered. Tammy didn’t altogether blame him. “Who are you people?” “They’re our robbers,” Tammy said, dragging her gaze away from Johnny and back to the girl. “Come back for more?” “Well, since there’s obviously a bond between us now, we’ve come to stay the night.” Pushing past Tammy, she actually knelt by the sofa and ran her fingers over Johnny’s jaw. Even more curiously, in spite of her brash, careless manner, her hand shook. Uncle Herbert was staring at her, repeating “Robbers? Robbers?” in a bewildered sort of a way. “Gone soft, Addie?” the Psycho-Weasel sneered. Jim had deposited him in a specially placed chair by the door, from which he could see all the room’s occupants. His foot was on the limp leather poufe from which the stuffing spewed whenever it was moved. “Don’t see you weeping and wailing over my foot.”

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Tammy hoped it was agony, whatever he’d done to it. The other girl stood. “Just seeing if we can be done yet for murder as well. As for your foot, Shug, if it offends thee, cut it off. Sing out if you need a hand there.” “Addie, give it a rest,” Jim the Lamb said. “Don’t suppose any of you guys are doctors?” “The doctor’s on his way home,” Tammy said sullenly. “But he’s walking—you’ll catch him if you run.” She caught a fleeting smile in the other girl’s troubled eyes just as she moved away, and Tammy found herself wondering just how she’d got caught up with this bunch of criminal losers. Jim had to be the connection. Unexpectedly, Helen said, “I used to be a nurse…” and all eyes swung round to her. A tiny wisp of a creature, Tammy’s mother was sitting beside her son, gently stroking his “sleeping” brow. Flustered under the sudden attention, she paused, looking alarmed. “Not for thirty years,” Uncle Herbert protested. “If it’s the best we’ve got,” said the Psycho-Weasel, “she’d better look at it. Here, Missus, and just remember I don’t like pain.” He toted the gun significantly. As Helen stood, Tammy reached to stop her. “Don’t interfere,” ordered Jim. God, this was impossible! Helpless, she watched Helen go and kneel by the injured burglar who held the gun pointed at her head. She didn’t appear to notice. Fortunately, his shoe was already off—Tammy couldn’t imagine the psycho letting her cut it off him with a knife. Her back blocked Tammy’s view of the process, but she said, “Tsk, tsk,” quite audibly as she examined him. “It’s broken,” she added, more matter-of-factly than she’d said anything for years. “It’s not broken,” the Weasel said. “There, there, don’t be a baby,” Helen soothed. “I’ll wrap it up more comfortably for you till you can get to the hospital.” At this, the room held its collective breath. The other burglars’ eyes showed a tendency to boggle—all apart from the girl, who laughed.

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Only Helen seemed blissfully unaware of the crisis. “Tammy, get the bandages from the first aid box—and some paracetemol.” There was a definite pause. Then the Weasel said, “Go with her, Addie.” The other girl looked as if she might protest, though in the end, she just looked at Tammy and jerked her head. Obediently, Tammy went out, the girl called Addie following. Tammy gazed longingly at the front door as they crossed the hall. It was so tempting just to run…And yet she was pretty sure Addie was faster than she was, and stronger. And a hell of a lot rougher. Besides, even if she was prepared to risk Addie’s wrath, there was still a psycho with a gun in the sitting room with her mother and the rest of her family. So it was in utter silence that the two women went into the kitchen, collected the first aid box and returned to the sitting room. Everyone still stood or sat exactly as before: Uncle Herbert by the fire, eyes darting madly, Liz and Gavin standing side by side at the window, white faced and silent. Wordlessly, Addie took the box from Tammy and laid it beside Helen, who still knelt on the floor by Shug’s injured foot. Receiving it, Helen cast Addie one of her sweet, kind smiles, and the girl looked so startled that this time it was Tammy who laughed. “Get the whisky, dear,” Helen said, setting about Shug’s foot with the bandage. “Not recommended with paracetemol, I know, but if it’s just a swallow, it won’t hurt you.” Tammy didn’t offer to help, but the girl found the cut glass whisky decanter without difficulty. She slopped two fingers of the amber liquid into a glass and brought it to Helen, who was by then disgorging two paracetemol tablets. While Shug obediently took his medicine, Addie went back to the decanter, poured another glass and took that to Johnny, apparently still unconscious on the sofa. Tammy felt a stab of guilt that she wasn’t paying her brother more attention. The man holding the gun inches from her mother’s head did tend to focus her mind elsewhere. Moving now toward Johnny, she discovered she was too late. Addie sat beside his chest and said flatly, “All right, you can open your eyes now. Everyone knows you’re awake.”

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And to Tammy’s astonishment, her brother’s eyes did open, smoothly, gazing straight into Addie’s. “You,” he said without noticeable pleasure. “Me,” she agreed, proffering the whisky glass. “The strident trollop.” Johnny lifted his hand and took the glass. “I didn’t realize you were so forgiving.” “I could have poisoned it.” “I doubt it,” Johnny observed, taking a gulp of whisky and swallowing it. “Such levels of forethought among your happy band of criminal geniuses seem a trifle unlikely to me.” “I wouldn’t mock if I were you. We still have the contents of your safe, and your shotgun. And chunks of your chin are still sticking to Malky’s fist.” Johnny smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “And yet you’re still here. Do you count that a victory, too?” For once, the girl didn’t answer, but Shug did. “Aye,” he said forcefully from across the room. Johnny pushed himself into a sitting position. Hastily, Addie stood and moved away from him. Johnny said, “Well it isn’t. There’s more to this house than meets the eye. You might find freezing your arse off out there is far preferable to spending the night in here. Actually, you might find a police cell preferable.” “We know all about your second rate ghosts,” Addie said contemptuously, although Tammy noticed her gaze flickered around the room as she spoke. And the others clearly didn’t know what she was talking about. “You reckon?” Shug said smugly. “Me, I like it here. Comfy chair, good whisky. I wouldn’t mind a bowl of soup though, just to take the chill off my bones.” Addie cast her eyes to Heaven, clearly about to say something withering, though to whom was unclear, and in the end she lost the opportunity since Uncle Herbert suddenly burst out, “Who are you people? What do you want? I cannot have my sister inconvenienced anymore. You must leave now!”

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Everyone gawped at him with varying degrees of astonishment, respect and scorn. Even Uncle Herbert himself looked slightly surprised. But before anyone could respond, a new sound rent the air. An electronic version of “Jingle Bells”. Everyone felt automatically for their mobile phones, including the burglars, who eventually turned to glare at Addie. The girl said, “Oh, shite!” as she stared at her own screen. Furious, Shug said, “I told you to keep the bloody thing on vibrate only!” “I did! I must have moved the setting by accident… Hello, Mum? What’s wrong?” “Aw, for fuck’s sake!” said Shug. “She has to take it,” Jim apologized. “Kate’s there.” Johnny’s gaze flickered to Jim then to Addie. “Aye, happy New Year to you, too,” Addie said faintly. “I thought you weren’t going to call me this year when you knew I was out with Jim… Is Kate all right?” Seeing all attention on her, angry and otherwise, she turned away, trying to give herself the illusion of privacy—except there was nowhere to turn that wasn’t facing someone in the room. “Aye, okay put her on… Hi, honey, happy New Year… Thanks… Gran said you couldn’t sleep… Yes, but you have to go to bed and sleep now, otherwise you won’t enjoy your New Year dinner… I should be, Kate. The weather’s bad but I’ll do my best… I know, I wish I hadn’t come either. But I’ll be back soon. You do what Gran says now and go to bed… Yes, I’ll phone later in the morning and let you know. Put Gran back on… Night, honey.” “Christ, woman, will you get off that bloody phone?” Shug demanded. Addie waved a shushing hand at him. “I think she’ll be fine now. Oh, yes, Jim’s great, not as legless as Shug.” Here, she cast a venomous glance at the Pycho-Weasel, who made an obscene gesture at her with his fingers. Johnny laughed. “Right, bye, Mum, I’ve got to go—thanks for this—bye.” Shoving the phone back in her jeans pocket, she glared round the room. “What?”

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Interestingly, it was Johnny who held her gaze. One of his best scornful smiles curling his handsome lips, he said inexplicably, “So that’s Kate.” “Fuck off,” said Addie. For the first time, it entered Tammy’s head that Johnny knew her already. Hadn’t he asked her if the female burglar was called Kate? And now it turned out her daughter was Kate. What was going on here? Frowning, she regarded her brother more closely. He was angry, as you might expect, furiously angry, and there was enough contempt in his scornful face to wither most ordinary mortals. And yet behind that was something challenging; bitter yet almost…teasing. He said, “Looks like there’s an argument after all for women staying at home with the kids.” “You’ve got that right, mate,” said Shug bitterly. “Och away and…!” Addie broke off, frowning. “Bugger. I bet you never brought chargers for these stupid phones?” “Chargers? I wouldn’t have given you the bloody phone if I’d known you were going to spend the night gossiping with your mammy.” But Addie ignored him. There was genuine distress in the way she dragged her fingers through that awful hair. Tammy found herself saying, “You can use the house phone,” just as if the girl was a guest, a normal woman distressed by the absence of her kid. Addie stared at her. “No you can’t,” said Shug smugly. “I cut the phone wire.” “You what?” Addie exclaimed. “Would you rather they were giving it this: ‘Oh, help, help, we’re being robbed! Summon the polis forthwith!’?” Jim and the big man—Malky?—accorded that a brief smirk, but Tammy paid little attention. She found herself unexpectedly overwhelmed with longing for the “polis” who had once been everything to her. Before she discovered he was a cheating bastard ratfink. In fact, she thought, with a desperate grab for better spirit, this was all his fault, because it was him she’d been heading up to the office to phone when she’d run across the robbery.

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Her eyes fell unhappily on Gavin, still silent by the window with Liz. Dan would have known how to deal with this crisis. Why couldn’t the bastard be here the only time he was ever likely to be useful? Addie said, “Christ, this is stupid!” and strode over to the window. Gavin and Liz hastily moved apart to give her room. “The snow’s gone off,” she reported with a tinge of hope in her voice. Abruptly, she swung back. “Have you got a radio? Something that’ll tell us the state of the roads round here?” Johnny just looked at her. It was Tammy who pointed to the old-fashioned radio on the mantle-shelf. “Good idea,” Malky rumbled. “Get Radio Teuchter there, Addie. Better be in English…” While they all watched the girl fiddling with the radio, Tammy sat down in her vacated place beside Johnny. “What about Jack?” she breathed, and knew by his impatient half-nod that he’d been thinking the same thing. “How do we stop them finding him? Or, Jesus wept, stop him coming down to look for us? It’ll be morning soon…” “The ghosts’ll look after him,” said Gran unexpectedly. “Even Kit has that much decency.” Johnny muttered, “I’m not prepared to take a chance on their ability, never mind their decency. I’ll go for a leak in a minute.” “They won’t let you go alone,” Tammy objected. “Why not? What do they imagine I would do with the rest of you held hostage? The phones are dead.” “In case you hadn’t noticed, brain-power is not their biggest advantage.” “Good point. Well, if it comes down to it, you’ll just have to make a diversion— scream or do something to bring any watcher back here… Leave it now, the moll’s coming this way.” Addie was indeed walking toward them, while carrying on the end of her conversation with her accomplices.

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“You want me to drive your useless arses, I need to sleep. Look after your own bloody hostages.” Her gaze flickered over Gran, Johnny and Tammy. To all of them and none of them she said, “I take it I can sleep anywhere?” She didn’t seem about to wait for the answer, just kept walking to the door, but Tammy said maliciously, “Try the third door on the left, on the first floor.” As if she couldn’t help it, Addie glanced back and nodded acknowledgement or even gratitude. She looked almost embarrassed and angry about it. Tammy wanted to laugh. “Trying to freak her out?” Johnny enquired. “Might as well. She can see the ghosts, you know. She’s already seen old Christopher.” “Well she might get more than she bargained for in that room.”

Sleeping wasn’t easy. Although she’d well warned both Jim and Shug of the dangers of actually firing their guns, she could hardly be sure they’d stick to her advice. The old lady wasn’t remotely afraid of them—and all that kept John Maxwell quiet was the fear of what they would do to his family. If reasonable opportunity arose, she knew he would take it. And Tammy would help. The old uncle seemed almost as vague as the fluttery little woman who seemed to be John Maxwell’s mother—the accordion music fan. But Liz and Gavin were also unknowns. Though fear had kept them unnaturally quiet, Addie had the distinct impression of strong-minded, forceful people. Probably highly intelligent. Probably people she would like. The whole thing was such a bloody nightmare. All that kept Addie sane now was the prospect of getting back to Kate. And to do that, she needed sleep, and some sun to melt the snow… And yet every time she closed her eyes, scenes from the awful night replayed in her mind: Tammy cringing on the office floor while Shug pointed his handgun at her; the ghost of Christopher Maxwell shaking his head at her, as clearly visible as his own piano; John Maxwell, his eyes dark and smiling, telling her she was beautiful, kissing her, www.samhainpublishing.com

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melting her bones with the touch of his amazing hands on her breasts. Then again, John Maxwell regarding her with searing contempt, falling under Malky’s huge fist, lying on the sofa like some immovable obstacle to her departure, even though he was even more helpless in this situation than she was. How did she get out of this? How did she forget his contempt or his kiss? Time, Addie, just time—cures everything, remember? Slowly, gradually, she began to drift into sleep till she lay in that peculiar state of the totally exhausted, mostly asleep, aware she was drifting into slumber and dreams and yet still able to control their direction. So naturally she conjured Johnny. She let him find her lying here in whosever bed this was. She let him sit beside her, even felt the depression of the mattress under his weight. His rumpled dark hair fell forward over his face, his eyes gleamed black with desire, and she didn’t even mind his mocking smile because it couldn’t hide the quickened panting of his breath as he drew back the covers and gazed at her naked body. Addie felt her nipples harden and tingle under his gaze. “Do you want me to suck those?” Johnny murmured. For answer, she arched her back provocatively and conjured away his jacket. His shirt hung loose, allowing her a good look at his chest, muscled and scattered with coarse black hair. Slowly, he bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth, rolling it around his tongue, sucking on it in a long, tender stream. His fingers closed on the other nipple, gently pulling. Addie slid her hands over his naked shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin, the hardness of his flesh, while his mouth and hand swapped places on her breasts, creating delight and desire in equal measure. Between her legs she was hot, aching. She arched her hips upward, and obligingly his hand left her breast to slide down over her stomach and find the burning wetness of her pussy, pressing her, gently kneading. “Kiss me,” she whispered, and he did that, too, with all the amazing tenderness he’d shown earlier, covering her mouth with his and turning it over and over, probing deeper and deeper with his tongue, while one hand kneaded her breast and the other wandered

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among the folds of her pussy, finding and caressing her clitoris just the way she liked it. Better than she’d ever liked it. The naked skin of his chest touched hers as he held her and stroked her pussy to a raging inferno of arousal and pleasure. Though his eyes blazed with his own desire, it was hers he attended to, pushing one finger inside her slick entrance while his thumb circled her clitoris. Addie moaned and writhed under him. Oh, yes, this was a dream worth having, an orgasm worth surrendering to, brought to it as she was by this man with the stormy, lustful eyes and the knowing, sensitive hands of a musician. And let’s face it, dreaming was the only way she was going to have him… Addie moaned as she drowned in pleasure, dreaming vividly now of the big, hard cock she knew he had, pushing its way inside her, sliding in and out. In a maelstrom of heat, she fell over the edge into joy. “Addie? Are you in here?”

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Chapter Six

Oh, Jesus Christ, do you only exist to get in my way? Addie’s eyes snapped open. She was still orgasming as the door of the room pushed inward. Somehow she managed to grab at the fallen quilt, half-tugging it across her body. Through the haze of pleasure that still held her helpless, she gazed toward the door, waiting for Shug to appear. Instead, John Maxwell strolled into the room. The man of her dreams was more rumpled than ever, his black hair wild, his shirt opened most of the way down his chest, half in, half out of the kilt’s waist. Addie wanted to shout at him to get out, but as she was still in the throes of orgasm, only something like a whimper escaped from her lips. The sight of him at that precise moment was beautiful. It was appalling. Helplessly, she dragged her hand over her face, hiding it, hoping feebly that he would imagine she was just trying to wake herself up. It gave her a moment to get herself back under control—sort of—and when she looked again, Shug was hopping into the room, leaning heavily on a walking stick. In the other hand he grasped the inevitable gun, pointing it, of course, at John Maxwell. “Nice tits, Addie,” Shug said, “but there’s no need to show the world.”

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“Fuck off, Shug,” she said shakily. She dragged the quilt farther up and realized that, humiliatingly, John Maxwell was not looking at her but at the foot of her bed. Which is when, belatedly, she saw the naked man who sat there. His skin gleamed a warm shade of sepia. Long, tangled hair fell around his shoulders and across his curiously unclear but handsome face. Beside him stood another young man wrapped in a faded plaid. Through the latter’s body she could still see the window and the pale grey light of dawn gleaming through the curtains. They were both transparent. It seemed she was still dreaming, a dream now well out of control, but hey, it was a hell of a lot more fun than her waking life, so she was quite prepared to run with it. But no, Shug was distressingly real. He kept looking at her, as if willing the quilt to fall again. “No, really, Shug,” Addie said dangerously. “Fuck off.” “Thought you fancied a quick one for auld lang syne.” “Oh, I think she’s had one,” John Maxwell drawled inexplicably, though at least it drew Shug’s stare away from her. “What do you mean?” he demanded. The ghosts gazed silently at Johnny and shook their heads till even Addie felt their disapproval. Johnny sighed. “Nothing.” The naked ghost actually grinned and stood, revealing his whole body for the first time. Impressively whole if still weirdly transparent. Hastily, Addie dragged her gaze away from him. “What do you want, Shug? Is the road open?” “Not yet. Just there’re funny noises in the house. I think there’s someone else around. Your man here’s helping me track them down.” Shug spoke the last words with a sneer, jerking his head at his host. Addie said, “Why doesn’t Jim or Malky do that? They’re bound to be a shade quicker than your Long John Silver.”

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“I manage fine. And Jim’s watching the others. Malky’s upstairs, with his own hostage.” Addie closed her eyes on the word. “Hey, what’s that?” Shug demanded. “Have you got the window open in this weather?” Snapping her eyes open again, Addie saw the kilted ghost standing in front of Shug, its mouth pursed and angled as if blowing hard into Shug’s face. His hair actually lifted with the force, but clearly he couldn’t see the apparition. “Not me,” Addie denied, seizing her opportunity for petty revenge. “Shug, you do know this house is meant to be haunted?” “That’s shite,” Shug pronounced, though with a shade less certainty than usual. “I don’t know… You’ve heard things, I’ve seen things…” “What things?” Shug demanded, turning his body in an attempt to escape the inexplicable wind. “Ghostly things. I saw a man in the piano room.” “That was me,” Johnny interjected. Addie cast him a look of dislike. “Not unless you’ve got a false beard stashed in your sporran. And I think there’s something in this room, too…” “Get away,” said Johnny, perching on the side of the bed, the better to watch Shug’s spinning efforts to avoid the blowing ghosts. Eventually, Shug hopped over to the window, wrenched back the curtains to stare accusingly at the palpably closed sash. He propped up his stick against the wall, then leaned his shoulder there, too, for leverage before he shoved at the upper casement with both hands. Since he didn’t let go of the gun, Addie braced herself for it to go off. It might even be a good thing if he shot himself… Achieving nothing, he turned his attention determinedly to the lower. While the ghosts hovered watchfully, he tugged up the casement. But no sooner had he lifted it than it fell again with considerable force, dragging his hands back down. Shug wobbled

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precariously on his good foot. He had to grab at the wall for support, and Johnny was on his feet in an instant, lunging at him. “No, you don’t, you bastard,” Shug yelled, pointing the gun at him from his slumped position against the wall. Johnny paused, hands spread, and shrugged as if he didn’t care. He even sat back on the bed. Through the quilt, Addie could feel the bulk of his hip against her thigh. She pretended not to notice. Just then, Malky’s unmistakable voice rent the air, shouting from some distance away. “Shug! Shug! Come here!” Shug made a grab for his stick, just as the ghost began to blow it over. Though he managed to catch it, he wobbled onto his broken foot and howled with pain. Undeterred, he turned on Addie. “Get your arse up there and see what’s the matter with him. If he…” The door slammed shut on the rest of his orders, and Shug swore. There was a definite hunted look on his face now. With impressive haste, he began to hop toward the door. “Never mind,” he muttered. “I’ll go myself. Addie—watch him. Go where he goes, and if he does anything wrong, kick him in the balls. Hard,” he finished viciously, wrenching the door with more force than hope. It opened easily, rocking him backwards, but again he regained his balance and hirpled off out into the passage. “All right, Shug,” Addie called after him. “You run along!” Hysterical laughter bubbled barely below the surface, fed by the ghosts’ wicked grins. Even John Maxwell was regarding her with something like amusement behind his hooded, secretive eyes. “You know, I can’t make up my mind whether you’re actually a cruel, unpleasant person—or just in the wrong company.” “Oh, the wrong company, certainly,” Addie said bitterly. She met his gaze. “And I’m cruel and unpleasant.” “I’ll take your word for it. And thank you for resolving the other paradox.” “What, that I can understand the word?”

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His lips twitched. “No. The fact that you came here to rob me—and yet when I kissed you in the study, I could almost swear you weren’t acting.” It felt as if her heart had stopped. The memory of that kiss heated her skin from the toes upward. Just for an instant, she allowed herself the impossible hope that he might not hate her, might even recognize the same magnetic attraction she felt to him. His dark eyes gleamed. His mouth curved faintly in a way that made her desperate to kiss it again. She swallowed. “And how exactly did you resolve this—paradox?” “With the help of Tweedle MacDum and Tweedle MacDee here.” Addie frowned with incomprehension. She’d forgotten all about the ghosts, who still drifted silently around the room. It seemed she’d also forgotten to be afraid of them. Johnny held her gaze, all her attention, her bruised, unformed dreams. “I can see you weren’t acting,” he said softly. “I can see you’re just a randy little slut who’ll take it any way she can get it.” Reaction was spontaneous, instantaneous. Her hand flew up not to slap but to punch, hard in the face. He caught it in the palm of his hand, absorbing the force and grasping her closed fist, and when she swung at him with her left hand instead, he caught that, too. She was borne backwards, both hands pressed into the pillows beside her head. His body covered hers. Even through the quilt, she could feel its heat. His gaze roamed deliberately across her naked shoulders, down the exposed parts of her breasts. “What now?” he taunted. “You want me to fuck you here, quickly, before your gangland friends return?” She did. God help her, she did. Her whole body pulsed so fiercely she was terrified he would feel it. “Go and fuck yourself, arsehole!” she spat at him. “Such heat,” he marveled. “And don’t think I wouldn’t if I could. It would solve a lot of problems. On the other hand you’re here, gagging for it, and I haven’t fucked anyone in more than a year.”

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“All I’m gagging for is to punch your face in,” she panted, straining her arms and bucking against the weight of his body. Holding her easily, he only laughed, a soft, surprisingly breathless sound. “Bollocks, my sweet. I bet you’re hot and wet already.” His eyes dropped once more to her breast, where the quilt had been pushed down in her struggles. “And that rather charming nipple looks pretty desperate to me, too.” “Get off me, you bastard,” she whispered. Just where the tears came from she didn’t know. She hadn’t cried in seven years, and she’d sooner have died than let him see her do so now. Through her hazy vision, she thought she saw storms rise and rage in his eyes, exciting, overwhelming, terrifying. And then his lashes swept down, veiling everything. She was almost surprised when he let her go. “Calm down,” he said contemptuously. “I’d sooner fuck Psycho-Weasel than you.” And his weight was off her. She could pull the covers up to her chin and sneer at him in his safe distance away from her. “Yes, well, I wouldn’t pin your hopes there either—not till you get the gun off him.” “Oh, I will,” he promised with rather worrying certainty. “One way or another.” As he walked toward the door, the kilted ghost moved deliberately into his path. Johnny didn’t hesitate, simply walked right through him. The ghost dissolved into throbbing air, then began to reform somewhat indignantly behind John Maxwell’s disappearing back. Johnny didn’t turn until he passed through the door. Even then he only glanced back over his shoulder to say, “I’ll leave you to your ghostly gigolos.” The door closed with a snap. Addie threw herself out of bed, fuming. “Bloody stupid, insufferable bastard of a…” Ghostly gigolos? What was that supposed to mean? “Thought you fancied a quick one for auld lang syne.” “Oh, I think she’s had one.” Had he guessed her sexual climax when he and Shug crashed in on her? And for some reason attributed it to the visiting ghosts? Why in the world would he have thought that? Unless…?

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“No,” she said positively, staring after the ghosts who floated up to the closed door and disappeared in John Maxwell’s wake. “It’s not possible.” And even if it was, why should he be so narked about it? The only reason she could find for that was even less possible. John Maxwell despised her. They’d met when he was drunk and bored and grumpy at his own party. She’d been a temporary distraction because she was different—a curiosity. But it had to be faced: even if he’d never found out about her part in the robbery, he would have looked right through her the next time they’d met. As it was, he hated her unconditionally for what she’d done, especially to Tammy. Addie pulled on her jeans, forcefully zipped them and threw on the camisole top and sweater. She still felt cold.

There’d been an air of unreality about this entire adventure, Addie thought as she slammed out of the room in search of John Maxwell. Driving up to the Highlands on Hogmanay to rob a complete stranger was hardly part of everyday life, and this house was just plain weird. Ghosts of composers, naked ghosts and kilted ghosts who teased visitors… Come to think of it, the live inhabitants weren’t just your average family, either. Maybe she’d wake up soon and discover it was New Year’s Day, she had a hangover, and Kate wanted her breakfast… All would be right with her world. For the first time ever, she longed for the dreary little flat with its damp walls and miserable view. That was her reality. Instead of which, she was running along an unknown, spacious hallway just because she’d heard the owner’s footsteps go in that direction when he left. Coming upon a different, narrower staircase—the servants’ stairs, presumably, in bygone days—she leapt up them three at a time. As she neared the top, something caught her eye, a wisp of colour, whisking out of sight. She’d already started after it, glanced down the empty hall, even curled her fingers 66

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around the handle of the first door—it being the only one her quarry could possibly have reached in that time—when the uneasy thought struck her that what she’d glimpsed didn’t have to be Maxwell. She’d had an impression of blue, she was sure, and there was no blue in his kilt…was there? In this house, she could be chasing anyone, alive or dead, owner or burglar. Oh, well, I’ve come this far. She turned the handle and opened the door. The curtains had been haphazardly pulled back to let in the pale light of the early winter’s morning. It was a child’s room. A model train set had been built in the middle of the floor, which was also scattered with Lego bricks and Bionicles and toy cars. On the wall were pictures of animals and footballers, and, in the far corner above the single bed, a chart of a piano keyboard. Reluctantly, Addie’s gaze fell to the bed. The quilt had a child-sized hump in it. She could almost have believed said hump was asleep, except that it shook the quilt. Oh, Jesus, how much worse does this have to get? Why did nobody mention a child? Because they’re afraid you’ll hurt him, idiot. She could go straight back out, pretend she hadn’t seen him, leave him to his solitary terror of the strangers in his house. No one else needed to know. And she needed no further complications. But Kate’s mother could no more ignore a frightened child than she could voluntarily stop breathing. “Hey, are you awake?” she asked calmly, keeping her voice soft, casual, unthreatening. The quilt shivered some more, but didn’t move. “Just want to be sure you’re all right.” As she spoke, she walked nearer to the bed till she could see two huge brown eyes and a thatch of black, tousled hair. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Addie said. “I didn’t know you were here either. What’s your name?” “Jack,” said the quilt uncertainly.

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“I’m Addie.” The quilt moved down a little. A white-faced boy of about seven or eight looked up at her, trembling slightly. “Where’s my dad?” “Well,” Addie confessed, “I’ve only just got here, and I’m not very sure who your dad is…” “My dad’s John Maxwell.” There was a hint of pride, even of pitying contempt aimed at her for not knowing anything so obvious. “Of course he is,” Addie murmured. In fact, there was a startling resemblance. “I’m not quite sure where he is, to be honest, but he’s around somewhere. He’s all right, you know.” “I know that,” Jack said bravely. “It’s just that he told me to stay in here until he came back—and that was hours ago and he hasn’t come back.” “He probably thinks you’re asleep,” Addie said comfortingly, even while fresh guilt twisted through her. “Are you hungry?” “Starving.” He gave her a quick, cheeky grin. “Actually, I was going to sneak down to the kitchen and get something when I saw you coming up the stairs.” “Hmm. And you really want to do what your dad said… Tell you what, you stay here, and I’ll go and forage for some breakfast and bring it up to you.” “Yes?” The boy’s rather beautiful face perked. He wasn’t shaking at all now. Addie nodded. Her eyes, scanning the room for possible hiding places, had come upon a vaguely door-shaped break in the Glasgow Rangers wallpaper. You couldn’t see it at all from the bedroom door. “What’s through there?” she asked. “A bathroom?” “Yes, and a big walk-in cupboard.” “Well…tell you what, Jack—just until your dad says everything’s OK again…if you hear anyone coming, go through there and shut the door. I’ll knock like this…” She beat a quiet um-tiddly-um-tum on the bedside table, “and you’ll know it’s me. I’ll tell your dad to do the same. Otherwise, you hide—OK? Just like a game.” “A game,” he repeated uncertainly.

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“Well, almost a game,” Addie amended. “They’ll go away soon, but there are some funny people about just now that you don’t really want to meet.” Trust me on that, son, I’m one of them. She gave him a quick wink as she stood. “Me and your dad will look out for you, OK?” The boy actually smiled. “OK.”

This has gone far enough. Marching downstairs, she knew she had to find a way to end this. No way was Shug or anyone else with a gun threatening that child or his family. They had to get out of here now. Well, right after she’d got the poor wee thing some breakfast. There had been some food set out in the dining room, but what the Maxwells’ guests had left, their burglars had largely consumed. Since there was no one around, Addie stuffed a couple of pieces of cherry cake into the capacious pocket of her sweater, then wrapped a slightly curly slice of ham and the last bit of smoked salmon into a crumpled napkin and stuck that in her pocket too. From the drinks table, she swiped a small bottle of Schweppes lemonade and made her way past the sitting room—Helen Maxwell appeared to be asleep on the sofa. Beside her, the incredibly old lady still sat unmoving, almost as if she were dead. Uncle Herbert and Liz Conway were in the two armchairs, and Jim sat opposite them, looking worryingly sleepy considering Maxwell’s shotgun lay across his knees. There was no sign of any of the others. The grandfather clock in the hallway still said twelve o’clock. Addie walked casually into the kitchen and found Tammy extricating herself from Gavin’s arms. “Look, Gavin,” she was saying impatiently, “I can’t think about stuff like that just now. There’s a bunch of psychos in my home, threatening my family. Whatever you and I have going is kind of irrelevant right now.” “I just want the right to protect you,” Gavin protested. Neither of them was aware of Addie’s presence. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“It’s not the right that matters, it’s the ability,” Tammy snapped. Phew, right in the gonads, Addie judged as Gavin’s lips tightened, his arms falling to his side. Tammy muttered, “And none of us have the ability right now. The bad guys have the guns. Look, I’m going back…” As she swung away from him, her gaze collided with Addie’s, and she broke off. She lifted her arms in a mockery of surrender. “Bang bang,” said Addie lazily. “Got any bread?” Tammy opened the sliding lid on a bread bin and pushed the crusty bread toward her. When she reached for the knife, Addie was before her. Gavin brushed past the pair of them and marched back in the direction of the sitting room. “Trouble in love?” Addie enquired. “Not as much as you,” Tammy retorted. Cutting the second slice, Addie glanced at her. “Meaning what?” “Meaning at least my lover isn’t toting a gun.” “Congratulations,” Addie said mildly. “But where is my trouble in that?” “Because yours is. Yours is the one who’ll go down for life. Sooner or later.” “Oh, for God’s sake, Shug’s not my lover. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake of a perfect life?” “Not the Psycho-Weasel,” Tammy said impatiently. “The other one. Jim! The last time I saw him, he still had our shotgun.” Laughter bubbled up at that, obliterating the humiliation and fury at being linked to Shug. “Oh, no, you’re barking up the wrong tree there.” Still laughing, she slapped some butter on to the bread and added it to the stash in her pockets. Tammy’s gaze dropped, following her actions. “For later.” And before the girl could respond, she added, “Where’s your brother?” “Upstairs with the Weasel and Godzilla.” Addie’s lip twitched. Godzilla did seem a trifle unkind to poor Malky. “I hate to imagine what you call me,” she murmured. “That’s easy—Bad Hair.”

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She’d been called worse. It shouldn’t have made her cringe inside, or blush with shame outside. But the very triviality of it hurt. Is that all I’ve become? Impatiently, she jerked her head to the doorway. “Come on, back to the party.” Tammy cast her a glance of venom not entirely free of curiosity, but obediently walked past her and out of the kitchen. Addie paused to take a deep breath, then followed her. She felt very small and cold. Tammy was crossing the hall toward the sitting room. A movement to the left caught Addie’s eye, making her blink. Then, without further warning, something erupted from under the stairs, like a huge ripple of air, rushing straight at Tammy while it gathered and formed into the shape of a human, a woman with long hair and a wide-open, silent mouth. An insubstantial creature of fury, it threw itself upon her with such force that Tammy stopped dead in her tracks. “What…?” she began, puzzled. For a moment of sheer terror, Addie stood rooted to the spot. This ghost looked so much less substantial than the others she’d seen in this house, and yet this was the one that scared the crap out of her. Its open mouth elongated, almost like a cartoon kiss that seemed to fasten on Tammy’s face, as if it was drinking… The air was freezing cold, making Addie gasp aloud—which at least broke her paralysis. Suddenly furious—she’d had enough of bullies for one day—she threw herself across the hall, shoving Tammy aside, and glared into the questing mouth of the apparition. It held the shape of a refined, beautiful woman, beautiful bone structure, shimmering skin and flat, malevolent eyes. “Leave her alone,” Addie shouted. She wasn’t sure how or why it had detached from Tammy at her intervention, but she continued to act from instinct. “Get away!” Vaguely she was aware of Jim’s sudden appearance at the sitting room doorway, his anxious, “Addie, what’s up?” But she couldn’t take time to answer him. She was staring down the ghost and trembling so much she thought her knees would give way, with the cold as much as the fear.

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Abruptly, the apparition swirled away, dissolving into transparent molecules that vanished into the air. Tammy said shakily, “What the bloody hell was that?” Addie squared her shoulders, which had slumped with relief. “You tell me.” “I couldn’t see anything,” Tammy protested. “I just felt something—pulling at me. Weird. Was it scary?” “Fucking scary,” Addie acknowledged, then glanced at the other girl. “But remember this before you start gloating—whoever or whatever it was, it was after you. Not me. And not him.” Tammy blanched. “Why would any of them bother with me? They’ve never come near me before. Or if they have, I’ve never seen—or felt—anything.” “I don’t know,” Addie said thoughtfully. “What’s changed?” Tammy shrugged. “Nothing. I haven’t even lived here for two years. Maybe I haven’t been home often enough and it’s punishing me… Or maybe it doesn’t like that I’m back. Addie—what did it look like?” In spite of herself, Addie shivered. “A woman, tall, beautiful, dark haired. Bones.” She drew in her cheeks, eloquently tracing imaginary cheekbones over her own. “Oh, shit. Sounds like Julia. My late sister-in-law.” Who had been murdered, possibly by her husband, John Maxwell. Something seemed to wrench in Addie’s stomach, a muddle of fear and unspecific pain. Jim spoke in a voice of disgust. “I have no idea what you two are talking about. Go and do something useful—make some tea.” “Make it yourself,” Addie retorted. “God knows you’re big enough and ugly enough. She’s going to sit down.” “And who’s going to watch her and the others?” Jim enquired. Addie said, “For Christ’s sake, Jim, who’s going to do anything to piss us off while Shug and Malky are loose about the house with firearms pointing at members of their family?”

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As she spoke, she was already running for the stairs. Jim shouted after her, “And where the hell are you going?” “To find the master of the house and get some answers,” she said grimly. Right after I’ve delivered breakfast to the hungry hunter on the second floor… On the first floor, she could hear Shug’s voice raised angrily, and Malky’s deeper rumble. She suspected the ghosts were still winding up the intruders. Ignoring them all, she sprinted in the other direction till she again found the narrow stairs, and leapt up them as silently as she could. The first door was still shut, and all was quiet inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, she tapped um-tiddly-um-tum on the door and smiled when she heard the boy’s voice call out with delight. “Yes! Come in.” Addie pushed open the door to see Jack jumping up and down on the bed in his pajamas. And John Maxwell slowly standing from where he sprawled beside his son.

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Chapter Seven

The way he took the boy’s arm, drawing him back behind his own body, was not lost on Addie. His dark eyes flashed total menace. Nor did the knowledge that she deserved it make her feel better. Jack said, “It’s all right, Dad, it’s only Addie. Did you remember my breakfast?” “’Course I did,” said Addie casually. Walking forward, she emptied her pockets on to the bed. With a crow of delight, Jack fell on it, stuffing the cake into his mouth before he remembered to mumble “Thank you.” Addie lifted her gaze to his father’s frowning face. “No point in hiding him if he starves to death, is there?” His frowned deepened. “Hiding him?” “We’ve got it all arranged,” Jack said, swallowing audibly and reaching for the ham. “I’m going to hide in there if I hear anyone else coming. If you’re not here.” John Maxwell curled a skeptical lip. “And who all is aware of this hiding place?” Addie shrugged. “The three of us, unless Jack’s told any other visitors.” “You expect me to believe that?” “I don’t care what you believe. So long as you don’t blab it to anyone else in a tantrum. Jack, I’ve got to go just now—and I think maybe your dad should come, too.” 74

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“I think maybe I should,” Maxwell agreed. “I’ll come back later, Jack—be good.” Ruffling the boy’s hair with casual affection, he strode to the door, holding it for Addie to pass through first. As soon as it was closed behind them, he said, “What’s going on?” “Well, I can hear Shug and Malky down there, shouting at each other, so I suggest you get back to the sitting room. Also, I want to know about your ghosts.” He sneered. “Seems to me you know them better than I ever will.” “Don’t give up hope,” Addie advised. “I’m talking about a female ghost. Dark haired, beautiful, bone structure to die for.” “Julia,” he said, as if startled into it. “You’ve seen her?” “I don’t know who the hell she—it—was.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Got you rattled, did she?” “Well, she certainly rattled your sister. I thought you said your ghosts were harmless?” “Mostly harmless,” he amended, though distractedly—his gaze never left Addie’s. “Tammy can’t see the spirits. Never could, beyond the age of five.” “Well, she felt this one. And I saw it. Scared the shit out of us both, if you want the truth. Is it your late wife?” He began to walk toward the stair, frowning, as if he’d forgotten her. But after a pause, he answered, “Sounds like her. She’s not really a ghost. That is, not in the way of the others. She just hasn’t passed on.” Addie blinked as she caught up with him. “I thought none of them could have passed on.” “Well, in a way. But they choose to be here. Julia…Julia is more haunted than haunting—she has something to do before she moves on.” Bring her killer to justice? Had Tammy, not John, been responsible for her death? And how the hell did you ask her widower that question? After a moment, she said carefully, “Did your wife like Tammy?” He shrugged. “Well enough. They didn’t see that much of each other.”

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“So what’s changed? Why would she want to harm her now?” “Harm her?” Maxwell turned to stare at her. “I’m sure of it. It was as if it was sucking the life from her.” “Christ. Gavin.” “Gavin?” “That’s what’s changed since Tammy was last here. She’s taken up with Gavin. He wants to marry her—as soon as she divorces Inspector Plod. It’s…” Abruptly, he broke off, as he heard what Addie did: the voices of Shug and Malky as they shambled along the hall below. Taking her arm in a firm grip, Maxwell sped her down the last of the stairs and into the well of darkness beneath. “Let go, for fuck’s sake,” Shug said irritably. His voice seemed to come still from several feet away, at the main stairs. “I can get down myself on my bum.” There was a bump and a grunt and then the sound of a heavy body bumping its way down the stairs. In spite of herself, Addie sniggered. Just for a second, she caught a glimpse of an answering twinkle in Maxwell’s eyes. He was too close to her. The darkness was too friendly, and his strong, earthy presence too appealing. He said softly, “You don’t like these people, do you?” “What’s to like?” she muttered. “I can’t make you out.” “I know you can’t,” she said bitterly, and pushed past him into the relative light of the hall.

Johnny watched her go with an odd sense of disappointment. Something in her brusqueness told him she was running away, though from what wasn’t terribly clear. Probably his reputation as a wife-killer, even though his ego wanted to believe she was avoiding his irresistible if inconvenient attraction. Spot the asshole, Maxwell… 76

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Only a few hurried steps away, she paused and glared at him over her shoulder. Her head jerked significantly, commanding him to follow her. The girl had guts, he’d allow that. Afraid of him she might be, for whatever reason, but she was damned if she’d let him know it. A tune began in his head, or perhaps it had been there for some time and he was just becoming aware of it: intricate, insistent, standing up to the bullying beat of the drum. He let it play in the back of his mind, building… Strolling after her, he wondered if she realized how easy it would be for him to overpower her, to use her as his own hostage to obtain the release of his family. Or perhaps she knew the Psycho-Weasel would happily sacrifice her for his own ends… What was he to her, anyway? “Thought you fancied a quick one for auld lang syne.” What had Shug meant by that? And why was he, John Maxwell, even wondering? The girl was a poisonous little gutter rat. In the downstairs hall, she pointed wordlessly at the sitting room door and took herself off in the direction of the kitchen. Though half inclined to follow her—just to see what she’d do about his disobedience—the unmistakable tones of the Psycho-Weasel demanding his presence drew him to the sitting room instead. “Where the fuck have you been?” Shug snarled. “With the girl,” Maxwell said mildly, “like you said.” His mother was standing by the window, gazing raptly at whatever she saw there, lost in her own, isolated world. Tammy occupied the sofa, while Gavin sat rather stiffly in the armchair some distance from her. A falling out there? I do hope so. Maxwell slouched into the space beside his sister who, however, seemed to have other things on her mind which didn’t concern Gavin at all. “That girl,” she whispered, before his back had even hit the cushion. “I think she’s more on our side than theirs.” “Secretly, she’s Special Branch,” Maxwell agreed. “I’m serious.” “You read too many novels.”

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“Johnny, she’s trying to get them out of here, and she’s looking after us in the process. I think she saved me from the ghost of—well, a ghost.” “Julia.” Johnny focused on her, frowning. “What happened?” “I don’t know,” Tammy admitted. “It—something made me stop in the middle of the hall. It was as if I was paralyzed. I felt really—weak, like I was ill, and so cold… I thought I was going to faint, and then suddenly she—Addie—shoved in front of me and shouted, ‘Go away, leave her alone!’ Or something like that. And the sickness seemed to go away as suddenly as it had come. It was weird, Johnny, really weird. What’s going on? Have these people upset the spirits somehow?” “No…I don’t think they have.” He settled his gaze on Gavin, wondering, trying hard not to let personal dislike colour his reasoning. “Tammy, you’re not really going to marry him, are you?” At once, the veil dropped over her stormy eyes like shutters. “Why the hell shouldn’t I?” “What, apart from the minor inconvenience that you’re still legally married to Inspector Plod? And Gavin’s rather tasteless affair with my wife does tend to point to the notion that he’s as trustworthy as a rattlesnake. My other reason is purely personal. I don’t like the bastard.” “Really, Johnny?” Tammy marveled with heavy sarcasm. “If you’d any sense,” Addie interrupted as she laid a tray of steaming mugs on the coffee table in front of them, “you’d shut up and let her make her own decisions.” For an instant, Johnny stared at her, simply flabbergasted by her cheek. Then, almost to his own surprise, amusement drowned the rising indignation. Leaning forward to lift the mug she’d placed for him, he murmured, “Proper little Mary Poppins, aren’t you?” He delighted in the flush that rose up her neck and suffused the fair skin of her face. It seemed to rob her completely of that tough, Glasgow shell, allowing a glimpse of a far sweeter and more vulnerable creature. The insight distracted him, trapped him, just as she’d enchanted him by her contradictory charms when he’d first discovered her playing his piano.

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She was all emotion. Her technique stank. But with the right teacher she could be really good… She muttered, “I prefer strident trollop.” The strident trollop who was feeding his son and hiding him from her less than savoury associates. Who risked herself for Tammy. Maxwell smiled straight into her eyes. “No you don’t.” She turned away quickly, letting her hair fall forward over her flushed face as she said to the room in general, “Tea.” She stood back to let everyone grab a mug. With people between them, she obviously felt safer, but Johnny kept watching her. That song was back, stronger, growing in harmony, mingling with the music he’d thought of while he’d kissed her and felt her passionate, yielding flesh under his hands and lips… It was she who picked up a mug and took it to his great-grandmother, who still sat rigidly in her winged armchair, taking everything in and storing it up like the old witch she was. He wouldn’t be surprised if her testimony was what sent the burglars down in the end. What did surprise him was Addie’s action in taking her the tea. Whether it was compassion for the elderly or some innate courtesy of which she was unaware, her civility intrigued him. Everything about her intrigued him. John Maxwell wanted to get to a piano. He wanted to take Addie to bed and do unspeakably intimate things to her gorgeous, writhing little body. He wanted to sink into her hot wetness, lose himself in lust and music. He wanted to strangle her for coming into his home and threatening his family, and confusing the hell out of him. Abruptly, he stood and walked across the room in her wake. Shug’s gun followed him the whole way. He noticed it as he would an irritating and persistent fly. He heard Addie say mildly, “Tea, Mrs. Maxwell,” as she laid the mug down on the little side-table.

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Old Jemima stared at her. “Lady Maxwell actually. They knighted the old bugger before he died.” Before you did him in, Johnny corrected her silently. But Addie had flopped down on the edge of the sofa nearest the old witch, staring back at her with new interest. “You’re Sir Christopher Maxwell’s wife?” she asked, awed. Jemima cackled. “Think I should be dead, do you? So does he.” She nodded at Johnny, causing the girl to whip round and notice him. She looked away again immediately, more interested, apparently in the composer’s wife. “You’re both right, of course, I should be dead. Never seems to happen, though. I’m a hundred and two, you know.” “My Gran says that as well,” Addie murmured. “But I know for a fact she’s sixtyeight.” “Yes, but Jemima’s telling the truth.” Johnny lounged into the sofa beside the girl. “She really is a hundred and two. Addie here’s seen Kit.” “Bad luck,” said the old lady at once and, as if she remembered their early conversation about Christopher Maxwell’s ghost, Addie cast him a startled glance. Then she said, “Do you see him, too?” “All the time,” said Jemima. “Wretched scoundrel hangs around more now than he ever did when he was alive.” “Really?” Addie said. Again, she glanced at Johnny. “Was he a scoundrel?” “Not by the standards of present company,” Johnny said and watched with some delight as well as satisfaction when she flushed. “No point in asking him,” Jemima scoffed. “He thinks the sun shines out of Kit’s dead backside.” “He was a great composer,” Addie offered. “Ha!” Jemima scoffed. “He wasn’t bad, although I wrote most of ‘his’ best music, you know. Doesn’t matter. He was still a fool and a cheat. Who the devil are you, anyway? Are you his next, now that Julia’s dead?”

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Johnny laughed. Ignoring him, the girl said, “No. I’m with the bad guys. I drive the car and make the tea. Did you know Julia well?” “No, and I didn’t want to. She was a cheating little slut, too.” “Don’t beat about the bush, Jemima, tell it as it is,” Johnny drawled. And because he didn’t want to get into the old pain and all the awfulness that went with it, he got up and walked away again. It interfered with the music building to bursting point in his head. “Where do you think you’re going?” Shug shouted after him. “To play the piano.” “Not on your own, you’re not.” “Christ!” Johnny swung round on him. “What’s your problem? You’ll hear me when I stop. If I take longer than ten seconds to come down, you can send in the commandoes.” For a moment, as he slouched out of the room, he thought Shug would call him back, wondered how far he could actually go…but the Pycho-Weasel contented himself with a mere “Arsehole.”

Addie watched him go with mingled relief and disappointment. She couldn’t help it. Whenever he was around, she just felt more—alive. And it didn’t matter that he despised her, that every moment in his company brought pained awareness of her own shortcomings. If she had to spend much longer here she would become so totally obsessed with him that she’d never break free. Even in prison. Christ, I can’t go to prison. What would happen to Kate if I went to prison? And why the fuck didn’t I think of that before I came? But there was no point in dwelling on the might have beens or the might bes. Practicality returned to the fore, and she looked again at the old lady—who was regarding her with slightly malicious amusement. “I can see you agree with me. It’s not so much the cheating as the bad taste. I mean, if you were married to Johnny, why would you look at him?” She nodded across the www.samhainpublishing.com

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room, directly at Gavin who was in low-voiced conversation with the journalist Liz Conway. Addie closed her mouth. “Julia had an affair with him?” “Didn’t you know? It was all over the papers during the trial.” “I didn’t read much about it,” Addie confessed. “Didn’t want to know, to be honest. I saw him play a couple of times.” The old lady nodded. “Hands like an angel,” she agreed. “Like Kit. Of course, Kit taught him. After he was dead.” Something like laughter caught spontaneously in Addie’s throat. “You like doing that, don’t you? Shocking people.” “Nothing much else to do at my age.” “But you see it all, don’t you? And understand it all. Would Julia object to Tammy being with Gavin?” “Might do. Dog-in-the-manger was Julia. Why?” “Do you see her ghost, too?” Unexpectedly, the old lady’s gaze fell. For the first time since this horrible situation began, she looked rattled. “It’s not Julia.” Addie leaned forward. “Not Julia? Then who is it?” she demanded. “Why does it want to hurt Tammy?” “Not just Julia,” Lady Maxwell amended. The malice was back in her eyes. “What’s it to you anyway? Think you can make up for robbing us?” Addie, who hadn’t even been sure the old lady had picked up on that, looked away. “No,” she said flatly. “Just curious.”

Maxwell had told the truth. They could hear him playing. Distantly, like an echo, piano music tinkled pleasantly in the background. You couldn’t tell the tune, or even the genre, but just the fact that he was producing it was vaguely, ridiculously soothing. 82

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Staring out of the window at the pristine white ground, the snow-covered trees scattered about the grounds and the spectacular hills beyond, Addie tried to imagine his life here, growing up in this crazy house among the ghosts, in the shadow of his ingenious great-grandfather—from whom, in a ghostly sort of a way, he received extra tuition. Another young genius in a houseful of eccentrics. They all needed looking after, she realized. Not just the extraordinary old lady, but his frail, wandered mother, the unworldly uncle, the willful Tammy who had already made one disastrous marriage by all accounts and now seemed hell-bent on another— with the man who’d already had one affair with her murdered sister-in-law. And that was another thing. “Why does he hang around here?” she murmured. “Oh, he wants the house…” Addie blinked, realizing she’d turned to look at the oblivious object of her thoughts, Gavin, who’d fallen awkwardly asleep in his chair. But it was Helen Maxwell who had spoken, John and Tammy’s mother. She stood beside Addie, gazing out of the window so that Addie had to doubt she even knew who they were talking about. “Gavin wants the house?” she asked low-voiced. “Oh, yes.” “It’s a beautiful house,” Addie offered, and Helen turned to direct a smile at the younger woman. “Yes it is,” she said warmly. The smile faded. “But Gavin doesn’t see that. Fat young women with too much money. Men with muscles and no soul…” Addie couldn’t make much sense of that. She elected to stick with the facts. “But Tammy doesn’t own the house, does she?” “Oh, yes. We all do.” She frowned. “I think. Except Herbert. It’s all a bit hazy now…so long ago. You didn’t get any tea, dear.” Helen called Shug “dear”. There was no point in feeling flattered over the endearment. Yet it was still oddly warming to be called “dear” by the vague, gentle

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woman who didn’t seem to care, if she even knew, that her “guests” were there to rob her. Addie found herself picking up the lone mug left on the tray and drinking. In the odd peace which Helen managed to radiate over her unquiet and guilty soul, Addie gazed out of the window once more. Julia didn’t want Tammy to have Gavin, because Gavin had been hers. But the old lady had said it wasn’t just Julia… What did that mean? And why did she care? She needed to be out of here, and… Refocusing, she realized the hazy object moving in the distance was a car, chuntering slowly along the road. If she strained her ears, she could even imagine she heard it. She said, “There’s a car on the road—it must be cleared. Malky, why don’t you check the car again, and we’ll see if we can’t get out of here?” And why that should bring unhappiness welling up inside her, she had no idea. Or if she did, it was so stupid she didn’t even want to go there. Malky looked first at Shug, who smirked. “Aye, Malky, you do that. Addie, you run along and collect Liberace up there.” Swallowing down a refusal, Addie left the room and ran upstairs toward the piano room. The music grew louder with every step. Outside the door, she paused, partly through inexplicable reluctance to interrupt him, partly because it had struck her she might be able to fit in a quick check on young Jack. Or she could just skulk here for a moment, hear music as it was meant to be played… How could the man touch the keys so lightly, yet wring such emotion from each note? She had never heard this piece before—she’d never heard anything remotely like it. Like a storm, or someone hiding from it… Closing her eyes, she imagined his fingers gliding furiously up and down the keys, creating startling, invincible beauty… Tears rose, closing her throat. She sank into a crouch on the floor, resting her wet face against the wall. The music was too powerful, engaging memories she didn’t want

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and longings she couldn’t reach. Regrets and strivings and huge, all-embracing love, all poured into her and out with the tears—and then, abruptly, the music stopped.

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Chapter Eight

Addie held her breath. She had no time to do more, for the study door flung open and he stood there, looking understandably stunned. With a gasp, she wrenched her head round to hide the stupid tears and tried to stumble to her feet, to find the words she’d come to say. But without warning, he dropped beside her, reaching for her face, turning it in both hands so he could gaze on the tear-stained mess. She gasped again at the touch of his fingers, closed her eyes tightly as if that would hide her from his scrutiny. “What is it?” he asked, bewildered, and he didn’t sound angry or contemptuous at all. She wished he did. “Addie, what’s the matter?” “Nothing,” she whispered. “Nothing…” “Then why are you crying?” She snapped her eyes open, glaring at him. “Because the music churns me up, okay?” A second longer, he stared back at her, then his lip twitched upward. “You don’t like it?” “Like it? It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and I hate you for it!” 86

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Laughter seemed to catch in his throat, low and breathless. “It’s you, that’s why. I made it for you.” She stared up at him, uncomprehending. “That’s why it’s beautiful.” She closed her eyes again, tightly, and shook her head. “Stop it. I know what I am, what I’ve done, there’s no need to get at me like this…” She thought he swore under his breath. Unexpectedly, she was yanked to her feet, pulled into the study and the door kicked shut. Bewildered, she watched him stride across to the piano, press the button on a tape machine. The same music filled the room as he came back to her. “Now,” he said grimly, “let’s talk.” Her hackles rising at his manner, she stared back at him until something changed in his dark eyes. “Oh, stuff it,” he said, and seized her, crushing her mouth under his. Her stunned lips opened obediently, let his tongue, his whole mouth invade her. Instant heat drove through her body with the force of a hurricane, arching her into him as he bent her against him. “Stop it,” she whispered into his mouth. “You’re killing me… I know what you think of me and I won’t…” “The music is what I think of you,” he said fiercely. “The words mean nothing.” His hands roamed down her back to her buttocks, pressing her into his hard crotch until she could feel the very veins of his rigid cock standing out like ribs against her abdomen. “I don’t know how you got into all this stuff, but I know it’s not you. My first instinct is always right. I wanted you as soon as I saw you, and now…” “Now what?” Enchanted and bewildered by the turn of events, she let her feelings overwhelm her. He smiled against her lips, “Now I’m going to have you.” Her drumming heart lurched downwards, spreading impossible fire. “Says who?” she demanded. “Says me. And you…” “What, a quickie up against the door? Is that what I’m worth?”

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“Up against the door, on the rug, under the piano, on the bloody piano, anywhere I can get you, for as long as I’ll last. And after that, I’ll be back, I can promise you that…” His fingers on her jeans tore down the zip, pushed them down over her hips. Wrenching his kilt up, he ground his naked cock against her thigh, pushing in between her legs to find the hot wetness of her pussy. “Say yes…” Oh, Christ, am I going to regret this… “Yes,” she whispered. He touched his forehead to hers, smiling. At the same time, she felt him rummaging in the folds of his kilt, in his sporran, and saw with relief the silver foil packet. Had she really been going to do this without any protection at all? Even after Kate? Well, Kate was all that made life worth living. And this incredible sex—it was going to be, she just knew… “Ah—h!” Half sigh, half groan, she gasped out as he pushed straight inside her. “Jesus, you feel good,” he whispered. A laugh tried to get out, making her whole body tremble around his cock, shooting wild pangs of pleasure through her. “So do you… So fuck me, Music Man…” He drew back almost to the point where she was afraid he would leave her, then drove back in with such force that the door rattled. Still inside her, he drew her downward to the floor, kneeling with her, kneading her naked buttocks as he explored inside her. She moved with him, in slow, circular rhythm that made him groan. Totally aflame, she pushed into him urgently, wordlessly demanding. She knew it couldn’t be long for her… The very idea of doing this with him was enough to give her an orgasm. As if he understood, he laid her gently down on her back, raising her hips to rest on his knees as he knelt between her legs. Reaching down, he pushed up her sweater with both hands, dragging his fingers over the hard, taut nipples as he went. She heard his breath catch. Then he straightened, gazing at her. “Christ, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, and taking hold of her hips once more, he fucked her as if their lives depended on it, hard, fast and furious, driving into her pussy repeatedly, even more forcefully as he saw how much she liked it. She fell over the edge

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very quickly, released into a flood of excruciating pleasure that barely gave him pause. While the music reached a crescendo of passion, he continued to hammer her, holding her at that pitch of orgasm for an impossibly long moment until he came himself and the vibrations of his body as he groaned his release set her off again. He collapsed on to her in his joy, burying his mouth in hers to muffle the strength of his climax that clearly merited a huge shout instead of this silence. Throughout, she held on to him as their world rocked and began slowly to right. Lifting his head, he stared down into her eyes, his own wonderfully dark and misted with passion. Slowly, he withdrew his cock, reached between their bodies and stripped off the condom. Her smile was answered in his eyes. But it seemed he hadn’t finished. He began to slide down her body, kissing and caressing her breasts, lingering over her rosy, happy nipples, and gliding down her stomach to her navel. His tongue dipped in there, teasingly, then traced a line of kisses downward with unmistakable intent. Oh, my God, not that, too? Oh, yes, thank you, God! His tongue found her clitoris unerringly, and seemed to know exactly what to do, teasing and stimulating with just the right lightness for an organ so sensitized that it twinged at his very breath. A little of that, and she was ready when his whole mouth claimed it, closing on it and sucking in a long stream that brought her to climax once more, arching and bucking against his mouth until he released her. Still coming, she reached for him, but he made her wait, extracting another foil packet from his sporran and rolling the condom over his huge, purple-headed cock before he fell on her, driving into her pussy once more and thrusting in slow, hard strokes. “Addie!” It was Jim’s voice, shouting upstairs. Addie’s eyes opened in horror. But John Maxwell didn’t even pause. Smiling, he said, “Sh-sh,” stroked her hair with one hand, and continued to fuck her as if they had all the time in the world. And somehow, the fact that they hadn’t made it all the more exciting, and Addie came again. Seeing it, Johnny

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quickened his pace, driving into her until his own climax claimed him. Reaching up, Addie latched her mouth to his, so they could muffle the sounds of each other’s pleasure. Jim, just outside the door now, yelled, “Addie, are you in there?” Addie drew her mouth free. She pretended to cough, to give herself more time, and Johnny’s breath hissed as she contracted round his cock. Laughter caught in her throat now. This was almost like her teenage years—there was that time she’d hidden from Jim at Anne-Marie’s party, only that time her lover had been… But she wouldn’t think about that. “Yes,” she called, clearing her shaky throat once more. “I’m just waiting for His Nibs to finish…” His Nibs bit her ear, smiling. How could you hear someone smiling? “Well, for God’s sake, hurry him up,” Jim commanded. “Someone’s coming and Shug’s like a loose cannon.” Addie paused. So did Johnny. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. Addie licked her lips. “Aye, all right, Jim, I’m coming. If you can get that gun off him, you’d be doing the world a favour.” There was another short silence, as if Jim was about to say something else, then he sighed and his footsteps hurried away back down the hall. Johnny whispered, “What is he to you? Jimmy the Lamb…” She snorted. “Some lamb. He’s my wee brother.” Johnny dropped his head till their foreheads touched. “Addie, Addie, how the…” He broke off. “What sort of a name is Addie, anyway?” “A crap one. But loads better than Ariadne.” “Ariadne?” “My father had a brief flirtation with Greek mythology before he rediscovered the pub.” “It’s a beautiful name.” “Do you think so? Try growing up with it in Glasgow, especially when you stick it with…”

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She broke off, stricken. What she had just done with John Maxwell changed nothing. She had still robbed him, was still complicit in the hostage-taking of his family. Still guilty. And still having to hide her identity, for Kate’s sake and for Jim’s. The pianist’s dark eyes searched hers. For some reason, he didn’t look angry any more. He looked…rueful. And his words, when he eventually spoke, were even more surprising. “Will you come and hear me play at the Royal Concert Hall?” She felt her mouth drop open and quickly regained control of it. “When?” she asked stupidly. “March. Liz wants it to be the start of my ‘come-back’ tour,” he said wryly. “Are you and Liz…?” She hadn’t meant to ask but the words blurted out without permission. Please say no… “No. I think she quite fancies being lady of the manor—only I don’t have a manor and I’d drive her to drink in a week. So you’ll come?” He was still inside her, still erect and, despite the imminent disaster below, he showed no signs of leaving her. He seemed solely intent on getting an answer. She swallowed. “I’ll come.” Slowly, he withdrew and began to help her to her feet. “Carpet burn?” he enquired. With a choke of laughter, Addie shook her head. “Almost no carpet, I suppose. OK, take me back to Psycho-Weasel. Addie…will he kill anyone?” Addie opened her mouth, then closed it again. She said honestly, “I don’t know. You know what a bam is, Music Man?” “I know.” “Well Shug’s a bam. Always was. If I’d known he had a gun I wouldn’t have come within twenty miles of him. Johnny, I’m…” She broke off, turning away. “You’re what?”

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“It doesn’t matter.” You said sorry for bumping into someone, standing on a toe, breaking a cup. What the hell did you say to someone you’d robbed? Into whose house you’d brought a psychotic bam like Shug, and taken his entire family hostage with firearms? There were no words for that.

Before he opened the study door, Johnny took her in his arms and kissed her. He wasn’t sure why, except that she looked suddenly so sad and lost it broke his heart. And he wanted to touch her again. His body still on fire from their recent wild encounter, it was already more than ready for a repeat. A long one this time, in peace and tranquility. He felt an instant’s resistance as he drew her against him, then she melted and returned his embrace with passion. She kissed with an intensity that drove him even further toward insanity. “Oh, God, Johnny, what am I going to do?” she whispered against his lips. Then, before he could even open his mouth to answer, she slid out of his arms and opened the door. Lost in thought, he followed her along the passage, watching her bum wiggle in her blue jeans. It was all he could do not to drag her back into the study and throw her across the piano. He bet she’d like that, too… Pull yourself together, Maxwell. You are not a teenager and she is definitely not a fairy princess. No, but he could never remember a woman having this powerful an effect on him, not even Julia in the early days. He knew he was given to obsessions, and he had to remind himself quite forcefully that this was one he could not indulge. Not yet… She paused at the top of the stairs to let him catch up. She was frowning again, rebuilding her shell, though whether for his or her associates’ benefit, he had no way of knowing. Either way, he felt unreasonably irritated by it.

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As they descended the stairs in silence, he said, “You never asked me if I murdered my wife.” There was a pause, then, “No I didn’t.” “Don’t you care?” Her tongue appeared, briefly wetting her lips. “I don’t know,” she said. “Who am I to judge anyone?” She was judging herself, though, and harshly. And yet Johnny was pretty sure this was the first time she’d ever done anything like this. And even if it wasn’t, even if she was a hardened, habitual criminal, he realized, almost with awe, that it made no difference. The music was still hers, still her. And he still wanted her. The slamming of the front door brought him out of his reverie with a jerk. Someone had come in and was walking across the hall, past the grandfather clock and into the sitting room. Not just anyone. Inspector Plod. Johnny felt excited laughter rise up like a tide and had to squash it. Increasing his speed, he leapt to the foot of the stairs and followed the newcomer into the sitting room in time to hear his jovial greeting to the room at large. “Hello! Where is everyone? Happy New Year, Maxwells, reprobates and otherwise! Where’s my New Year drink?” He stood in the middle of the floor, tall and youthful looking, wearing his inevitable blue padded anorak, grinning hopefully. Johnny strove hard to keep his satisfaction well hidden, but here at last was some back-up, someone who could be trusted to act in concert with him to bring down the bad guys—providing they never suspected he was more than an amiable reveler… “Jesus Fuck!” said Shug. “Malky, Jim, go and look out the windows, see how many more of them, there are…” “More what?” Addie said, bewildered, pushing in behind Johnny. “Filth,” said Shug. “Pigs, polis, officers of the law, just bleeding look!”

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Johnny sighed. So much for discretion. The newcomer had gone very still. His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze flickered from Shug, to his associates, and the rest of the room’s occupants before they came back to rest finally on Tammy. He smiled. “Hello, darling. I’m home.”

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Chapter Nine

Addie cast her eyes upward for help. Was it her imagination or had this criminal caper degenerated into total farce? Tammy uttered, “Arsehole! What are you doing here?” Yet her eyes had suddenly lit up, like an inanimate dummy coming back to life. That would have been interesting, in normal circumstances, but Addie found her attention distracted by the way the newcomer smiled at Shug. “Mister Campbell. What a surprise.” There went the last faint hope that he wouldn’t know Shug as well as the eejit clearly knew him. “Aye, aye, likewise,” Shug muttered. “Malky.” Inspector Plod nodded to the big man, who responded politely enough. “Mr. Newton.” “You going to introduce me to your other friends?” the policeman asked Tammy. With alacrity, the girl said, “Jim from Castlemilk.” Her eyes flickered to Addie, then away. Her mouth closed. “Ah,” said the policeman. “Mr. McSween? How’s your Uncle Eddie?” Jim coughed. “Aye, fine,” he muttered. “He’s fine.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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Already Inspector Plod’s gaze had run round the room, passing over his hosts to Addie. “How’re you doing?” she said amiably. She knew they were banged to rights. Shug’s pistol might have been in his pocket, but Jim still held his host’s shotgun in his hand, and this policeman clearly knew all about Shug and Malky, and even Jim, though the stupid bugger swore he was totally unknown to the police. None of Eddie McSween’s extended family were likely to escape the knowledge of the law—if only because their homes were the likeliest places to pick the old lag up again. Inspector Plod looked back at Tammy. The girl stared at him for a long moment, then snapped, “I don’t know who she is. Her name’s Addie. Also from Castlemilk.” Beside her, Johnny jerked slightly, almost as if he was annoyed at Tammy for giving her away. The thought warmed her, but there was nothing she could do now. Minimal checking would reveal her identity if the policeman didn’t know it already. “Aye, that’s me,” she said brashly, wandering farther into the room toward Jim as she added, “Happy New Year. Here, Jim, give me that before you shoot your own toe off.” As she spoke, she wrapped her hand around the barrel of the shotgun. Jim, completely fazed by this turn of events, numbly relinquished it. Addie spun around before he could change his mind and walked back to Johnny, holding his gaze the whole way. “Addie,” Shug growled warningly. Addie held out the gun to Johnny who took it slowly, with just an upward twitch of his lips. “What?” said Addie, without looking at Shug. Johnny moved something on the gun and lowered it. Addie smiled. She’d had no idea what he would do in response to her instinctive, reckless action. More to the point, she had no idea what Shug would do, but as she turned rather fearfully to check, she saw he was completely baffled. His hand still lay motionless at his jacket pocket, but whether

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deterred by the presence of the police or Johnny’s inexplicable act, he made no move to bring out the gun. The policeman seemed reassured. Something of a smile came back into his shrewd, watchful eyes. “So, Johnny,” he said, holding out one casual hand. “How come you’re entertaining these city scallywags in your rural backwater?” Johnny gripped the hand in his free one, but before he could speak, Shug said, “Nice of them, isn’t it? Our car broke down just outside there, and then I went and fell in the ice. Sprained my ankle.” “Broke it, dear,” Helen corrected, drifting by him to get to the policeman. “Daniel, how lovely to see you. Were you working through our party again after all?” “No, I was driving through most of it,” the policeman said, kissing her scented cheek. “In fact, I drove into a snow drift outside Loch Foy and had to walk through the rest of it.” Tammy, who’d gone deliberately to sit on the arm of Gavin’s chair, flickered a secretive glance in his direction, a glance quite at odds with her harsh voice as she said rudely, “I didn’t know anyone had invited you.” “Since when do you need an invitation at New Year?” Tammy smiled. “Since you started sleeping with your colleagues. You know Gavin, don’t you?” she added, putting an arm round her new lover’s shoulder. Gavin smirked, met the other man’s eyes with neither fear nor apology. Addie wondered if he’d looked at Johnny like that when he’d slept with his wife. “And Liz Conway. Liz writes for The Herald. Arts stuff that you won’t read.” Addie asked, “So is the road to Loch Foy closed now, too?” The policeman glanced at her. “Not sure. I came through the wood—it’s quicker, or at least I thought it was. Where are you heading?” “Back to Glasgow.” “Last I heard the road south of Loch Foy was impassable. They should get it cleared by tomorrow, though. At least the snow’s off.”

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“Tomorrow? But we need to get back today.” Agitated, she began to pace around the room. “Malky, did you look at the car yet?” “What’s the point if the road’s closed?” “We don’t know that,” Addie snapped. “Only that it was closed. I’m sure the Maxwells would lend as a couple of shovels and a bagful of grit to get us out of their hair…” “Aye, go on, Malky,” said Shug. “I’ll come with you,” the policeman offered. “I’m good with cars.” Tammy snorted, alarmingly like her great-grandmother. Helen protested, “But you’ve only just got in after walking half the night. Sit down, Dan…” “In a few minutes,” he said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t mind a New Year dram when I get back,” he hinted. “Give us a hand there, Johnny.” For an instant, Shug’s brow was thunderous, as if he was about to object in no uncertain terms, but in the end, clearly realizing he couldn’t issue orders without arousing the policeman’s suspicions, he subsided.

“So what’s going on, John?” Dan Newton asked quietly. In front of them, as they trudged through the snow toward the road, Malky coughed. Johnny said, “Gavin? He wants to marry your wife now.” Dan’s breath caught on what sounded like several inventive obscenities. “And is my wife complicit in this plan?” Johnny shrugged. “If she is, you’ve only yourself to blame. Stupid bastard.” Dan sighed. “I know. But I can’t undo it, can I?” “No. But you can make bloody sure you don’t do it again.” “What’s the point if she’s with that wanker?”

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“Between you and me, I think she’s already bored with that wanker. Objection just makes her dig her heels in, though. I think it’s the disapproval that keeps it going—that and compassion.” “Compassion? For Gavin? Why?” Johnny’s lips twisted. “I think he cried on her shoulder about Julia.” Dan blinked. “That’s a bit of a bloody cheek, isn’t it?” “You might think so; I can’t possibly comment. How’s your banger, Malky?” As Malky crammed his bulk into the driver’s seat and tried to start the freezing engine, Johnny said low, “Spill, Dan, what do you know about these guys?” “Hugh Campbell? Better known as Shug. Small time villain and all round bam. Malcolm Chisholm, otherwise Big Malky—muscle for hire in unsavory causes. James McSween, small-time burglar, nephew of celebrated safe-cracker Eddie. Why, how come they’re all hanging around here? Not their natural habitat.” The engine was choking away without much success. Malky tried again. So far, he seemed too concerned with the car to notice that Johnny no longer had the shotgun. “And Ariadne McSween? Jim’s sister?” “Is that who she is? Never come across her.” Dan frowned, apparently dredging his memory while Johnny waited with his heart hammering in his ribs like a schoolboy’s as his friends find out if the object of his affection reciprocates. “There is a sister, single mother. Never been in trouble, though. Maybe because she’s got the brains not to get caught.” And at that, a light went off in John Maxwell’s mind. The brains not to get caught. They’d come deliberately to this house to rob it. She was a different caliber to the others and she had the musical knowledge. According to Tammy, she’d recognized Kit’s work and his own. Stealing to order. But Addie as Mrs. Big the crime boss…? It didn’t make sense. He didn’t want it to make sense. He wanted to believe he’d driven her wild with passion for his irresistible self… And she had given him the gun back. He’d hidden it on the way out and so far Malky didn’t seem to notice it was gone.

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Of course, Addie thought he trusted her now. And Shug was still armed… As the car shuddered, Johnny looked back toward the house. It seemed very far away, and yet he could have sworn he saw a ghostly face at the turret window… Something was wrong. The certainty closed round his heart, even before he became aware of the tiny, running figure, catapulting through the snow. In his pajamas, silently, desperately running for his life. With a low cry of fear and fury, Johnny launched himself back through the gate, ploughing through the snow to get to his son. Only Helen looked out of the sitting room window. There was no sign of the Psycho-Weasel, and yet Jack was beyond fear, crying silently, tears pouring down his chalk-white face as he pounded determinedly toward his dad. More frightening than anything, he made no sound. Beyond him, Johnny could see Addie running after him, hear her calling. And then he had Jack safe in his arms, turning, knees in the snow to put himself between the house and his son. “There, there, I’ve got you, it’s all right. Hush, I promise no one will hurt you, no one…” Jack was gasping, trying to speak through great racking sobs. Johnny had never seen him like this, even when Julia had died. His little hands clung like limpets around Johnny’s neck. “Not…not me,” he sobbed out. “It’s Tammy, it’s killing Aunt Tammy!” Johnny twisted round, staring back over his shoulder at the house. Addie had run back the way she’d come and was disappearing back inside the front door. Johnny got to his feet, still holding his son as a new fear began to churn through his whole body. He began to run again, carrying the boy in his arms. Jack was shivering now with cold as well as reaction. Behind him, he was aware of Dan shouting, but he couldn’t stop. “Where?” he asked his son as he ran. “Where is this happening?”

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“In my r-room. Aunt Tammy came up to see me, and at first everything was fine— but then the ghosts came and they started to eat her…” Johnny slid and righted himself. “The ghosts ate her?” he repeated. “What ghosts?” Jack cried out, clinging tighter and tighter in his pain. “Mummy! It was Mummy!” “No, it wasn’t Mummy,” Johnny assured him, stroking his hair. “Only something that looked like her…but you said ghosts, not ghost, Jack.” “The others were there. Granddad Kit, and the Highlander, and the man with no clothes—even the maid with the carving knife…” “And they were all attacking Aunt Tammy?” “Only Mummy,” whispered Jack. He began to cry again. “Only Mummy.” Johnny pushed open the half-ajar door and went in. Ignoring Jim who stood in the middle of the hall in a bewildered sort of a way, he yelled, “Mother!” He laid Jack down on the floor, still hugging him close. “Will you go to Granny now? She’ll look after you till I go and help Tammy.” Helen appeared at the door, with one of her rare turns of speed, already taking the reluctant Jack from his father. Johnny took the stairs three at a time. He didn’t even pause as he yelled down to Jim. “He’s a kid, all right? My kid!” Please God that was enough. Jimmy the Lamb appeared to understand about Addie’s daughter, so he could only pray he had enough decency to keep other kids safe as well… Maybe Addie was there to keep them in order. She at least would look after Jack… Unless he had her all wrong and she was the boss, making her own life easier by getting his trust until they could split… Shite. Johnny burst along the narrow passage to Jack’s room and hurled open the door. Tammy lay sprawled across the single bed, shivering violently. At least she was alive…

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Addie had her arms round the other girl, trying to wrap the quilt more closely around her. The ghosts had all gone, apart from Christopher, who hovered anxiously around the bed. As Johnny surged across the room, Addie raised her own white, frightened face to look at him. “Thank God it’s you! I don’t know what to do. She’s so cold… I think Jack saw it all, that’s why he ran.” “What happened?” Johnny asked harshly. Sitting on the bed, he took his sister’s wrist in his hands and began to rub. “Jack said all the ghosts were there.” “They were, but I don’t think they were with her. They looked—distressed. Shit, I can’t believe I’m talking about ghosts like real people now. It was the same as last time, only it’s obviously gone on for longer. She fled again when I appeared, and the other ghosts followed her. Apart from him,” she added, nodding in Christopher’s direction. “What’s going on, Kit?” Johnny asked quietly. “Is it really Julia?” “Julia, and not Julia.” Addie jumped, staring at the ghost whom she’d obviously heard speak for the first time. As usual, it sounded like a thin voice coming over a radio at low volume. “Something’s got her, Johnny. And she keeps leading it to Tammy.” “What’s got her?” “Something malevolent that lives between worlds, possibly cast out. We avoid such souls. But it’s caught Julia, using her form, such as it is, and it’s strong enough to reach physically across dimensions.” “You’re telling me. But why Tammy? Julia had no special down on her… Unless it’s because of Gavin? Kit can this thing really hurt Tammy?” Christopher hovered more closely over his great-granddaughter. “I rather think it can. Jemima’s the one to consult. I’ll get her to bring one of her damned potions.” Addie looked startled. “Can she manage all those stairs?” “She can manage anything she likes,” Christopher said with an air of pride, and glided toward the door. “Kit?” Johnny called after him. “Tell me if there’s any trouble over Jack? He’s with Helen.”

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As he turned back, he found Addie looking at him curiously. “Can Helen see them, too?” she blurted. “The ghosts? I don’t think anyone’s very sure what Helen sees.” “How did she get to be…?” The girl broke off, waving one hand apologetically before she went back to rubbing Tammy’s other wrist. The pure whiteness had gone from Tammy’s skin. The shivering seemed to have calmed. “Like that?” Johnny chose to finish her question for her. “I don’t know, to be honest. I suspect she was always a bit unworldly, and after my father’s death it became her protection. She’s not insane, you know, just a little lost in her own world.” “Not so very lost either,” Addie said. “She notices things other people don’t. Understands them, too.” Johnny found himself smiling at her. If the girl was acting, she was bloody good. “Most people don’t see that.” Addie’s gaze dropped. Johnny said, “Question in return. What brought you guys here to this house? It wasn’t random, was it?” Addie shook her head. “Shug was given the address. And the time to do it.” “The time?” Johnny tucked his sister’s hand under the quilt. She looked peaceful now, as if she was merely asleep. “You were told to do it at New Year?” “Because you were having a party. They reckoned it would keep the owners busy and disguise any noise.” It hurt to ask, because he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, or the knowledge of a lie. But he said it anyway. “Who reckoned? Who sent you? Who are you meant to take the loot to?” She shook her head. “Only Shug knows that. It makes him feel important.” She lifted her gaze to his. She looked desperate. “Look, if I can get the gun off Shug, I’ll give you the manuscripts back.” “And what will happen to you?” He kept his voice deliberately hard, and she seemed to expect it.

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She shrugged. “Nothing much. No theft, no crime.” “Apart from the false imprisonment.” She smiled unhappily. “Well, that does count against us.” “Why did you do it? The police knew nothing about you till now.” The brash Glaswegian made a brief reappearance. Her chin lifted. “I needed the money. I came north to help rob some rich teuchter, get home in time for New Year dinner. And get paid. Chatting with the householders was not part of the plan.” He felt his lips twist with something of the old contempt. “You fucked it all up, didn’t you?” “Oh, I fucked it all up right royally,” she agreed. There was a catch in her voice now, and Johnny realized she meant more than this robbery. It was as if she meant her whole life. “Addie, what do you do with your life?” he asked with an odd feeling of helplessness. “You’re a smart girl, don’t you have a job?” “What, one that covers more than child care costs?” “Child care?” Here in his faded fantasy world of eccentrics, he’d lost sight of other people’s reality. “Couldn’t your mother help there? Babysit while you work?” She stared at him. “Are you kidding? With Jim’s cronies floating round the house at all hours and Uncle Eddie dropping in for tea just before the police arrive for him?” Her eyes dropped again. “I had an okay job. Barely covered child care, but it had prospects. Till they made me redundant for Christmas. Life’s a bitch.” She dragged her hand over her face, as if she was pushing back her wild hair. But Johnny knew better. Her back was rigid, and she was repelling pity with every fibre of her considerable personality. He smiled lopsidedly, touched her cheek because he didn’t know what else to do and heard her gasp. “The straw that broke the camel’s back,” he murmured. “We’ve all had one of those.”

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She closed her eyes, hiding the emotion. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss those tears away, protect her from every bad thing life had ever thrown at her. She said low, “What did you do when your last straw landed?” “Murdered my wife, of course.”

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Chapter Ten

Addie’s head jerked up without permission. In total shock, she stared into his stormy dark eyes. Had she really forgotten how unfathomable they were? They seemed to swirl with challenge, defiance, intense passions too closely interlaced to separate or recognize. Her heart beat loudly in the silence and with despair she became aware of several things at once. Until now, she’d lost sight of the old accusation; he was making some sort of common cause with her and she was both outraged and desperately disappointed. Worse, none of it made any difference to her heart or her loins. She still wanted him. She still… Oh, fuck, was she falling in love with him? How could she be? Oh, Jesus Christ, don’t do this to me, don’t do this to me now…! Into her silently rocking world, a clatter of footsteps intruded, pounding on the narrow staircase and along the passage. Addie dragged her gaze free of his mesmeric eyes just as the door flung open and Gavin burst into the room. “What’s going on?” he demanded, scanning the room, taking in the sleeping figure of his fiancée held between her brother and the burglar. “A little ghostly assault,” Johnny said impatiently. “Bugger off.”

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“Ghostly?” Gavin’s accusing eyes came to rest on Addie. “I don’t think so! What did you do to her?” “It happened before she got here.” “She says! What’s the matter with you, Johnny?” “Jack says,” Johnny corrected, not troubling to hide his irritation. “He’s a kid.” “Doesn’t make him stupid or untruthful. Everything quiet down there? Why did they allow you out without a minder?” Gavin grimaced. “Tammy’s ex. Thrown the cat among the pigeons. Your accomplices are running scared,” he added with a sneering glance at the girl. Addie swallowed. It was so time to leave. She asked Johnny, “Did Malky start the car?” Johnny shrugged. His gaze was on his sister, whose eyes were slowly opening. Since her head was turned that way, she saw Addie first and leapt suddenly into her arms, clutching her shoulders convulsively. “It got me again, didn’t it?” she whispered. “I rather think it did,” Addie agreed, awkwardly patting the other woman’s back. As if embarrassed, Tammy transferred her hug to Johnny and only then, over his shoulder, did she catch sight of Gavin. There was an odd little pause. Then Gavin said, “Tammy.” And she moved to hug him, too, just as another figure appeared in the doorway. Inspector Daniel Newton. Tammy didn’t leave Gavin’s embrace, but she did say, “Hello,” in a slightly strange voice. “Hello yourself,” said Dan mildly. He held a glass of something muddy in one hand. Raising it for notice, he observed, “Anti-ghost medication, apparently. Courtesy of old Lady Maxwell.” Tammy detached herself and sat up, regarding the glass somewhat dubiously.

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Johnny said, “I wouldn’t drink any of that old witch’s potions. You’ll be sick as a dog.” Without further encouragement, Tammy snatched the glass from Dan and drank it down in one. “Ugh.” “Told you,” said Johnny, apparently pleased. Tammy stuck her tongue out at him, and Addie struggled to match up her fears, his confession, of what he was, with this amiable sibling by-play. “You want to get an exorcist in here,” Dan remarked. Gavin snorted, but Tammy said with feeling, “Bloody right. It’s time, Johnny. We should get rid of them all.” Johnny shrugged. “We can’t, unless they want to go. Anyway, most of them are harmless. Kit thinks something bad’s got hold of Julia. And Julia keeps leading it to you.” Tammy glanced at Gavin. “Oops,” she said feebly. “And here was me thinking Julia was the one person who couldn’t be pissed off by me and Gavin.”

Did you really kill your wife? Or did you just say it to see how I’d react? The question trembled on the edge of Addie’s lips as she and Johnny walked downstairs. But she never spoke it. The silence was too loud. Desperate to escape the madness of this place, to get back to Kate, she already ached with the loss of it. Not just Johnny, whom she could never have in any meaningful sense, but the stories that would go on without her—the malevolent spirit, Tammy’s love triangle… As they neared the ground floor hall, she could hear old Lady Maxwell muttering and talking, the sound of a walking stick tapping across the wooden floor. A moment later, she limped past, leaning heavily on her stick, yet still surprisingly straight in her posture. Beside her glided the ghost of her husband. “Why don’t you just shove off, reprobate?” she snarled at him. “I enjoy your affectionate chatter,” came back his thin, distant voice. The old lady snorted. 108

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“Jemima, don’t be like that, I forgive you!” “Ha! You forgive me? Big of you! But irrelevant, because most assuredly I do not forgive you.” Jim, standing by the sitting room door, stood aside to let her pass him. Glancing at Addie, he lifted his finger to his forehead to denote the universal gesture for insanity. To him, she was just an old lady stumping along muttering to herself, like ancient Mrs. Brown upstairs from Mum. He didn’t even blink as Christopher passed right through him in pursuit of his wife. Addie scowled at Jim, and he grinned and went back into the room. She asked, “What is it with these two? Does she really hate him so much?” “Oh, yes,” said Johnny. “She hates him all right. Loves him, too. Which is why the old witch won’t die, and why Kit won’t pass on.” “But if she died, she’d be with him surely?” “Ah, not after what she did. She thinks she’d go to hell.” Addie paused on the last step to glance back at him. “What in the world did she do?” “Well…” He hesitated only a moment, then one of his twisted smiles dawned and he told her. “It’s a bit of a family secret. You probably heard that Christopher Maxwell died in a tragic hunting accident.” “Yes, I vaguely remember that.” “Well, he didn’t. Jemima shot him.” Addie closed her mouth. Certainly there was very little frail about that old lady. “Why?” she asked faintly. Johnny shrugged. “He was—ah—playing away from home. She lost it and blew him away. The family covered it up, spun the police some yarn, and she got away with it. At least,” he added thoughtfully, “Tammy hasn’t shot Dan. Yet.” “Ah,” said Addie, understanding more. She began to move on toward the living room. “But she still wants him.” “I think so. But our family has a bad habit of self-destruction. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

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“Mine, too,” sad Addie ruefully. “Addie.” He drew her back against the wall, next to the broken grandfather clock, and suddenly, without touching her, he was too close. Heat spread upward from her toes, and lust coiled through her abdomen like a snake. “Ariadne.” His voice was husky now. His mouth was near enough to kiss; she could make out every tiny crease in his full, sensitive lips. His body touched her, hip to hip, breast to breast. “I have this terrible urge to self-destruct with you.” She wanted him naked, just like that, pressing against her, so that if she just spread her legs and stood on tip-toe he could push inside her… She wanted him for hours, forever, to make him happy and take away his pain. To take away her own. “Aw right, Addie?” With a gasp, she pushed Johnny away and saw Malky standing in his coat in the middle of the hallway. “Aye, fine,” she mumbled. “Did the car start?” “Naw. But we can maybe coax it.” “No point,” said Jim from the sitting room. “Radio Teuchter’s just said the road south from Loch Foy is still impassable.”

The day wore on, surely one of the strangest New Year’s Days any of them had ever spent. Helen surprised everyone by rustling up a rather tasty risotto for lunch, and they ate in uneasy truce in the sitting room with plates balanced on their knees. No one accepted her offer of wine. To the burglars, the sudden appearance of a traumatized small boy passed almost without comment. Like just one more inexplicable event that didn’t appear to threaten them directly. And for the child’s sake, the family toned down their animosity, which seemed somehow to communicate to the burglars. Even Shug behaved with moderation. Jack himself recovered quickly, as children often do, especially after Tammy reappeared downstairs. 110

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After lunch, Gavin and Dan followed Malky outside and in an unholy alliance helped him push the car up the drive from the road. A little while later, Addie glanced out of the window and saw Johnny and Malky with their heads together under the bonnet. Dan sat in the driving seat. Jim was shouting advice from the sidelines, and even Uncle Herbert ambled out for a look. All seemed focused on the one thing: making the car go, an aim that obviously surpassed such petty matters as robbery and rivalry in love. “What is it with men and motorcars?” Tammy wondered, wandering over to regard proceedings with discontent. Although she, too, seemed more or less recovered from the morning’s strange attack, she still looked weak and washed out. “Are you all right?” Addie asked. Tammy shrugged. “Gran says I’ll be fine if I keep taking the medicine. Which is harder than you might think—it tastes like shit… Addie, do you know about ghosts and stuff?” “Not me. Ghosts don’t hang around in Glasgow.” “Bollocks. But you can see our ghosts, can’t you?” Addie nodded. “Can you hear them, too?” “I heard Christopher. Why?” She shifted restlessly. “I don’t remember hearing them, even when I was small. In my memory, they never speak, just are. But Julia…” She broke off, frowning. “I had the oddest feeling she was talking to me, only I couldn’t understand what she said.” “Die, bitch?” Addie suggested, and Tammy gave a snort of surprised laughter. “Well that’s the weird thing: it didn’t feel like ‘die, bitch’. It felt like…a warning. Only I don’t know of what. I thought you might have heard something.” Addie shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Christopher said there’s very little of Julia there, though…is she trying to warn you of something and dragging this malevolent thing with her unknowingly?” Tammy shrugged. “Maybe. But why me? If Julia doesn’t hate me, why should it?” “Maybe it just hates everyone, but Julia keeps taking it to you.”

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“Just to warn me about it?” Tammy said skeptically. “Or about your Psycho-Weasel, or something else entirely? Again, why me?” “I’d talk to your family about that. This stuff is way beyond my ken.” Tammy gave a lopsided smile. “Weirdest house you ever robbed, eh?” “Weirdest house, period.” “You’ve got that right, Bad Hair. I mean, what the fuck is Johnny doing helping to fix your car?” Addie shrugged. “Gets rid of us faster.” “Not unless he drives the snow plough as well.” “Believe me, I’d drive the bloody snow plough all the way to Glasgow,” Addie said bitterly and swung away. As she did so, she caught sight of a mobile phone abandoned on the table. Dan Newton must have left it there when he went back out to the car. It spoke volumes for Shug’s new relaxation—or for his lack of sleep—that he hadn’t noticed it. Anyone could have called the police with it. Anyone still could. Or they could phone their daughter. Addie glanced out of the window, at Dan who was cheering because finally they’d started the car. She glanced again at the phone. “Addie, you’ve just robbed us. Don’t tell me you’re worrying about borrowing a phone?” Addie’s gaze flew to Tammy’s. “You’d be surprised the things that worry me,” she observed and, picking up the phone, she walked quickly out of the room, past the rather charming vignette of old Lady Maxwell asleep in her winged armchair, with young Jack, also sleeping, curled into her arm. The phone still had some charge, enough to get through to her mother. Enough to hear the tears in Kate’s voice because she wouldn’t be home. Not enough to soothe her or to make aloud the promises in her heart. Addie stared rather blindly across the empty hall. Only it wasn’t entirely empty. The two ghosts she’d first seen this morning, the naked one and the kilted one, hovered

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outside the door next to the sitting room. The polished brass knob gleamed liked a beacon through one misty, naked thigh. The kilted ghost seemed to be beckoning to her. Only yesterday, Addie thought, she’d have run a mile in the opposite direction. Today, although her heart beat loudly, she allowed herself to walk toward the ghosts. They seemed pleased, urging her to go in through the closed door. Wary, because she really didn’t want to meet Julia again, Addie turned the handle and peered into the dining room. Shug and Gavin whipped round and stared at her. Shug was leaning against a chair arm, Gavin standing nearby as if they’d been engaged in quiet conversation. Shug and Gavin? “What do you want?” Shug demanded. “There you are,” Addie observed. “You’d have been better off in the front room, where you might have noticed this lying around.” She waved Dan’s now dead phone in the air. “PC Plod’s. And by the way, the car’s going.” So, however, was the light. The short, northern day was heading to a close; the roads would freeze up again. Probably. Yet as Addie strolled out of the room, their prospective getaway was not at the forefront of her mind. Rather, what in hell had Shug to discuss in private with Gavin? Something the ghosts wanted her to know about. The ghosts, of course, could be mischievous or malevolent. They could be a figment of her imagination. After all, life just now was a tad surreal; she couldn’t rely on any of it being the truth. If she was insane, it would be so much easier. And the courts might deal more leniently with her. Shite. Gavin wanted the house for some purpose of his own. If you could believe Helen. Gavin wanted Tammy. Julia was warning Tammy and dragging some evil spirit with her. Where did Shug fit into any of that?

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Shug was robbing Tammy’s family, Tammy’s house. Robbing to order, the order of someone in Glasgow. Not Gavin. She was sure there had been no recognition between them when they’d first pushed their way into the sitting room in the early hours of the morning. Someone Shug was afraid of, though, some criminal Mr. Big. Was Mr. Big the middle man? Someone Gavin knew socially who could order around people like Shug and her stupid brother? The front door flew open and a gaggle of men fell inside, stamping their boots on the mat, rubbing their hands together, exchanging banter with apparently perfect camaraderie. “Car’s going,” Jim told her. “We can be off as soon as the road’s passable.” “Won’t be tonight,” Dan said regretfully. “First thing tomorrow,” Johnny suggested. “I think there’ll be a thaw.” “Weather man as well now, aye?” sneered Shug, hirpling past with Lady Maxwell’s walking stick. “Aye,” said Johnny. He looked like a member of a completely different species from Shug. Tall, windswept and wild, still wearing last night’s kilt and shirt under his leather jacket, he was handsome enough to make any female knees turn to jelly. More than that, despite the upward sloping devil’s eyebrows that gave him such a predatory look, there wasn’t a mean bone in his body. Shug was all meanness. Where had that come from? So far as she knew Shug didn’t yet count murder among his crimes. According to the man himself, John Maxwell did. Was Julia warning Tammy about her own brother? She pushed that aside, because she wanted to. Instead, catching Johnny’s eye, she walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Clattering cups and teapots, she was vaguely aware of footsteps shambling into the distance, fading voices and mutterings as everyone retreated into the warmth of the sitting room. She knew he was there; she felt him. But something, shyness or perhaps shame, kept her back to him while she stared blindly at the kettle, waiting for it to boil. She had an

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instant’s warning, a faint breath of his warm, spicy scent and then his arms slid round her from behind, cupping her breasts in both hands. She gasped, twisting her head round instinctively to warn him, but before the words got out, his mouth covered hers and they were lost. His kiss overwhelmed her, turning her bones to water and her brains to jelly. All she wanted was more of him, his hands tenderly kneading her breasts through her thick sweater, in perfect time with his tongue in her mouth. Only when he came up for breath could she force her brain to function beyond blind lust. “Wait, wait,” she gasped, warding him off at the same time as her mouth followed his of its own volition and claimed it back. He cooperated with enthusiasm, but only briefly, before he broke the kiss once more. “Wait for what?” “I—I want to know about Gavin.” “Gavin?” Something died in his eyes. He straightened, his arms loosening enough to let her turn. “Does he really want this house?” Johnny dropped his arms and reached around her for the kettle. His nearness, his warm, brushing touch made her weak with desire. She wanted to grab him before he could answer, bring back whatever it was that had vanished when she spoke the other man’s name. Renewed shyness—or perhaps the boiling kettle—discouraged her. Johnny said, “Well, he offered to buy it once, why?” “What did you say?” “We all said no. It’s a pig to keep up, but it’s ours. Besides, Jemima would expire without Kit to annoy her. Somehow I can’t see her—or my mother—in an Edinburgh semi.” “What about you?” His lips twisted, though he continued to pour water into the teapot. “There are times I would give both hands to be free of this place.”

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He tried to make it light, but she heard the intensity in his voice. For some reason, it shocked her. “Then why don’t you?” Because of them. Helen and Herbert and Jemima. Even the ghosts. He glanced up, putting the lid squarely on the pot, and she knew he would never say the words. It didn’t make them less true. He said, “Other days, I like to be haunted. Why are you asking about Gavin?” “What does he do? Does he have dodgy friends?” Johnny’s breath caught. “We all have dodgy friends. Do you mean underworld acquaintances? Such as…” “Such as us, yes,” she said evenly. Johnny stared at her. Several expressions flitted across his face so quickly she couldn’t read them. “You think Gavin ordered this robbery?” “Why else would he be in confab with Shug? I just can’t work out what he gets out of your loss. What use is your music to him? Christopher’s he could sell, but yours?” Johnny drew in his breath. It seemed to catch. “I think…you may be on to something. We’re running out of money. I need to work or we’ll have to sell anyway in the spring. That’s why I let Liz arrange this ‘come-back’ tour. My concerto was meant to be the central piece. Perhaps he thought I’d give up if the concerto went missing. Despite what I say about it being in my head, it’s never the same twice. It might work, it might not. Or maybe he plans to publish it early as someone else’s work—and I’d be disgraced all over again. Either way, we end up skint, we have to sell, and he gets the chance to buy it for his bloody health farm.” “Fat young women with too much money. Men with muscles and no soul…” Addie quoted softly. A health farm. Made sense when you thought about it. “Helen?” Johnny hazarded, and in spite of herself Addie laughed. “Helen. I like your mum.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it. Hastily she dropped her gaze, all but snatching the tea tray from Johnny.

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He let her go, but she felt his eyes boring into her rigid back as she hurried out of the kitchen. She was glad she couldn’t see his expression.

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Chapter Eleven

Tammy felt increasingly frustrated. The euphoria of Dan’s first appearance, her total belief he would somehow repel the intruders and make all well again, had long ago vanished. He didn’t even seem to notice there was anything amiss. What’s more, so sure had she been that he already knew it, she hadn’t even troubled to tell him herself. And then she’d assumed Johnny would tell him during the long car-tinkering session, but that didn’t seem to be the case either. What the hell was Johnny thinking? Seemed to Tammy as they all sat around eating toasted cheese and drinking coffee, his attention strayed far too often to the sexy burglar with the bad hair. Not that they sat together, or spoke to each other, or made any effort to leave the room at the same time, but if she hadn’t known better, Tammy could have imagined her brother was interested in more than her criminal history. Addie herself seemed to have latched on to Dan, and for some reason that annoyed her more than either Johnny’s possible lapse in loyalty or Gavin’s amorous hands. One thing was certain. This state of armed neutrality, with both her family and the burglars pretending nothing was wrong, had to end. She was buggered if she’d spend another night with those bastards watching her every move. 118

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“Time for bed, I think,” she said brightly, jumping to her feet as soon as she’d swallowed the last of her hot chocolate. “It’s not late,” Jack exclaimed, staring up with hostility from his card game with his father. “It is when you’ve been up for two days,” she retorted. “I didn’t just mean you, I meant all of us. None of us got any sleep last night,” she explained to her ex. Let him make of that what he would. “Except Addie,” Malky chimed in. “Except Addie,” she agreed. “Unless the randy ghosts disturbed her.” “Randy?” Addie glanced up, startled. For some reason, she looked at Johnny, then hastily away again with a smothered laugh. “Oh, dear.” “So I’m going to take Gran upstairs now and then I’m off to bed.” “Didn’t sleep myself,” said Dan, getting to his feet. “You can show me to the dog house on your way.” “Good night,” said Shug loudly. Tammy actually felt annoyed with herself for looking at him. He stared at her, his hand on his jacket pocket like a Roman salute. She knew what he meant. Shut it, I still have a gun and if the cop causes any trouble I’ll use it on your family. Bastard. She refused to look at Gavin. He’d be tapping at her door in less than an hour anyway… “Going to change my nappy, too?” Gran snapped as Tammy began to maneuver her out of her chair. “I’m tired, Gran. Let’s just go.” Gran subsided, muttering. “Where’s he going to sleep?” she demanded, pointing her walking stick at Dan as they paused at the foot of the stairs. “In the dog house, apparently,” Tammy answered calmly. “We don’t have a dog house.” “Even better.”

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“Your great-granddaughter has a cruel streak,” Dan observed, picking the old lady up as easily as a doll. “I taught her all I know.” “Sometimes,” Dan observed as he began to carry her up the stairs, “people make mistakes. Big ones, hurtful ones, stupid ones. Sometimes, their own regret is punishment enough.” “And sometimes it isn’t,” Tammy said flatly. “See?” Gran taunted. Apparently Dan saw only too well, for he sighed. As usual, Gran sent her away at the door, refusing all further help and shutting the door in their faces. “So where are you putting your Glasgow visitors?” Dan asked as she turned toward her own door. “Don’t know, don’t care. Johnny can sort them out.” “Well, I’d count the family silver before you let them leave.” “Too late for that, Dan.” She didn’t know whether to be pleased to be proved right, or angry at male stupidity. Dan stared at her, frowning. “What?” “You heard me. They’ve already robbed us. They’re not exactly here by invitation. That Psycho-Weasel has a bloody great handgun in his pocket, and if we do anything to piss him off, he’s liable to use it. No doubt on Mum or Gran or Jack or someone who can’t fight back. Bastard!” At least she had the satisfaction of seeing him thoroughly rattled. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as it should have been. She couldn’t believe she’d actually been depending on this idiot—he was as useless as Gavin. And she had lousy taste in men. “Are you all right?” he said at last. “Spiffing,” she said sarcastically. “And this stuff in Jack’s bedroom…was that really some sort of paranormal attack? Or one of those…” “Oh, that was paranormal. Everything’s out to get me now.”

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Unexpectedly, Dan threw his arm round her shoulders in a quick, rough hug. Before she could even object, it was gone. Lucky for him. “So tonight, we’re all going to bed to sleep peacefully? And tomorrow morning, weather willing, we’re just going to wave them off with the family silver?” “Unless you’ve got a better idea.” Dan was frowning. “What about that girl? McSween’s sister. What the hell is she up to?” “Christ knows. She makes their tea, apparently. Come to that, she’s been making ours, too. Actually I was going to ask you about her. You seemed pretty thick with her.” “Never does any harm, in a professional sort of a way, to get to know a McSween. They’ll have brought her to drive. None of these jokers have a license. Actually, she was largely trying to pick my brains about Gavin. And Julia. Who killed her.” It was Tammy’s turn to frown. “What’s any of that to her?” Dan shrugged. “Seems to me your attitude to her is a trifle ambivalent, too. So is Johnny’s.” Ignoring that, Tammy demanded, “What did you tell her?” “That Julia was stabbed to death by person or persons unknown under this roof. That Johnny and Gavin were the only suspects. Rather less than she’d have known from reading the newspapers.” “Gavin was never seriously suspected,” Tammy said defensively. “He was never charged,” Dan corrected. “And Johnny was acquitted.” “So who do you think did it, Tammy?” he demanded. “If not one of them, who killed Julia?” “How the hell should I know? Some intruder! If nothing else, this lot have proved how easy it is to intrude. Trust me, they are not the smartest burglars in the west.”

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Shug fired the words at Malky like bullets, almost as soon as the door closed behind Tammy, Dan and the old lady. Addie, who’d hoped that somehow through tiredness and the distraction of an unofficial police presence, Shug would forget about the other weapon, almost groaned. The big man looked momentarily surprised. Then he shrugged and nodded at John Maxwell. “He had it.” “Christ, I know that. You left the bloody room with him. I thought you might have noticed what he did with the firearms.” Malky looked uncomfortable. “Naw, I didn’t. I was too busy waiting for the polis to feel my collar.” “Would you rather he’d shot you? Christ preserve us! Go and look for it!” While Malky sighed and went out into the hall, poking around the mirrored dresser that stood there and checking behind the grandfather clock, Shug’s irate gaze fell on Johnny, who was helping Jack tidy up the cards. Johnny glanced up, looked him straight in the eyes. “Where’d you put it?” Shug snarled. “Beyond use,” said Johnny wryly. “It’s out of the equation. I’m well aware yours isn’t. So tonight we get some sleep, and first thing tomorrow morning, I want you out of my house.” Addie’s heart drummed in her breast. Because she was one of them; because he was risking some kind of showdown. Shug stared at him. It was a look that had made even violent men shiver, but Johnny held it without obvious difficulty. Does he still not realize what he’s dealing with here? “Or what?” Shug said with slow, deliberate contempt. “Or I’ll—er—grass you up to the polis. I’ve kept quiet till now, we all have, because I don’t want more trouble in front of my family. I’ll keep to that. But only till the morning. After that, you’re gone.” “Or else?” Shug asked incredulously. Fortunately, he seemed more entertained than annoyed by Johnny laying down the law. In fact, it came to Addie that there was

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something close to respect lurking in Shug’s mean eyes. Not because Johnny was standing up to him—that usually just pissed him off—it had to be because he believed Johnny had done something he hadn’t. Besides playing the piano and passing a few exams at school. He had killed. Addie looked away, her stomach twisting more ferociously than ever. Oh, fuck. Was that his attraction for her, too? He’d done the unthinkable and got away with it? And still kept a civilized veneer that violent thugs like Shug and Malky would never possess, no matter how trivial their crimes in comparison? And God knew they weren’t so trivial… I so need to get out of here…

“Are you just going to sit there all night?” Addie addressed the kilted ghost and his naked companion who were shimmering against the wall opposite her. Fully dressed—she wasn’t being caught that way again— Addie sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the sounds of the household to die away. If the ghosts answered her, she didn’t hear them. Eventually she stood and quietly left the room. Tiredness tugged at her eyes and her dragging feet, but she had to check one more time before she allowed herself to sleep. Silently, she glided along the dark passage, listening first outside the room Jim was sleeping in, together with Shug and Malky. One of them was snoring. Shug’s voice said, “Fuck!” in a vicious sort of way. His ankle must have been hurting like hell. Good. Satisfied, she moved on to the old lady’s room and Tammy’s. Both were quiet. Though as she reached the end of the corridor and turned to the narrow staircase, a faint sound made her turn and peer back. A dark shape stood outside Tammy’s door. Addie’s heart lurched with sudden fear, but it was a very human voice which said, “Tammy,” in a stage whisper. Definite fingers tapped on the wooden door. “Tammy!” said the voice again, a bit louder this time. www.samhainpublishing.com

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Gavin. Which could be almost as bad as Julia. Please be asleep, please don’t let him in… She couldn’t hear whether or not Tammy answered him. But she did hear the squeak as he turned the door handle, and the faint, dull thud as he pushed to no avail. The door was locked. Addie held in her sigh of relief until Gavin turned away and went back up the main staircase. Then she moved on up the narrow stair to Jack’s room. A faint light shone down from the spiral staircase that led farther up the turret; maybe moonlight through a cupola or maybe a nightlight for Jack. With her ear to the door, she could make out his faint, even breathing. Jack was asleep. Relieved, she turned away. Everyone was knackered. They’d all sleep for a few hours and then she’d be out of here, back to Kate by lunch time, please God. Then she’d find a way to get at least Johnny’s manuscript away from Shug… “Addie.” The quiet voice made her jump. Her hand flew to her throat in an instinctive gesture of self-protection, and she stared up the spiral stairs toward the voice. John Maxwell stood at the inner curve, one hand on the wall, the other held out to her. Even in the dim light, he looked amazing. His wild hair fell in tangles about his lean, shadowed face. He still wore his kilt, although one of the buckles was unfastened as if he’d been undressing when he’d heard her creep up the stairs. And his shirt was off, revealing all of his broad chest and strong, muscular arms. He was temptation incarnate. Addie swallowed. “What?” “Come here,” he said softly. “I was just making sure everyone’s asleep…” “I’m not.” “I can see that. But I should be if I’ve to drive that heap of junk back to Glasgow tomorrow.” “You can sleep here. With me.”

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So this was John Maxwell’s private territory. She should have thought of that. Thinking of it now made her entire body flush. She said frankly, “If I come up there with you, I won’t want to sleep.” “Good. Neither will I. Come.” He stood perfectly still, his hand held steadily down to her. He just had to touch her, take her in his arms, kiss her, and she would be won. They both knew that. But she saw that with some perverse chivalry he wouldn’t touch her this time. The decision was to be hers. Addie stared at him. He was everything she had ever wanted and so much more. She didn’t care about his past, she just ached with every fiber of her being to be with him. With him, she’d already tasted the first true passion of her life. She never would and never should see him again. That alone would be so hard to bear now. His lips curved slightly, ruefully, as though he knew she was going to refuse him. And yet he didn’t drop his hand, just waited to take his rejection. He had made the most beautiful music and said it was for her, said it was her. Without warning, her throat closed. Run for it, Addie, you do not need this… She closed her eyes, tried to swallow back the rushing emotion, and when she opened them again, the staircase was empty.

Just as well, John Maxwell thought ruefully, kicking the mess out of his way as he moved across his bedroom. He hadn’t exactly cleaned up for visitors. But he’d been fighting the urge to go to her all evening, show those two randy ghosts who skulked in her bedroom how to go about making love to her so she’d remember. He needed the release of tension; he wanted her uninhibited passion, her beautiful, willing little body crushed under him, moaning her delight as he fucked her. As if in orgasm they could lose the confusion of everything that surrounded them. As if in this room nothing else but they had to exist, not the past and certainly not the future.

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Making love to her wouldn’t have messed up his plan. Making love to her would just have brought a little light into his world. Shit. Be honest, Maxwell. A lot of light. She shines like the sun. Abruptly, he sat down on the bed, burying his face and a hundred memories in his hands. Like the music in his head, the strands of his life seemed to tangle around him with no possible resolution. Something stirred in the doorway. Johnny dropped his hands and lifted his gaze to Ariadne McSween. In the lamplight, her skin looked white, her eyes huge and scared yet breathtakingly warm, like hot pools among the ice. “Tonight,” she whispered. “Just tonight, I can pretend, and then I’ll forget you.” “Don’t forget.” He was on his feet, striding the space between them. He took her beautiful, shining face in his hands, and she clung to him like her only salvation. She was his thread, his way back to the light. “Don’t dare forget.” And he sank his mouth into hers like a man determined to drown. Or to live.

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Chapter Twelve

He removed her clothes slowly, one by one, and as each garment fell to the floor to join his kilt, his eyes darkened further, till she could see only the tiny dancing lights of desire like flames. Fascinated, she concentrated on those, for standing naked to his gaze—his gaze—was too difficult, too exciting, too terrifying. The brief liaisons of her past had left her with no confidence in her beauty or her powers of seduction. And yet he seemed determined to look. And so, more from defiance than anything else, she let her own gaze drop to his wide shoulders and his broad, inviting chest with its light dusting of black, curling hair. He may have played the piano for a living, but he had the physique of a man who lived outdoors: thickly muscled arms, flat, hard stomach, narrow hips that she wanted to reach out and touch. And between his long, strong legs, his cock rose huge and erect. “For me?” she asked before she could stop herself, and a breath of laughter escaped his lips. “All for you.” He even gift-wrapped it, without inhibition or embarrassment rolling a condom over it as she watched. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him. Not his cock, not yet, but his hips, sliding her hands over his warm skin and stepping closer to reach around to www.samhainpublishing.com

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his firm, round buttocks. His muscles rippled and undulated to her touch, making her smile. He brought his mouth down on hers, seeking and receiving her response before he laid his hands on her. Mirroring her exploration, he caressed her hips, cupping her bottom to draw her inexorably against him. His cock throbbed against her abdomen, hot and exciting, increasing her sense of anticipation to boiling point. Without breaking the contact of his lips or his hands, he lifted her in his arms and she wrapped her legs around him. At the touch of his cock against her clitoris, she gasped into his mouth, letting the pleasure race through every nerve in her body. He laid her gently down on the bed. He came with her, settling between her legs, taking his weight on his elbows. Then, breaking the long kiss at last, he smiled and stroked her hair before beginning a more intimate exploration with his mouth. When he got to her nipples, the pleasure was so astounding that she actually bucked beneath him, thrusting upward into his crotch. She didn’t recognize the noises escaping from her—small, animal moans of lust and need, bliss and frustration. But this time, he would not be hurried, and gradually, she came to appreciate the slow, intense build-up of pleasure that came just from his caresses, just from her exploration of him. She even managed to get him to roll over, so that after she had stroked every inch of his long, rippling back and taut buttocks and hips, she could learn the exciting bits at the front, too. She sat astride him, her pussy over the rigid length of his cock, slowly, sensuously rocking herself while she stroked his shoulders and kissed his chest with something approaching wonder. As the delicious sensations built in her loins, she took his stiff nipple into her mouth, rolling it as he had done with hers. He seemed to like it almost as much as she had, so she did it some more. His breath came in short, erratic bursts. His hands held her hips lightly as she rocked herself on him, and when she sat up, smiling through her hair at him, hovering on the edge of climax, he suddenly flipped her over and began kissing her breasts again. This time he sucked a little harder on her nipple, grazing it with his teeth, lashing it with his tongue. It gave her so much pleasure, she cried out. At once he squeezed her other breast

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in his hand, kneading more heavily, flicking his thumb across the nipple over and over. Addie writhed beneath him, straining upward to find the pressure of his cock once more. He gave her the business end, probing among her wet, hot folds for her throbbing entrance. His cock slid home with ease, and she gasped again, almost whimpering at the stabbing pleasure. He left it there for a bit, letting her get used to the size of the thing filling her, stretching her. But Addie couldn’t stay still. She moved beneath him, undulating, squeezing him until he began to thrust. “Oh, God,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Oh, God.” “Open your eyes,” he insisted. His voice shook. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.” “Don’t make me laugh when I’m about to come…” “Look at me. Look at me. I’ve made you come…” He had. It was as if his eyes brought her over the edge, hot and avid, drinking in every ounce of ecstasy he read in her face. And she could hide none of it, even if she wanted to. The joy was too intense, too wild, and the way her orgasm so obviously excited him only made it better. Through it all, he kept thrusting into her, holding on to his control with an effort that made his whole body shake. And then, when it began to die back enough for her to take more than his eyes into focus, he took her hips in his hands and began to drive his cock in and out with greater speed. Lifting her hips off the bed, he held her by the buttocks, his hands and fingers probing and caressing wildly, his cock pumping with impossible speed that she couldn’t follow. He shook her bottom as he plunged into her, setting off new pleasure centres to unite with the old, and as he found his release, she fell with him, around him, part of him.

Her breathing was almost normal. He had kissed her mouth while he came, a long, wild kiss that only partly masked the untamed animal noises of his pleasure. And then

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he’d collapsed on her, burying his face in her neck, so at last she’d closed her eyes to recover. From the inside out, Addie glowed with happiness. Never had she imagined such pleasure, such holistic joy from the basic act of sex. Something about this man, something about his every touch, his every expression, overwhelmed her, physically and emotionally. And she loved it. At this moment, she loved her life. A handsome man, a musical genius lay between her legs, his cock still buried in her after giving her the best sex of her admittedly narrow life. And his cock still twitched and throbbed occasionally, sending little extra sparks of delight through her. It still felt rigid, too, still filled her, so she doubted the night was over yet. Addie purred with extraordinary satisfaction and opened her eyes again. Over Johnny’s shoulder, she saw the ghosts. The naked one and the kilted one, hovering over the bed. Behind them, she could have sworn Christopher disappeared through the wall. “Johnny,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure why she whispered, it just came out that way. “Johnny, the room’s full of ghosts.” Lazily, he lifted his head and glanced back over his shoulder. Muscles rippled and, involuntarily, Addie’s pussy contracted around him. He smiled. “Oh, yes,” he said, turning back to her. He kissed her mouth, slowly, thoroughly. “Randy old perverts usually turn up at a sniff of sex.” “Why?” she asked faintly. “What’s their story?” “No idea. They’re older than the house, judging by Ewan’s kilt. We call him Ewan, but he never speaks so we’ve no idea what his name is.” “Can’t we make them go away?” “You could ask them, but why bother?” “It’s a bit inhibiting to be watched!” “It needn’t be,” Johnny said, rolling onto his back, so that she lay on top of him. “Sometimes, you might find it even adds an extra little—fillip.” He made a lazy circle with his hips, causing Addie to gasp. She brought up her knees, meaning to climb off him

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and hide under the quilt, only he held her hips and thrust and the pleasure held her captive all over again. Slowly, sensuously, he brought up his hands to caress her breasts, pinching her already pebbled nipples, and she couldn’t help riding him just a little. The ghosts came closer, one on each side of her. She could almost imagine their fingers joining his on her breasts, all caressing her at once; their lips on her shoulders, another naked cock rubbing into her buttocks while Johnny fucked her. “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered in desperation, and came again. Johnny sat up, cradling her in his arms as the convulsions took her. Vaguely through the pleasure she was aware of him smiling into her hair. “See?” he remarked, sliding out of her at last. She laughed shakily. “You’re as perverse as they are.” “I’m not the one who just orgasmed. Through now you mention it…” His long, sensitive fingers slid lower over her stomach, spanning out to stroke her thigh, and dragging slowly inward. “Have you ever played musical sex?” “No,” said Addie breathlessly. “Can’t say I have.” “Tell me a musical instrument and I’ll play it on your pussy. Then I’ll give you one to play on my cock.” Nothing loath, she tried, “Violin.” The side of his hand slid in between her thighs, stroking the length of her pussy. “When we get good at it,” he said, “we can introduce timing. I can do largo…to pizzicato.” Since he suited the movement of his hands to the words, Addie gasped, arching involuntarily into his hand. “Your turn,” she gasped. “Double bass.” Amused, Addie moved to hold his semi-rigid cock against her naked shoulder, and plucked at it. His breath hissed between his teeth. He wasn’t quite laughing. “Nice… Your turn.” Catching on, Annie cast him a mischievous grin. “Mouth organ.”

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“Oh, I hoped you’d say that.” Laying her flat on the bed, he moved to bury his face between her legs. He took his instruction seriously, holding her pussy in both undulating hands while he set his lips to her labia and blew. “Oh, Jesus!” She clutched at his thigh as the pleasure tore through her. When he drew in his breath, sucking on her clitoris, she thought she would explode. He released her. “Clarinet,” he said hoarsely. Half laughing, half moaning, Addie took his big, purple-headed cock into her mouth and ran her fingers up and down it in a tapping motion. Not so good a musician, she sucked rather than blew, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he pushed farther into her mouth. “And while you’re doing that, let me just remind you about the violin…and the mouth organ…bloody hell, woman you can be in my orchestra any time. Your turn.” She unwrapped her lips from his cock. “I think…I’ll just stick with the…mouth organ,” she got out, hovering on the verge of yet another climax. “Not allowed. I can do some conducting, if you like.” Burning, trembling, she could think of no objection, and once he slid his finger inside her soaking pussy and moved it up and down and side to side like a baton, she didn’t even try. “Trombone,” he growled, and she fell on his cock once more, taking it deep into her mouth and pumping the skin. The ghosts drifted by her line of vision, but she barely noticed them now. The trombone misbehaved, urging its own rhythm. She writhed on his fingers—there were two of them now. “Piano!” she gasped out, and still moving his fingers inside her, he used his other hand to play imaginary keys across her clitoris. Her mouth filled with his semen and she managed to swallow once before the world exploded. Through her joy she heard him shout out, “Yes!” with pure, uncomplicated joy. “Yes what?” she asked breathlessly, when she could say anything at all. “Yes, I’ve just thought of the second movement.” He pulled her up into his arms, and she could taste herself on his lips as he kissed her. Their juices mingled again in their mouths. To Addie, it felt like a strange, deep bonding.

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“Play it,” she suggested, for there were musical instruments—two guitars, a flute, a violin, keyboards—lying all over the room. “Later,” he said, settling down on the pillows with her in his arms. His cock nestled between her thighs; lazily, he pushed it inside her. “I promised you could sleep.” “Like this?” She squeezed his cock between the walls of her pussy and he smiled sleepily, brushing his lips across hers again. “Just like this.”

Addie woke with an inexplicable sense of well-being. She was warm; a strong arm lay heavily across her, holding her spoon-wise to a big, strong body. A mostly dormant cock nestled between her buttocks. Sex. That’s why she felt so good. She’d had stunningly wonderful sex with him, and her body remembered with more intensity than her mind could squash this early in the day. But that wasn’t all. The sense of euphoria that made her smile into her pillow came from something more. Almost with awe, she realized she’d had fun. Experimentally, she pushed back into the man at her shoulder, and he gathered her closer with a vague grunt of contentment. She smiled again. This and the fun would keep her going through the inevitable loneliness. After all, how badly could you miss someone you’d known for two days? But, suddenly interrupting her illusion of peace and well-being, she heard footsteps leaping lightly up the stairs, a perfunctory knock on the bedroom door and someone whispered, “John. John, your guests are stirring…” And put the overhead light on. Johnny loomed up over her shoulder. “What? Dan?” “Ah,” said the policeman, drinking in the presence of Addie in her victim’s bed. She wanted to dive under the quilt and hide. Instead, she stared back at him as if he was invading her privacy. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you had company.” “Go away, Dan. I’ll be down in a minute.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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Dan shrugged, but since Johnny was already getting out of bed, he obviously saw no point in lingering. It was too late, anyway. Reality had returned. And last night became again what she’d always known it was: a night of pretense. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?” she asked, and was pleased at least that her voice didn’t shake. Johnny, stark naked under the electric light, was pulling clothes out of a cupboard. Despite the dull ache between her legs caused by yesterday’s enthusiastic sex, lust stirred again in Addie’s loins. She tried to keep her gaze above his waist. With a faint, lopsided smile, Johnny pointed to the door of what she’d taken to be another cupboard. Addie slid out of bed, taking the quilt with her as far as the bathroom door and grabbing up her discarded clothes from the floor as she went. Modesty came with reality. When she emerged only a few minutes later, having merely taken a quick pee and splashed lukewarm water over her face and body before throwing on her clothes, John Maxwell was already dressed and peering out of his round, turret window. He’d looked bloody sexy in a kilt; faded jeans and a baggy grey sweater didn’t do him any harm, either. Whatever he wore, the man inside was devastating. Addie felt the pain of loss begin to rise from her stomach, threatening to consume her. Fun, she reminded herself desperately. We had fun… Without turning, Johnny said, “I think it’s thawing. The roads should be passable.” “Good.” “Malky’s been out starting the car.” “Good,” she said again. She had to get out of here before the awkward morning ruined the night of fun for both of them. She turned away, walking quickly toward the door. Yet when she got there, somehow he was before her, his long, clever fingers grasping the handle. But he didn’t open it at once. His intense gaze was on her, a faint, sad smile in his eyes and curving his lips. Behind that, he was hiding something. She wasn’t surprised.

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He said, “You will remember this, won’t you?” She shrugged gracelessly, wishing he would just open the door. But unexpectedly his free hand came up, touching her cheek, ruining everything. “Please, remember this.” She gasped, swallowing back the stupid, pointless tears. “I don’t want to remember,” she whispered, and yet she couldn’t stop turning into his hand, caressing his palm with her cheek. “Let’s just get it over.” And to her relief, he turned the handle and opened the door.

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Chapter Thirteen

Through the open front door, the pink and grey light of the rising sun filtered into the hall, revealing swarms of dust, swirling and twisting themselves into fanciful shapes. Descending the stairs alone—she’d gone to collect the borrowed phone from her “bedroom”, had been inexplicably sad not to find the ghosts there to say goodbye—Addie concentrated on the dust. It was easier than looking at Johnny, who lounged with one shoulder against the solid grandfather clock. It still said twelve o’clock, as if time had stood still since they’d first arrived here. Instead, Addie felt she’d lived an entire lifetime. Abandoning Lady Maxwell’s walking stick, Shug had to lean heavily on Jim, but he still carried the sports bag with their loot. “Keep the stick,” Johnny invited as they passed him. “It might even convict you later on.” “Fuck off,” said Shug, without obvious rancour. Malky’s bulk filled the open doorway. “Aw right?” he asked jovially. He looked rather sheepishly around the hall, taking in John, Tammy and Gavin, who had all come to see they finally made it off the premises. “Fuck, it Shug, this doesnae seem right,” he said angrily. Shug paused and looked at him. “What doesn’t?” 136

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“We lived in their house for two days. We can’t take their stuff.” “Aye, we can,” said Shug grimly, “if we want to live.” “If you want to live,” Addie reminded him. “Malky’s right. Look, only one of these manuscripts has any real market value. Give the other one back.” “Won’t stop them grassing us up as soon as we’ve gone.” “Give us them both back, and there’s no crime to report,” Johnny said steadily. “And I get my head blown off,” Shug objected. “You won’t miss it,” said Addie. “Come on, Shug, it went wrong from the start.” Shug glared at her, the fury of indecision all over his face. “That’s your fault. You’re a bloody jinx.” Gavin warned, “Don’t do any deals with them, Johnny. It looks bad in court.” “It would certainly look bad for you,” Johnny observed. Addie’s breath caught. Don’t do this now, we’re nearly free! Let us just go and somehow I’ll hand him to you on a plate, I promise… Gavin frowned. “What do you mean?” “I mean the line from you to them is not exactly untraceable. I’m sure you’ve got a few phone numbers in common listed on your mobiles.” “Mobiles?” Tammy frowned in puzzlement, glancing from her brother to her lover for enlightenment. “What are you talking about?” “Good question,” Gavin said, although Addie noticed he couldn’t help the instinctive delve into his pocket in search of his phone. Johnny took his hand out of his own jeans pocket and waved a phone at him. “Why you…that’s mine,” Gavin exclaimed, starting toward him. “I know. Dan, catch.” All heads turned toward the kitchen doorway, in which Dan suddenly materialized, deftly catching the tossed phone. “Police evidence,” he said. “Police evidence?” Gavin almost squeaked in his outrage. “From me? What about these jokers? They’re the ones who committed a crime!” “No they didn’t,” said Johnny. “Not if they give the manuscripts back.”

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“Aye, well, that’s not going to happen,” Shug declared, making up his mind. “Out of my way—we’re leaving.” “Sorry, Shug,” said Johnny, and tripped him brutally by the broken ankle. Shug screamed and went down like a felled tree. Jim, who hadn’t quite grasped what happened, dropped with him, saying helplessly, “Shug! Shug!” “What’d you do that for?” Malky demanded, roaring across the hall like a tank. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” said Addie. “Here we go again.” “Not quite,” said Johnny, and that was when she noticed he held the shotgun pointed straight at Shug’s head. Shug, prostrate on the floor but with his hand already in his jacket pocket, froze. So did Malky, about to launch himself in a flying tackle on Johnny. He looked like a grotesquely overgrown kid playing musical statues. Shug stared at the shotgun, then slowly lifted his mean, cold eyes to the musician’s. “Where the fuck was that?” “In the clock,” said Johnny. “Haven’t you ever seen Laura? I’ll take my property back now please, James.” Jim drew in his breath, glanced at Malky who nodded his head once. Reluctantly, Jim opened the bag, took out the fat envelope and held it out to Johnny. “On the floor,” Johnny instructed, unwilling to take either his attention off Shug, or one hand off the gun. Jim dropped the papers on the floor. “Okay, move toward the door—Gavin, you’re with them.” “Johnny,” Tammy protested, though far from confidently. “Don’t bother,” Gavin sneered. “He’s clearly gone over the edge. Again. Johnny, I’m not going anywhere. Get used to it. Tammy and I are getting married. And I’m the one who’s going to get you out of your financial mess, remember?” He bent, began to pick up the envelope. “No,” Johnny warned. “Out.” “He means it,” Shug snapped. With Jim and Malky’s aid he had struggled to his feet and was now suffering the humiliation of having his gun confiscated by the law.

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“I take it you don’t have a license for this?” Dan enquired. “Fuck off,” said Shug. He glanced back at Gavin who, grasping the envelope in one hand, was straightening and staring in apparent amusement at Johnny. “A word to the wise,” Shug observed. “Don’t mess with the gun.” Gavin smirked. “Guns don’t kill people, people do.” “Aye, well that one’s done it before, so don’t mess with him, either.” “Johnny? He’s never killed a fly in his life.” Addie couldn’t breathe. Those swirling swarms of dust seemed to dance before her eyes again. She felt cold, and it seemed to have nothing to do with the wind blowing in the open front door. A smile flickered across Johnny’s face, but his hands remained steady on the shotgun, now pointing directly at Gavin. “Apart from his wife,” Shug said contemptuously. “You’re on your own, mate.” “Not proven, eh Gavin?” Johnny said. “Not proven. Never will be.” Tammy, almost as white as Shug, took several steps back from him. “What does he mean? Johnny…” “Gavin killed Julia,” Dan said quietly. “Probably because she refused to divorce Johnny. If he’d had to give Julia half the house, Johnny would have had to sell, and Gavin would have got his health farm.” “But the house isn’t just Johnny’s,” Tammy objected. “Actually it is. I’ve read the wills concerned. You all keep up the myth that it belongs to all of you, but it doesn’t.” “But…but Gavin can’t have killed her!” Tears poured down Tammy’s cheeks, but she didn’t seem to be aware of it. Addie had the curious idea they weren’t even for Gavin, not really. They were for Julia and all the shit they’d all had to go through at her murder and the trial. She hated it and yet couldn’t leave it alone, first marrying the

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investigating officer, and then when he proved unfaithful, going straight from his arms to those of a suspect. She was one mixed-up kid. “I can’t prove he did,” Dan said. “But I thoroughly discourage you from marrying him.” “Are you really that desperate to get her back that you’ll slander me like this? I’ll have your arse in court, Inspector. Especially if you do nothing about disarming that madman.” “It’s in the police rules. Never try to disarm madmen singlehandedly.” Tammy let out a choke that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But there was no time for Dan to enjoy his triumph because all hell broke loose. From nowhere, a large vase landed on Gavin’s head and shattered. “Take that, you bastard,” screamed the cracked old voice of Lady Maxwell from the landing. He might have heard her before he fell like a stone. At the same time, the dust dancing before Addie suddenly swirled harder and faster, whooshing into the shape of Julia, flying with incredible speed at Tammy. “No,” Addie yelled, leaping after it. But too late, it swept right through Tammy who stood stock still and wide-eyed as if she’d been shot. “What the…?” “Christ,” whispered Johnny, finally lowering the shotgun, and, bewildered, Addie followed his gaze. “Julia, no…” Julia was on Gavin. Something that looked like her elongated mouth was fastened to his, drawing and sucking the life out of him. “What’s going on?” Shug demanded uneasily. No one answered him. “Julia,” John shouted in anguish. And this time, it seemed to make a difference. The beautiful shape of Julia seemed to detach itself from the rest, floating away from the prone figure on the floor. She hovered as if gazing at Johnny and seemed to smile. Then she faded, became fainter and fainter until there wasn’t even dust.

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But the thing she left behind, the cold malevolence Addie had already felt twice, was still feeding from Gavin. As if it relished his evil. As if it was strong enough now not to need Julia’s frail spirit. “Jemima,” Johnny called, unable to drag his gaze off the terrible thing. “Jemima, how do I stop it?” “You don’t,” said Lady Maxwell with unexpected clarity. And that was when she fell down the stairs. As one, everyone leapt to try and save her. John, Tammy, Dan and Addie. Even Malky abandoned Shug in an instinctive gesture quickly reined in by Shug’s growl. The old lady lay on the bottom step, curiously graceful now her tumbling was done. She looked like a fragile doll of old that some naughty boy had thrown down the stairs to annoy his sister. “Gran,” Tammy said piteously, throwing herself down beside her. “Gran, why did you do that?” “There, it’s time,” the old lady wheezed. “More than time. We all know it.” Even with her voice so weak, her personality infused the words with bite. But her claw-like fingers grasped on to Tammy’s. “Dan, get my mother,” Johnny said, and without a word, Dan ran upstairs, two at a time. “No point,” Jemima whispered. Her other hand reached out and grasped Johnny by the wrist. “It’ll go when I go. It’s my badness…” “Not just yours, I think.” John’s voice was steady. “No. But mostly. It’s been a happy house, a good house…mostly. And Johnny, Johnny…” She pulled him closer, her strength incredible. “It’s for the living.” She fell back, still holding Tammy’s hand, but her gaze was no longer focused so close. It had gone beyond her great-grandchildren, beyond Addie, looking for something, for someone.

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Addie glanced back over her shoulder. The burglars stood like a frozen tableau in the middle of the floor. She could see them quite clearly through the shimmering image of Christopher Maxwell. “Tammy.” Johnny was tugging his sister back. “Why? I can’t just leave…is it him?” Johnny nodded. Christopher moved right through them, but they stepped back anyway. “You,” the old lady whispered. “I knew you’d be there.” Christopher knelt by her side. “I only ever loved you.” “I only ever loved you, but you made it so hard to forgive…” “It’s yourself you have to forgive, Jemmy. As I forgave you long ago.” “I killed you!” “We’ll live again, Jemmy. We’ll both live again.” They were both silent. The old lady lay cradled in the arms of the ghost, who slowly, inexorably faded. At the last moment, he seemed to turn his head and look right at John Maxwell. Addie thought he said, “So long.” Slowly, John bent and took the old lady’s wrist in his hand, feeling for her pulse. Helen came running downstairs in her dressing gown, Dan at her heels. Tammy whispered, “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Johnny straightened, putting his arm round his sister. He nodded, and Addie saw with inexplicable shock that his haunted dark eyes were wet. “Is she happy at last?” Tammy asked brokenly. Johnny nodded again. From across the hall, Malky said flatly, “He’s deid.” Pulling herself together, Addie strode across to Gavin. There was no sign, no trace of the malevolence. Jemima, who’d been responsible for its existence, had killed herself to get rid of it. But not before it had killed Gavin. And maybe that, too, was a kind of biblical justice. A life for a life. Life. Back in Glasgow there was life. There was Kate.

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“Let’s go,” she said low, and she and Malky began to follow Shug and Jim out of the house. “Sorry,” Jim said awkwardly, aiming his words somewhere between Johnny and Helen. John Maxwell glanced back over his shoulder. For an instant, his grieving gaze met Addie’s, and the urge to comfort nearly sent her flying across the room to him. Only the knowledge that she was unwanted and unnecessary kept her back. He had his mother and his sister, and true friends who had never hurt him. Her throat closed up so that she couldn’t even say the words of condolence. He turned away to put his arm round his mother and, blindly, Addie followed the others out of the house. I’ve only ever loved you.

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Chapter Fourteen

Kate stared at the stage, totally rapt. Addie wished her attention could be so focused because the music was exquisite. But the man playing it was not just a stranger to her, no longer just a concert pianist who happened to excel in the pieces she particularly loved. It was John Maxwell, who, only two months ago, had taken her on the floor of his study, next to his great-grandfather’s piano, who’d given her a night of passion and fun that it was impossible to forget. The tendency of her mind to dwell on that as she watched his hands fly across the keys, together with frequent scans of the visible audience to make sure she recognized no one, ensured she didn’t give the music the undivided attention it deserved. Which was a pity, because it was Christopher Maxwell’s well known “Sonata for J”, the manuscript she’d helped to try and steal. “J” she now knew to be Jemima, and she knew, too, he played it here in honour of both his great-grandparents. As soon as she’d arrived at the concert hall, nervously looking around the other arrivals, she’d wondered if she’d done the right thing. Especially after she’d spotted Liz Conway at the front of the circle.

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But even if she’d never met the Maxwells, she would probably have come; she’d made a promise to Maxwell himself that neither of them expected her to keep. And she wanted Kate to experience it. Only the last reason mattered, she told herself with relief, watching Kate’s reactions. Her little face moved with the music, her expressions flitting and changing with the speed of light. Well, they might have to live on mashed potato for the last week of the month, but Addie was glad she’d bought the more expensive tickets, so that Kate could clearly see his hands and face as well as hear the music. Addie didn’t want to dwell on his hands; she tried hard not to look at him at all, but inevitably he kept drawing her gaze back. He wasn’t wearing the accepted standard of evening clothes for the performance. Instead he wore a black dress shirt without a tie, and he looked incredibly comfortable as he played. Almost as if he was at home, without an audience. And it was a flawless, moving performance. He frowned slightly as he played. Occasionally, his brow would clear, and tiny changes of expression sometimes tugged at his mouth or seemed to blaze from his eyes, but they were very small, fleeting things. It was his body that gave away his emotion. Not that he swayed about ridiculously, but he did move, and by his posture Addie knew what he was feeling. Or perhaps she just understood the music. As he stood to take his bow, the applause was rapturous. Addie delved into her handbag, pretending to look for a sweet for Kate, terrified he would somehow be able to pick her out of the sea of faces in the audience. Though why she should care, she didn’t know. He wouldn’t. Kate didn’t speak. She was too busy clapping madly, leaning forward in her seat with shining eyes. She smiled rapturously at her mother and seized her hand, squeezing it excitedly as Maxwell sat down to begin his second piece. Addie had saved money by not buying a programme, so she had no idea what was coming next.

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The opening bars told her. It was his own concerto, the other manuscript she’d tried to steal. And it was good, amazingly good. Excitedly, Addie thought it already rivaled Christopher’s best work. And for some reason, she could lose herself in it, lean forward in her seat as rapt as Kate, forgetting to scan the audience, seeing only the face of the man who played. And when it finished and the audience erupted to its feet in spontaneous applause, Addie threw herself against the back of her chair, smiling. She felt exhilarated, proud, as if she’d won a race. And somehow, Kate dancing up and down and cheering just made it better. She couldn’t see Johnny for the people in front, didn’t care. She had his music in her head again, and somehow, the raw, aching loss which had torn her apart over the last two months receded. Some of these people now rapturously applauding him had come because of his notoriety. Some had come to see him fall on his face. Others had come from pure curiosity after the publicity about further accidents in his house. But they stayed now because of his indisputable talent. “Come on, Kate,” Addie said when her daughter had shouted herself hoarse. “I’ll buy you an orange juice at the bar.” Kate, who’d never been in any bar before, was very impressed. It was crowded, of course, but with one arm grasping her daughter to her side and the other waving her money in the air, Addie muscled her way to the front and emerged victorious with two orange squashes. They perched on the end of someone else’s table, and Kate said for the umpteenth time, “That was so good.” She sat up straight in her best dress, trying to be grown up like the well-tailored crowd around her. Addie was proud of her. And then an over-perfumed lady standing near them with a glass of wine and an expensive faux fur coat said disapprovingly to her friend, “Children just shouldn’t be allowed to come to evening concerts—they’re so disruptive.”

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Annoyed, Addie glanced at her and found both the women’s eyes on Kate. Seething, she waited until the speaker’s gaze flickered to her, then deliberately held it. “Aye, right enough,” she observed. “You wouldn’t want the kids listening to something that good. They might feel inspired.” Kate giggled and the women hurriedly turned away muttering something about rudeness. “You tell her, Bad Hair,” said an amused voice from her other side. Addie whipped round and found Tammy Newton grinning at her. Dark hair trendily disarrayed, she wore a rather sexy little black dress with Doc Martens boots. And by her side was her nephew Jack. Addie’s stomach twisted itself in knots. The boy’s face lit up with recognition. “Hello, Addie.” “Actually,” Tammy observed, considering her, “your hair’s looking good.” “Thanks. I had a job interview.” Addie felt she was muttering like a schoolgirl. “Yes? Get the job?” “Yes.” “Any good?” “Nah. It sucks.” Tammy grinned again. “Mine, too.” Her attention shifted. “You must be Kate. I’m Tammy.” “Hi, Tammy,” said Kate, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “And this is Jack.” As the children said wary helloes, Addie said reluctantly, “Jack’s John Maxwell’s son.” Kate’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s your dad?” Jack grinned. “Yes, it is,” he said modestly. “Wow. Can you play the piano, too?” “Not like that.” “Me, neither,” Kate confessed. “I get lessons, though.”

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Addie looked nervously around to see who else was in Tammy’s wake. “So, how are things?” she asked. “Okay. I miss Gran, but hey, that’s life. I’m back with Dan.” Addie could smile at that, genuinely. “Good.” She wanted to ask about Johnny, but the words stuck in her throat. “What about you? See much of your friends?” Tammy enquired. It was inevitable, but it still made Addie cringe inside. “If you mean Shug and Malky, no. Kate, come on, we’d better get back to our seats.” “There isn’t a spare one where you are, is there?” Tammy asked. Addie blinked. “You don’t have a seat?” She’d imagined they’d be VIP guests. “Well, yes, but I need to go and make a phone call and I don’t like to leave Jack on his own.” “There’s one free right beside me,” Kate offered. “Fab.” Tammy was already moving away, talking over her shoulder. “Just bring him backstage afterwards.” And how the fuck am I supposed to do that? Stomach churning, there was nothing Addie could do but usher both children to the seats beside her. And this time, when Johnny walked on to the stage, she thought her heart would jump out of her throat. He was finishing with one of Chopin’s piano concertos. Addie remembered that from buying the tickets. The rest of the programme wasn’t announced at the time. But when he started playing, it wasn’t Chopin. It was her music. The stuff he’d been playing while she lurked outside the study instead of summoning him to Shug as instructed. The music that had played from the tape recorder while he’d screwed her against the door and on the study floor. The vivid memory heated her body unbearably. Her heart pounded in her ears, spoiling the music until, with sheer willpower, she forced herself to be calm. Why should he waste his music? It was too wonderful. It had made her cry at first hearing. Polished, it was bound to be astounding…and already she no longer recognized

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it. It had moved on, the many intricate threads of melody gradually resolving into a new, wilder theme; and gradually, Addie relaxed and listened. And if the tears came when the main theme returned at the end, she was sure the children wouldn’t notice if she just stared straight ahead of her. Appreciation crashed around her. Not the euphoric applause that had followed his concerto, for this was a different sort of piece, far shorter and leaving a heart-rending sadness instead of life-affirming crescendo. But Addie knew that if she had even a tiny part in inspiring him to create such beauty, it was a pride she would hug secretly to herself until she died. Uplifted, she let Chopin’s second piano concerto move her as it always did. Maxwell gave a virtuoso performance and the orchestra stayed up there with him, as he was the first to acknowledge when he took his bow and, after shaking hands with the leader of the orchestra, walked off the stage to let the other musicians take their due. “Wow,” said Kate. “Wow. Your dad’s amazing.” “I know.” Jack grinned. Addie pulled herself together. “All right, let’s get you back to him, Jack. You’ll have to show me the way.” From the foyer, Jack led the way with confidence. Kate’s gaze was on organ stocks by then, and Addie knew she wasn’t going to like being dragged away so quickly. Never having been backstage anywhere other than Kate’s school play at Christmas, Addie imagined she could leave Jack with someone at the door and flee. However, the solitary security man, clearly recognizing Jack, simply waved them through, and before Addie could explain his mistake, Tammy appeared from nowhere. “There you are. Johnny’s just talking to the press, but he won’t be a minute.” “Tammy,” Addie began with determination, but Tammy was already addressing Kate. “Would you like your programme signed?” Kate’s eyes shone even brighter. “By him? John Maxwell? Really?” “Really,” said Tammy, laughing.

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But Kate’s face fell. “We haven’t got a programme. We got the good seats instead.” Resigned to Tammy’s inevitable ridicule of her economy, Addie stared at her defiantly. But the other girl’s expression was neither sneering nor compassionate. It was irritated. “You haven’t got a programme? For—!” She broke off, delved into her bag and came up with a crushed one. “Have mine.” But oddly, she gave it not to Kate but to Addie. “Come on,” she said to the kids and pushed open the door in front of her. “I’ll wait here,” Addie declared. It wasn’t so much cowardice as self preservation. Memory preservation. She wanted to remember the passion in his eyes, and the laughter. Not indifference, impatience or contempt or whatever she would see there tonight if they met… Tammy cast her eyes to heaven, but only shrugged and disappeared inside with the children. Briefly, Addie heard his bone-melting voice explaining, “Yes, he dedicated it to his wife Jemima, who only died a couple of months ago…” And then the sound was cut off. Addie sank on to one of the upright chairs against the wall. Her heart was beating like a rabbit’s. It seemed weird that he was only just on the other side of the partition. He might as well have been in a different galaxy. She stared blindly down at the programme. Bugger. Kate went in without it. Maybe she could take it to her—discreetly… No I bloody couldn’t. Souvenir Programme: John Maxwell (Piano) plays Maxwell and Chopin. Idly, she flipped through the adverts, pausing at the brief biography and photograph of the pianist looking tousled and arrogant, with just that saving grace of humour in his eyes. Her lip twitched tenderly. She touched the cold, paper cheek. In another life, we might have had so much fun… She turned the page to the performance programme—and her own name jumped out at her immediately.

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Ariadne. The third piece on the programme, the short one that had contained “her” music. He had called it Ariadne. The words, the whole page faded as tears blinded her. It was the music’s fault. It had made her emotionally vulnerable. “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered, closing her wet eyes, leaning her head back against the wall in an effort to regain control before anyone came by. The nearby door opened and closed. Someone came out, but Addie kept her eyes closed and hoped they wouldn’t notice her. But she felt them slide onto the seat next to her. Fuck! She’d have to walk away… “Addie?” Her eyes flew open of their own volition. Her heart seemed to have stopped beating, then without warning it plummeted into her stomach. John Maxwell sat beside her, gazing at her. He still wore the black shirt, open at the throat. She could smell him, the sweat of his evening’s exertions overlaid by the clean, spicy scent she associated with him. God help her, he was more devastating than ever. His devil’s eyebrows quirked upward. And yet there was no laughter in his intense eyes. “What is it? Why are you crying?” “I’m not crying,” she snapped. If you say anything with enough force, people believe you. “Yes, you are.” To prove it, he touched her cheek with his finger. It was unbearable. She flinched as though he’d struck her. “Fuck off, you bastard,” she snarled. Oh, Christ, why am I doing this, why am I fighting with him, swearing at him, when I want to… Humiliated beyond belief, she leapt up to storm into the room, collect Kate and go. She wished desperately that she’d never come. It was worse than anything she’d ever imagined.

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But he caught her hand, standing with her. “Addie, don’t,” he said, and there was such helplessness in his voice that she paused. In his dark, stormy eyes she saw no contempt, no superiority or distaste. Only, astonishingly, a plea. She swallowed. “Don’t what?” “Don’t cry, don’t be angry…mostly, don’t go.” The tears spilled over again. “I have to go. Johnny, I don’t have the words for this…oh, God, Ariadne,” she whispered incoherently. “You called it Ariadne.” He smiled, his eyes warm and melting with just that irresistible hint of humour. “What else would I call it?” he asked, drawing her slowly into his arms. “It’s you, you gave me the thread I still hold on to. Like your namesake, you got us all out of the maze.” Did she? It was a novel way of looking at it. But even if it was true, she was still hopelessly lost in her own. Hands on his chest, she stared helplessly at his tempting lips. She remembered their touch so well, wanted them unbearably. “Johnny, don’t,” she whispered brokenly. “Don’t. Don’t you know how I love you? It’s not fair to—oh, God!” Oh, Jesus Christ, why did I say that? How do I live with that? She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could run and yet clutching on to his arms as if they were her only salvation. Just for a moment, she let her head drop on to his broad chest. A secret joy that also helped to hide her unforgivable emotion. Because she’d obviously stunned him. Now he’d get out, extricate himself so fast she’d find herself in the street within five minutes. But he hadn’t released her yet. Instead, no doubt with pity, his arms moved, tightening, holding her closer and it was a comfort that his body still wanted hers. She felt his semi-erection against her abdomen, and somewhere among the storm of humiliation and grief knew a pang of answering lust. His hand even stroked her hair, tugged gently until she lifted her head to face the music of rejection. But there was no warning, no time. He took her mouth fiercely, battering down her resistance, which she no longer understood anyway. There was only

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Ariadne’s Thread

his lips and tongue and teeth, his strong arms holding her up, his warm, fit body pressing into her, flooding her with memory and lust and need. Her tears flowed unheeded, over their lips, into her mouth and his. A crowd of people walked past. One of them said something, no doubt ribald. Addie neither heard nor cared, and it didn’t stop Johnny from deepening the kiss even further. When he did finally come up for air, she buried her face in his shoulder and threw her arms around his neck. Beyond the stunned understanding that he really did want her came remembrance that he didn’t yet know everything about her. Into his shoulder she said breathlessly, “Listen, there’s more than you know. There’s Kate’s father.” There was another pause, but still he didn’t push her away. He said heavily, “Shug.” She lifted her head, staring at him. “How do you know that? I never told anyone that… Not even Shug knows that! And he never will.” Without pausing for breath, the words tumbled out now. “I was sixteen and not exactly sober. He was all of eighteen— I’d known him most of my life—a boy with a bad reputation who was suddenly wickedly attractive to a stupid, rebellious kid like me. You couldn’t exactly call it seduction, but when he gave me the eye, I went for it. Just once, a drunken fumble at a party. And despite everything, I’ve never regretted the result.” He kept her gaze throughout the half-defiant confession and, despite a sudden flare of what might have been jealousy in his eyes, she could find no contempt, no condemnation. He said evenly, “Fair enough. I’d like to get to know her.” Addie stared at him. “You would?” He nodded. “I would.” He laughed. “Addie, don’t look at me like I’m insane. I don’t give a shit about Shug or anyone else in your past. My own taste hasn’t always been perfect. I even married a woman on a whim we both regretted… Look, I have to play tomorrow night in Edinburgh, but after that I’ve a couple of weeks before I’m meant to do Manchester and London. Why don’t you and Kate come up to the house? If you can bear it.”

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Fascinated by this embodiment of dreams she hadn’t even let herself acknowledge in the last two months, she said faintly, “Are your ghosts still there?” He smiled. “Some of them. Kit’s gone. And Julia, of course.” “Do you miss him?” “No, I don’t think I do. I missed you.” She had to kiss him for that. Then she said regretfully, “I have to work next week. I suppose we could come up Friday night, or Saturday morning.” He laid his forehead on hers. “That seems an awfully long way off. I want to tell you to stuff your job… Why don’t you have dinner with us tonight and then…” “I have Kate.” “You could invite me back to your place.” She looked at him. “It’s in a scabby high-rise. They never get around to renovating it.” “Bet it’s cleaner and tidier than mine.” “So it is,” she conceded. For some reason she was smiling. “And Addie…” His hand trailed down her neck, making her shiver. “Since we’re doing confessions: I’m a mess, I’m arrogant, erratic and bad-tempered. I’m also obsessive and I’ve been known to rush into things other people end up paying for. But you’d better know now, with you I’m playing for keeps.” Enchanted, she stood on tiptoe till her lips touched his. Against them she whispered, “Me, too. Oh, God, me, too…”

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About the Author

To learn more about Marie Treanor please visit www.marietreanor.com. Send an email to Marie at [email protected] or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Marie http://groups.yahoo.com/group/sexydelights. You can also

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Look for these titles by Marie Treanor

Now Available: Killing Joe Gothic Dragon

Coming Soon: The Devil and Via

Sometimes you can make your dreams a reality…

Gothic Dragon © 2008 Marie Treanor Stuck in an uninteresting job and settled in a safe but vaguely unsatisfying relationship, the only bright spot in Esther’s life is her writing. She’s fascinated by colorful life of her ancestor Margaret Marsden, a nineteenth-century Gothic romance novelist. A woman who mysteriously disappeared without a trace. A weekend away turns into a hunt for clues when Esther stumbles across Margaret’s “lost” novel, The Prince of Costanzo. Though desperate to read it, every time Esther opens the book, she falls asleep—and headlong into amazingly vivid dreams about Costanzo. But in this dream world where war, magic and poisoning are commonplace, nothing is as it seems. Least of all the supposed villain of the novel, the enigmatic sorcerer Prince Drago. She finds herself kidnapped to his castle and subjected to a seductive interrogation that curls her toes. As their feelings for each other grow more powerful, she begins to wonder…is he the real villain, or a hero who only wants to save his kingdom? All she knows is that now that she’s had a taste of Costanzo—and Drago—her real life troubles seem insignificant. Until they come crashing around her, threatening to cut her off from the man she loves. Forever.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Gothic Dragon:

Drago didn’t release her until he’d kicked his bed chamber door shut behind the man-servant he’d just unceremoniously ejected. Her heart drummed like thunder in her ears. To maintain her dignity, she thought she should at least object to being dragged out of the suddenly silent dining room in front of his entire court. But before she could do more than open her mouth, he seized her face between his hands and kissed her again.

She hung there, helpless, bombarded by sensation, her breasts heaving with the rhythm of his kiss. Her hands grasped at his arms, his back, fisting convulsively in the silk of his tunic, as if by doing so she could somehow hold on to reality. His mouth grew harder, forcing far more than passive response and, feeling it, he made an inarticulate sound of triumph and pushed his body ruthlessly against her. For an instant, she felt the hard column of his erection pressing at her stomach before the force of his body made her stumble back against the closed door, but he came with her, slamming his cock against her once more, grinding it into her until she imagined she could feel the very veins of it like ribs. And all the while, his mouth devoured her. She barely realized that her arms dragged him closer, that her mouth fought back for domination, not just responding but lashing with her tongue, biting, sucking—not until he eventually broke the kiss and grinned at her like a triumphant, reprobate boy. “Strange lady, I can’t breathe. But by the Virgin, you can kiss…” Esther, blinded by desire, no longer cared about her body’s betrayals. She needed him closer, naked, driving that gorgeously huge shaft inside her till she screamed… Reaching up, she tried to take back his mouth, but he only brushed his lips over hers, ran his tongue along her upper lip, with a quick flick under its centre, then moved back out of her arms. “Deny now that you want me.” She said shakily, “Are you really so insecure that you need to hear it as well as feel it?” “No. But I like torturing you. And me.” “You?” Her gaze had become rooted on the jutting cock beneath his tunic. “Trust me, every instant I keep my hands off your delectable body is torturing me.” Without inhibition, he swept his hand over his rigid cock which bulged and pushed at his tunic, and Esther wasn’t sure which of them gasped. He moved away from her, then, to a table under the dark window. A jug and two goblets stood there. Avidly, she watched every movement of his hips and legs as he walked, his quick, strong hands as he splashed dark red wine into the cups.

Only when he turned and commandingly held out a cup to her did she lever herself off the door and walk toward him on legs that trembled. “So,” he said, as she took the wine from him. He let his fingers trail across her knuckles, and she shivered. He smiled slightly. “So, you never met John Fortune before yesterday?” Esther dragged her eyes free. It felt like a kick in the stomach. She was being seduced for information. Worse, she was too damned hot for even that humiliation to cool her raging desire for him. Was that his sorcery, too? She said, “You weren’t kidding about business, were you?” and was gratified to hear the steadiness of her own casual voice. “Kidding?” he repeated, puzzled. “Joking,” she translated. “And no, I never met John Fortune before yesterday.” “Well, here’s to meeting John Fortune again,” he toasted, and raised the wine to his lips. He lowered the cup again, still watching her. “You don’t drink?” “I don’t know that I want to meet him again.” “Why not?” he asked, lifting the cup this time to her lips. In surprise, she let the wine splash over them. “I don’t know,” she said, when she could speak again. “He seems to be a slightly sinister being…” She broke off with a gasp, for his finger had touched a spot of wine on her mouth and was spreading it lightly along the length of her lower lip. “Go on.” “I—I think I finished,” she said, still against his finger. He leaned over her, and as his finger slid away, he lightly licked over the same path. “It tastes better on you.” Taking her own cup from her suddenly nerveless fingers, he put it back down on the table, and again raised his own goblet to her lips. “Drink,” he said, “but don’t swallow.” Once again, the heady wine flowed over her lips and into her mouth. But this time, when Drago took the cup away, he replaced it with his lips, brushing, sinking, opening her mouth so that the wine fell into his mouth, too. Through the velvety liquid, his tongue moved into her mouth, savoring the taste, splashing the wine against the back of her

teeth. Accepting the strangely sensual game with growing excitement, she let her tongue dance with his, fought with it while the wine flowed back and forth from one mouth to the other, until he sucked it all into his and swallowed. His mouth left hers, came back, smiling, to brush the last droplet of wine from her lips. “Then why did you run from me to him?” he said huskily. Esther swallowed. It was so hard to think when her body was on fire, her senses completely absorbed by the strange man seeking information with every caress. “You sent your soldiers after me. What else was I to do? I just ran. I didn’t know Cosimo was there. And before you ask, I’d never met him before yesterday either.” His free hand came up, spanning her throat. “But you think he is the rightful prince.” His long, strong fingers, lightly kneading her throat, could have been a threat. She swallowed, feeling her muscles move under them. As if enchanted, he caressed her skin, following the motion. Esther said, “He’s supposed to be the rightful prince. I don’t know anymore.” “Is that why it was so easy to get you to leave him?” “No, that’s because I was bored! And because your—coercion took me by surprise. I won’t be so easy to manipulate again.” He smiled. The golden flames leapt in his eyes, scorching her. “You think not? Perhaps we’ll experiment with that later on.” His hand slid down the column of her throat, making her shiver, and spread across her shoulder, inched inwards over her chest. Her breath caught as his palm moved over the upper swell of her breast. A fresh flood of moisture began to trickle down her leg. And then his hand fell away. “So you didn’t come to Costanzo looking for him. And you didn’t come looking for me.” Thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving hers, he dipped one finger into his cup, stirring the wine. “So why did you come to Costanzo?” “I didn’t mean to. I—I don’t understand why or how I’m here. I—I thought I was dreaming.”

“So where were you?” he asked, removing his finger from the cup and at once tracing a deliberate, thin line of red across the exposed skin of her breasts, his finger rising and falling with the shape of her body. Tiny trickles like red tears began to spill downward from the line. “In the ten years between your appearance in my old bed chamber and yesterday—where did you go?” All five fingers were in the cup now, and when he withdrew them, he deliberately spattered the wine across her breasts. One spot landed on her chin, several on the bodice of her gown. Instinctively, she wiped at it with her hand, saw his eyes avidly watching her hand draw back and forth across the upper mounds of her breasts. Experimentally, she slid her hand lower, pushed one finger down her cleavage to catch a drip of wine, and heard his breath catch. New excitement flooded her. Whatever he was doing so deliberately to her, he was definitely not immune to it himself.

How many times can one man die?

Killing Joe © 2008 Marie Treanor To professional assassin Joe, life is cheap, and crash researcher Anna just another hit. Until his own unplanned car crash changes everything. Dr. Anna Baird, dedicated to the point of obsession, suddenly finds her state-of-theart crash test dummy haunted by a weird and exciting stranger—who seems doomed to repeatedly experience the fate he’d intended for Anna. Lost in a reality only he and Anna inhabit, Joe finds himself falling in love with his intended victim, and ultimately fighting to save her life—because whoever hired him still wants her dead.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Killing Joe:

Anna licked the last drop of whisky from her upper lip. Joe’s eyes followed the gesture, making her self-conscious. Hastily, she hid her tongue again. “This is weird. But the whole situation’s so weird that I’m going to tell you anyway. Do you know what we do here?” “Automobile crash research.” “Yep. We do mock-ups of various situations to test car safety and try to improve standards. Well, we had one such mock-up today, using the dummy that has now disappeared. Just before the impact I saw…I thought I saw the dummy’s face change. It became—it seemed to become a man’s face. Yours.” His eyes searched hers, but not with either surprise or derision. As if the idea had already occurred to him. Oh, Jesus Christ… How could either of them believe such a thing? There had to be a rational explanation.

He was in an accident—sustained some head injury I’m not qualified to discover. Somehow, he wandered in here unseen and fell asleep… So where are his clothes? He took them off somewhere, obviously in a daze. They’re probably in a corridor or something… But his face…I saw his face on the dummy! “I’m wondering,” she said shakily, “if that—seeing your face—was some kind of warning. When did your accident happen?” He shrugged again. “About nine-thirty, I suppose.” She drew in a breath. “That’s when we tested.” And the dummy had gone. Was it lying around the building somewhere with Joe’s clothes? Why would he have moved it? It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense, unless…but that was impossible. Forcing herself, she met his gaze once more. “Joe, what does this mean?” He said nothing. So she poured herself some more whisky and drank gratefully. He hadn’t touched his. At last he said, “Has anything like this ever happened to you before?” Anything like what? Like suspecting a man of changing bodies with a crash test dummy? Was she really that insane? No! So pull yourself together, woman. Think logically. She shook her head. “No. At least not really…” She slid her eyes away from his penetrating gaze. “When I first worked here and we set up the crashes…I should tell you my family died in a car crash. I saw it happen from a bus stop where they’d just dropped me. Anyway, I used to…imagine…the dummies were family members. But it wasn’t really like that today. Then I knew what I was doing—the test just brought back the memory with extra vividness. This today was…it was like it was really you. And I’ve never seen you before in my life, have I?” “No,” he agreed. “No, you haven’t.” She had no idea what he was thinking, how mad he thought she was, how scared he was by his own situation. Not very, it seemed. She could find no trace now of the despair she had sensed earlier. He seemed almost resigned, though to what, she still had very little clue. She returned to her own more immediate alarm. “You know my name.”

He nodded. “And you know where I work.” “Yes.” She took a breath. “Were you stalking me, Joe?” “Yes.” “No you weren’t!” she disputed, perversely. “Stalkers like their victims to know about them.” “Perhaps I was waiting for my moment to get you alone, ask you out for dinner, sweep you off your feet…” “Aye, right,” said Anna derisively, resorting to the language of childhood, which at least lightened his hard eyes, brought a faint curve to his lips. “You find that difficult to believe?” “Impossible, actually.” “Why? You are a beautiful girl and when I’m not wearing overalls, I’m reasonably presentable.” “You’re pretty presentable without them, too,” she retorted, then flushed with embarrassment. His dark eyes glinted acknowledgement, but before he could say anything, she rushed into speech herself. “But you’re avoiding the question. How long have you been watching me?” He shrugged. “A couple of days.” “But why?” “You don’t want to know.” “Oh, trust me, I do!” “Then let’s say I don’t want to tell you.” “Why not?” she flashed back. He hesitated. “Because it’s got nothing to do with this weird situation.” His eyes fell. “And because, for once, I nee— like the company.” She stared at him. His vulnerability was suddenly terrifying, because it gave credence to her own impossible suspicion. “You think I’ll leave you to your fate if you tell me? Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.” “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you?” He didn’t say anything at all to that, so with conscious courage she asked, “What exactly do you think your fate is, Joe? The one I would leave you to?” He looked up at the light bulb, as if deliberately dazzling himself. “Hell.” His lips twisted. “Not the fiery hell children are taught about in school—or at least in the schools I went to. My hell is continually reliving—re-dying—in car crashes.” Her throat tightened unbearably. Oh, Jesus, Jesus, we both believe the same thing… And her own doubts, her own sanity, counted for nothing beside his pain. Instinctively, she leaned over and with a feeling of great daring put both her arms around his broad, strong shoulders. Damn it, feel sorry for yourself! His body was unyielding, hard as she’d known it would be, but warm, strangely exciting. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, knowing somehow that it was sheer surprise that held him so rigid. He wasn’t used to being embraced for reasons of comfort. “You really believe you deserve to suffer such a punishment? Joe, no one is that bad, no one…” He jerked in her hold. “You don’t have a clue, do you?” The words burst out of him with violence, frightening her all over again. Panicked, she pulled back, but his arms lifted suddenly, seizing her, holding her hard against his chest, his hand tangling in her hair to keep her still. “You really have no idea what people do to each other, for no reason worth a damn…” Her heart thundered. Behind the fear came a hot, leaping surge of desire. She whispered, “What was done to you?” “Done to me? Nothing I haven’t given back worse. I’m not the victim here.” His fingers in her hair, fisting, made her every nerve tingle with warning as well as excitement. Twisting her head in his hold, she gazed up into his face, absorbing each tiny line around his dark, almond-shaped eyes, every crease in his forehead, the texture of his lips suddenly so close to hers that her stomach began to burn. His eyes, the cold, opaque

eyes that she was sure never let anyone in, were suddenly a maelstrom you could drown in. She said, “If your—soul—is trapped inside a crash test dummy, then victim’s exactly what you are.” “I don’t do victim,” he said savagely, and kissed her mouth before she could draw breath. It was rough, bruising, his purpose to shut her up, even punish her for her unacceptable view of him. Knowing it, she slid her hands up over his thickly muscled arms to his shoulders and pushed. It was like shoving at a mountain. Truly panicked now, she tried to speak under his mouth, but the movement of her lips only excited him to delve deeper. While his big hand held her head steady, his tongue, strong and insistent, swept around her mouth, pressing behind her teeth as if to pull her closer. Bombarded, devoured, Anna could do nothing but let him. Yet as soon as she relaxed, sensation flooded her, sweet and raging. Her whole body burned, the fire spreading from her mouth to her groin, devastating her. She was so wet she could feel it on her thighs. And suddenly his motive didn’t matter. She’d had sex while less turned on than this. Faintly, almost shyly at first, she moved her lips under his, dared to touch his tongue with hers, caress it, and then she was kissing him back fully, passionately, and his arms tightened, pressing her breasts to his chest. She clung around his neck, exploring his mouth with the same urgency he did hers, shivering with delight as his hand caressed her back, her waist, the curve of her hip, then slid up her side and over the curve of her breast. The pleasure of that made her moan into his mouth. His hand moved, softly kneading, until his palm discovered her rigid, pleading nipple pressing through her shirt. And as abruptly as he’d seized her, he released her mouth. Her glasses had steamed up. Deftly, he removed them, and his eyes, hot and clouded, stared into hers. Slowly, unable to help it, she touched his face with her fingertips, the lean line of his jaw, the hollows of his cheeks, the corners of his lips. He spoke with fierce triumph. “You want me.”

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