Chapter Six

“Some people claim that they see Nessie and some don’t!” Luke announced as they walked through the grand entry to the Georgian manor.

“Hey!” Carly argued. He had spoken as he had on purpose. In public they needed to appear as if they were a couple in a relationship who could still get testy with one another.

She let out a sigh of aggravation. “I’m not even sure why you’re with me! You’re such a doubter.”

“Well, no one has proven there’s a monster after all these years.”

“Hey, a cop, a dedicated cop, swore he saw it,” Carly argued. “That’s not the point. The point is that—”

“Carly,” he murmured, interrupting her. They had almost reached the registration desk beneath the great stairway leading to the second floor of the house. Naturally, he was trying to make it appear that they were civilized, just having a “wee” bit of a spat.

“Hi!” he said, greeting the man at the desk. “We have a reservation. I’m not sure if it’s in my name or Carly’s, but my friend said this was the best place in the world to stay while visiting Urquhart, and he made the reservation for us.”

“First, welcome, and, yes, I have a few reservations for tonight!” the man said. They’d seen pictures of both men possibly involved in the local disappearances in their briefs.

This was Ben Pratt, manager of the house, thirty-three years old, the American who was divorced with an ex-wife who had apparently disappeared off the face of the earth. After the divorce, of course, when the two had been living in different cities, no children involved.

And he was certainly fine for the part, just short of six feet with a head full of dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes, pale, of medium build, the wiry strength in his arms apparent in a short-sleeved tailored shirt.

The better to strangle you with, my dear, she couldn’t help but think.

“What name shall I try first?” he asked.

“Jackie probably put it under my name,” Luke said. “Lucas Kendrick,” he said, smiling as he glanced at Carly.

“Let’s see. Yes, I have your reservation. I have you down for five nights. Is that right?”

Luke was still smiling at Carly. “Five nights, right? Maybe we’ll see everything there is to see by then!”

She smiled at him and turned to Ben Pratt. “Maybe and maybe not, but we’ll start with five nights. Oh, is this a busy time of year?”

“Indeed, it’s very busy,” Pratt said, shaking his head. “Apparently, some people have said that they’re heading in this direction, and then no one hears from them. As soon as something like that starts, some idiot goes on and on about them being eaten by the Loch Ness Monster, good old Nessie. Well, as you can imagine, a place like this has high taxes and some keen upkeep, so...whatever the monster does is good for business and for us.”

“Yeah, go figure,” Luke said, looking at Carly again. “A monster is eating people, so other people rush to see. They might as well wear caps that say, ‘Chew me up next, monster.’”

“Ah, so you’re not here looking for the monster?” Pratt asked.

Carly was looking at Luke.

She smiled. “Oh, who said we’re not looking for a monster?” she inquired innocently.

“Well, as you can see, my beloved here would love to see Nessie,” Luke told him. “I, on the other hand, am fascinated by the history here and Urquhart Castle.”

“The ruins of Urquhart,” Pratt reminded him dryly. “But! That said, I can recommend a great guide for you.”

“Cool!” Luke said.

“Has the guide seen Nessie?” Carly asked sweetly.

Luke groaned.

“No, seriously, and this is secret—well, kind of secret,” Pratt told them. “The guy who owns this place, Clayton Moore, loves history. He is a descendant of the original owners through a convoluted marriage thing. I’m not all that big on ancestry and the like but, anyway, Clayton loves the whole thing, and he does tours now and then. I think he was planning on one tomorrow, so I’ll look into it. Getting late, you know.”

“It is,” Luke said, smiling at Carly. “It’s been a long drive.”

“You came up from Edinburgh?” Pratt asked.

“We did.”

“Well, I’ll get your keys, you check in, get some rest...and remember, Urquhart is a set of ruins. Wear appropriate shoes!”

“Will do and thank you,” Luke replied.

Carly made a point of giving him a charming smile. “Yes, thank you so much!”

He handed them keys—actual solid metal keys, not plastic cards—and told them, “Just upstairs and to the left. Oh, feel free to explore the great hall and the dining room. There’s a library immediately to your right facing the house, the dining room just behind that, and the kitchen a little farther back. There’s always water in the fridge and you’re welcome to enjoy the library anytime. The kitchen is always open and breakfast is served in the dining room between seven and nine.”

“Wonderful,” Carly told him. “I do love starting my day with a great Scottish breakfast.”

“And a library! I love a good library. Some of us prefer fact over fiction!” Luke said, looking at Pratt and shaking his head slightly—as if letting him in on a joke.

That was, broadcasting the fact he tolerated Carly’s silliness for the benefits he derived from their relationship.

“To each their own!” Pratt said. “The best amenity we offer is individual bathrooms. They are small, but decent little shower stalls and somehow we have great water pressure.”

“Wow, wonderful!” Carly said. “We’ll enjoy.”

“What about the other side of the house?” Luke asked.

“Oh, that would be the office and the owner’s private quarters,” Pratt said. “No entry over there but enjoy the rest of the house. Oh! The Wi-Fi password is ‘Urquhart 1.’”

“Okay, thank you!” Carly said. She looked at her key. “Let’s see the room!” she told Luke.

“Let’s see it. Then the library. Or...” Luke began.

“There are several restaurants a short drive away if you’re hungry. Or believe it or not, you can order pizza! All the info is on little brochures in the rooms.”

“Hmm, let’s think on that, shall we?” Luke said to Carly.

“Okay, our room first!”

They left the desk and Pratt called out to them, “Sorry, there’s only a tiny lift for any visitors who need assistance!”

“We’re good with stairs,” Luke assured him.

They didn’t speak until they had reached the room, and even then Luke made a warning sign. They both began to casually search the room, looking for listening devices or cameras.

“Great room. Look at the window—it gives us a great view of the forest beyond!” Carly said.

“Wow. Much better than TV,” Luke said.

She laughed. “But there is a TV and cable access and everything.”

“If we should want or need it,” he said, stepping toward her and drawing her into his arms. He whispered directly in her ear. “He may have a camera in the TV itself. You’re going to have to give me a hug anytime you need to say something important.”

“Gotcha,” she whispered back.

She spun away from him, twirling around the room and then hopping backward onto the bed.

“This is wonderful, Luke, so wonderful!”

“And it’s late!” he reminded her, sliding in next to her. “It’s been a long, long day.”

Curling next to her, he asked, “First shift or second?”

She smiled. Playing the loving couple might not be so bad. She wasn’t sure why, but she was exhausted.

She didn’t think anything would happen to them that night, but nothing seemed out of the realm of possibility. “Second?” she inquired in a whisper.

“Go for it,” he told her.

He pulled her against him. They hadn’t found a camera, and he might be right that it was hidden within or was part of the TV. Maybe there wasn’t a camera. Holmes had committed his murders without having to watch his victims 24/7.

But times had changed. And she didn’t doubt his followers would admire all that had been—and also note how it could be improved with the technology now afforded them all.

She closed her eyes. The bed was comfortable. It was more comfortable feeling the warmth of his arm around her. She shouldn’t think that way. They were playing a game.

It was a good game. She’d never been involved with a partner, and she’d played such games briefly before in swift undercover situations.

But...

She’d be a liar if she tried to tell herself she had never thought that he was an attractive man. Of course, she had thought so platonically.

Or had she? Just physically, he had every appeal. He was muscular without being too muscular. Tall, broad-shouldered. Striking with his coloring, his laughter, his smile...

She winced inwardly. How was she going to sleep now with his arm around her? Her thoughts were veering in this direction, when she could feel the warmth of his body emanating next to her own.

Work could be a very good thing in many ways.

She was tired; there never seemed to be the right amount of sleep.

She wondered briefly if he was feeling any of the same thoughts as she drifted into the sweetness of a dark and restful sleep. Because besides the thoughts that teased at her mind and body, there was also the thought of something equally sweet.

She was safe...

Because he was beside her.

Luke had let Carly sleep until 4:00 a.m., way later than he should have. But in turn, she didn’t wake him until eight. It had taken him a while to sleep, though he had closed his eyes and feigned it, resting at the very least.

But this was a hell of a lot harder than he had imagined and there were certain things that weren’t easy to hide—all he could do was find the right position in which to suffer.

It was simple biology, of course.

Except that it was more. Still, they were working on one of the most horrible, complex and heinous cases possible. It was necessary to play it professionally to the hilt.

It was more than physical. He’d known her a matter of days. But already...

He could barely remember himself before he had met her. She made him smile, she made him laugh, think...care. She had simply and swiftly slipped into the soul of his being.

Circumstances, he reminded himself firmly. And circumstances demanded pure professionalism.

When he awoke, she called him sleepyhead and informed him that she’d been up a few hours, but luckily had showered and dressed and now the bathroom was all his. And she was ready, dressed for a day of hiking, exploring and seeing the wonders of the region in jeans, knit sweater and jacket.

As he crawled out of bed, there was a tap at the door. He slid quickly into the bathroom, nodding to Carly to open it.

She did so. With the door just slightly cracked, Luke listened.

It was Ben Pratt at the door, happy to tell Carly that when they’d had a chance to have their breakfasts, they could join Clayton Moore’s little tour. He had already planned to take a couple of friends out that day and he would be more than happy if they wished to join in.

“We’ll be right down!” she promised. “In fact... Luke!” she called. “I’m going to go on down. Hurry and join me!”

He heard the door close, checked the room with a frown, grabbed his own clothing and headed back into the bathroom.

Even there, he was careful to keep his Glock hidden until he could slip it into the small holster at the back of his waistband.

He wondered if Carly had headed out with Ben Pratt to keep him from feeling uncomfortable. Polite, but not what they needed to be doing.

He believed that she was safe, that Ben Pratt really planned for them to take a tour with Clayton Moore.

He just wondered if there would be other people on the tour—or if it had been designed especially for the man to have time with the two of them.

Dressed, he headed down. There was an older man seated next to Carly at the long table that almost stretched the length of the dining room. There were no private tables here, just the one.

Carly was engaged in conversation, but when he arrived, she smiled and said, “Herr Grunewald, this is my boyfriend, Luke Kendrick. Luke, please meet Gunther Grunewald. He’s a German national, but truly loves Scotland!”

“How do you do, sir?” Luke said, sliding into the chair across from him.

“Quite well,” Grunewald said. “Danke.”

“He’s been here for several months already!”

Grunewald might be German, but his English was excellent. He smiled at Carly’s words and told Luke, “I’m afraid I’ve little to go home to. I lost my wife last year. We never had children and I’m what’s left of my family except for a few young great-nieces and great-nephews. I’m truly enjoying it here—I love just walking out in the afternoons. And my host, Mr. Moore, has let me know that, of course, I may leave anytime I wish or stay as long as I wish.” He waved a hand in the air. “This isn’t like a hotel where one must pay a penalty for leaving early.”

“Ah, almost like a vacation apartment,” Luke said.

“Except that I don’t need to make my own breakfast!” Grunewald said, shrugging happily.

The man almost resembled a great animated character. He had a full head of thick, curly white hair and a beard and sweeping mustache to match. He wondered at the man’s age.

He didn’t need to wonder long.

The man shrugged. “I’ll be ninety soon enough. My pleasures are simple these days, and I find them here. Miss Carly tells me you’ll be staying about five days.”

“Well, we’re on vacation. And to pay for more vacations, I’m afraid that means that we’re required to go back to work,” Luke said.

“Ah, yes,” Grunewald said. “Indeed, work makes the world go round, it does.”

If the man was almost ninety, he’d been a small child during World War II. He was probably a fascinating person to talk to.

He’d also just admitted that he was old and had no one. Was Clayton Moore intending to push his exit from the world once he’d gotten whatever the elderly man had turned over to him?

He wondered if Carly had found a way of asking the man. But maybe not—she had just met him and she wouldn’t want to push too hard.

And yet there was always the question: How much time did they have?

Ben Pratt appeared, bringing in a tray with coffee and plates that contained eggs, bacon, tomatoes, potatoes, beans and biscuits.

“Whoa. Now, that is a real breakfast! Great, thank you,” Luke said.

“Eat up! Clayton should be down in a minute or two, and his friends couldn’t make it, so it will just be the two of you. Though he does have an appointment later, so he’ll want to get going,” Ben told them. He grinned at Grunewald. “Great company, eh, sir?”

“Great company, indeed,” Grunewald said.

“I’ll be at the desk if you need me,” Ben told them cheerfully, leaving the dining room. He came back in right away. “Hey, just leave things. I’m a one-man show except for the maids who come in about eleven each day. But I’m good at it!”

He left them again.

“A little piece of paradise!” Grunewald said. “Maybe I’ll go back one day and die in the fatherland. But it’s nice to have good company and so many of one’s creature needs attended to by such fine gentlemen.”

“They’ve become good friends, I take it,” Luke said.

“More. They’re family,” Grunewald said.

The food was excellent, and with forensic science being what it was, Luke doubted that the men were poisoning their breakfast fare.

If he was wrong, he and Carly were already in trouble. But it wouldn’t pay for the men to do anything to him or Carly yet—not if one of them was “Holmes” and this was a murder-for-money castle.

“Good morning, one and all!”

Luke saw the man coming before he entered the room.

Clayton Moore was about five-eleven, medium in build, and a good-looking man with a thatch of blond hair and bright blue eyes. He gave them all an energetic smile and paused at the end of the table. “Morning, Herr Grunewald, and you two, of course, are Luke and Carly—my tour for the day, I understand. And I warn you, I love the place!”

“That’s great,” Luke said, rising. “And thank you so much. We understood from Mr. Pratt that you love history and do this for us for that reason. We’re truly grateful.”

“History buffs, not monster voyeurs!” Grunewald said.

“Well, Carly really does want to see the monster!” Luke said.

“Hey, nice to meet you, and if a monster was to pop up from the lake, I wouldn’t mind!” Carly said, rising as well and coming around to shake his hand. “Forgive Luke—he doubts just about anything I say might be possible!”

She gave Luke a charming smile, but there was a slight sting to her words.

“Well, we’ll see what we see, eh?” Clayton Moore asked. “When you’re ready, meet me out by the car. It’s a bit of a hike and I’ll have you doing some hiking around Urquhart, so...”

“I’m all set,” Carly said. “Luke?”

“One last bite!” he said, taking that one final mouthful of biscuit and washing it down with the last of his coffee. “Ready to face the day.”

“Tell me all when you come back!” Grunewald said. “I shall look forward to it. That lovely young lady, Miss Mary Nelson, I believe her name was—she’s headed on out?” he asked Clayton.

“Ah, yes, she said that she was going northward, John o’ Groats, and then the Shetlands,” Clayton said. “I wished her a lovely journey! So, shall we?”

“Yes, indeed!” Carly said.

Clayton Moore’s car was a new SUV, parked in the drive, and as they walked out to it, he was already in tour-guide mode. “A brooch found in the ruins suggests something was going on back in the early years, and St. Columba did indeed travel through the area,” he told him. “Urquhart has been described as the defender of the loch, and one thing is certain—Urquhart saw much action, changed sides dozens of times and witnessed the various Scottish wars for independence. But, my friends, archaeologists believe that the area has been inhabited since about 2,000 BC. There would have been rich areas to farm as agriculture flourished, as well as fine hunting fields full of deer and boar to feed the people. Some say that William the Lion had a fort here, though that has never been proven. The origins of the castle ruins we see today date back to a time when the MacWilliam family rose against David I and his descendants. The last rebellion was put down circa 1229 and Alexander II granted the land to one of his key men, Thomas de Lundin, who then left it to his heir, Alan Durward—it’s believed that they then built the first fortification here. When Durward died, the castle and land were granted to John Comyn II, the Black. Now, of course, he—like John Balliol and Robert the Bruce—had a stake in the crown of Scotland, which would become important after the death of Alexander III and then his young child.”

“Alexander III!” Luke said. “From what I understand, the man brought about his own death, riding against all advice from his men into horrid weather—and dying when his horse panicked and threw him or trampled him or whatever.”

“Well, he died, and then so did the grandchild he’d named as his heir, Margaret, the Maid of Norway, and then there was no direct heir to the crown of Scotland. So, in fear of civil war if they went against one another, the Scots made the grave mistake of asking Edward I of England for help,” Moore said.

The owner of Gordon House nodded as he continued. “Bear in mind, the ruins are those of the original fortress and changes that were made through the centuries. Most important regarding the castle, though, is of course the fact that it was a key part of so much that had to do with the history of the country itself. The country, curious as it is, where we are now. Not a nation—our nation is Great Britain. And for all the blood that was shed, it was an act of union and lines of succession that brought us all together!”

Clayton Moore had no problem talking. He barely took a breath during the drive, though he did glance at Carly several times as he drove and spoke—she was seated next to him while Luke was in the back seat.

Behind Carly. This kind of killer wasn’t going to strike when he was appealing to them for their admiration and friendship. Still, Luke would be ready to protect her—back her up, rather, he reminded himself—should any form of attack be attempted.

They reached a parking lot and started up the trail when Moore waved to a man in a red cloak.

“One of the guides,” he murmured. “Dressed in red because Urquhart was once a Comyn stronghold and John Comyn III of Badenoch was known as the Red,” Moore explained. “Always remember that facts are few and must be followed and all else is often in the minds of those who follow. But here...let me try to go in order of time!”

“Comyn—murdered by Robert the Bruce, right?” Carly said.

“No one knows what went on in the church when the Bruce stabbed him,” Luke said.

Carly shook her head. “He thinks the world of Robert the Bruce when William Wallace was the true hero of Scotland!”

“Children! Don’t argue history!” Moore teased. “Bear in mind, the ruling class changed sides several times during the wars for independence. Balliol, Bruce and Comyn were all in line for the throne—Edward gave it to Balliol, as long as he could be overlord and he swore his fealty to Edward. That all went badly. Balliol was captured, Wallace picked up the fight—oh! And it’s most likely that he and Robert the Bruce never even met one another. But it’s true—Wallace being captured, hanged, drawn and quartered, with those quarters put on display, enraged the common man. Bruce was able at last to lead his men onward to the Battle of Bannockburn. Didn’t really end things—fighting went on for years after, but Bruce did hold Scotland, and the country went on to his heirs, and then, eventually, everything came together through the matrilineality—tracing kingship through the female line. Back to Urquhart! Let’s walk!”

They did. It was fascinating to see the various stages of the castle, where the great hall, great kitchen and “great chambers” living quarters for the family in charge might have been.

During the wars for independence the castle changed hands several times, Edward taking the castle, Edward losing the castle...

They saw another guide speaking to a crowd and listened.

“But it had been the Jacobite Rebellion that had spelled the end for Urquhart as a fortress. When James II, a Catholic, was deposed for William of Orange and Mary, supporters of James went into a series of rebellions. Were such wars over religion? People did believe, and it was important, but we can never forget that power and finances have been important through the centuries. But have we Americans here? Many of the Scots captured at the Battle of Culloden in 1746, often considered to be the last major battle on the British themselves, notwithstanding bombs, were given a choice—prison, death or service in the British military across the seas, keeping those nasty colonists in line. They were always causing trouble and the English military was always busy over there until... Well, you know, that nasty little thing that occurred in 1776. Oh, did I say that? No offense intended, my fine friends. As we’ve noted, history and victory can change everything, and the Yanks are now among our best friends!”

He was greeted with laughter. But his words were true.

Carly laughed softly with the others, looking over at Luke. He nodded. It was so true. History and victory changed the way one might remember all that had occurred.

There remains the great George Santayana saying, Luke thought. “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

He looked at Carly and wondered if they were both thinking along the same lines.

History long past, and history remembered and perverted.

They knew about and remembered H. H. Holmes. They couldn’t allow a repeat of his career of scams and horrific murders.

“We need to see the sights!” Carly said. “To get up high—if we could take those stairs!”

“She wants to look for the Loch Ness Monster,” Luke told Clayton Moore.

“That’s fine,” Moore said.

He was still talking, showing Carly something in regards to stone balls that had been used as weapons.

But Carly was only pretending to listen, too. He saw she was pointing something out on the stretch of lawn that spanned out behind the castle.

There was someone standing there. A man in a kilt with a swath of tartan wool held over his shoulders by a brooch. There was something about him, other than the fact that no one else seemed to see him.

The man was looking at him.

Luke turned to Carly and nodded.

“Mr. Moore, I think I’d like to wander a bit more here. Would you be so kind as to accompany Carly on her monster watch?” he asked.

“Please, call me Clayton! And I am delighted to be of any assistance to Miss Carly, aye, that I am!” the man assured him.

He smiled, appearing to wander and then heading straight toward the man on the lawn.

The dead man.

As usual, the ghost was skeptical and wary at first.

“Y’see me, man?” the spirit demanded.

“I do,” Luke told him. He indicated a section of the woods rising beyond the castle and said, “If you would, sir.”

“Oh, I am no one’s ‘sir,’ my friend. Hamish of Inverness.”

“Hamish, thank you. I’m Luke, and I believe that you were watching us, looking at Mr. Moore, my friend, Carly, and myself.”

“Worried for ye, I be,” Hamish told him. “I have wondered for many a year why I remain, except to watch over this beloved land. It was near here I died, with my fellows seeking the protection of the forest after the fighting near Inverness at the Battle of Culloden. We dared not ride forward, not to Inverness, and we knew that we might find help or at least hide out in this direction. But...” He paused, studying Luke. “Time has buried my bones. And those of all who fought that day.”

“Hamish, the battles that tore your land and your people apart are now long over, so—”

“You are a colonist?” Hamish asked him.

Luke tried not to smile, remembering that the Battle of Culloden had taken place almost thirty years before the American Revolution.

But the ghost shook his head. “My pardon. You are an American. I watch that telly thing whenever I am able and...ah, well, it may be that here, where I fought, peace reigns, but the world...well, perhaps men will always go to war.”

“Unfortunately,” Luke agreed. “But—”

“You mustn’t leave her long with him!” Hamish said.

“Do you know something? Have you seen something?” Luke asked him.

Hamish frowned, looking at him. “Are you a sheriff?”

“Something like that,” Luke told him. Then he shrugged. “You watch TV and I know there are many American programs you may see here. I’m FBI.”

“Ah, but with no power here—”

“I have the police behind me.”

“Then you are investigating that man!” Hamish said.

“We are. We have nothing against him. He has a home near here—”

“Aye, that I know.”

“People have disappeared. And the media loves to speculate that it’s the Loch Ness Monster.”

“’Tis a monster, aye, all right, but not old Nessie. I saw him with her. Out here, where we are now. And then I saw him go back...and she wasnae with him and I searched for her and couldnae find her!”

“Her, who, do you know?”

“A pretty lass, a pretty lass indeed. They came a few times, laughing and a-playin’ as they roamed the ruins. But then they came this way...and I never saw her again.”

“When was this?”

“Two days, I believe. You will do what you must to find her?” the man demanded.

“I will. If you could be more detailed—”

“Would that I might, lad. Would that I might. The grounds here are deep and craggy, the forest can be rich. But she did not come out. I watched and waited and watched and waited. I believe she is there, that her flesh will rot, that she will be torn at by birds and creatures of the earth. She did not fall to Nessie! As I say, lad, another monster, of a different kind!”

“Thank you. I promise you, I will do what I can. We are trying to capture this man, and we believe that there is...”

Worse.

He almost said the word, but the spirit of Hamish of Inverness was disturbed as it was and he didn’t want to add to his distress. “Hamish, we’re working with the National Crime Agency and with Police Scotland and I will talk with them. They have a greater ability to search the woods while...we are worried that other events may be taking place at the house where he welcomes so many visitors. We’re also afraid he might be working with another man—”

“Aye! Aye, I’ve seen the two of them about, talking, plotting! They were here together with her the day before the one took her into the woods. Laughing and all, they were, and the one pretending that he was so in love yet stepping aside for the other!”

“Interesting,” Luke murmured. “Either they are truly good friends or working together on this, as we suspected. You don’t know the young lady’s name, do you?”

“Name, nay, I fear not. Wait, maybe, perhaps... Marion. Mary.”

Miss Mary Nelson. Herr Grunewald asked about her this morning, and she is supposedly on her way to John o’ Groats and the Shetland Islands.

“Hamish, I promise you, we’re going to find out what happened to her,” Luke said, hoping that he could keep that promise.

“Get back to yer lady lest she find herself in the woods, too,” Hamish said gravely.

“Right. Thank you.”

Luke started away but turned back. “Hamish, I don’t know these woods. My friend does, somewhat. She had family who came from Drumnadrochit. But none of us can search through these woods the way that you can. If—”

“I will be here, lad. I will be here,” Hamish promised.

“Thank you.”

Luke felt a strange sense of urgency then. Clayton Moore wasn’t going to pull anything now—not unless he’d had his partner kill Herr Grunewald in their absence and not while they were still in proximity to so many tourists. He knew that.

He still wanted to be back with Carly.

He hurried back to the area within the sprawling ruins where he had left Carly and Moore to walk up to the heights—to see their surroundings better and look for the Loch Ness Monster.

He was gratified to see they were just coming down the stone steps they had started up earlier.

“You’ve got to go up, Luke! It’s fantastic, the view. This is just a beautiful, beautiful area!”

“But no monster?” he inquired.

Carly gave him an icy smile. “One day, someone may prove you a jerk,” she said sweetly.

“Well, I guess I should head back. I need to return, but of course, you two can stay and walk around more—the ruins are quite large,” Moore told them.

Carly looked at Luke. “A little longer? We can get a rideshare here, right?” he asked Moore.

“Yes.” He laughed. “Scotland is a civilized country within the civilized nation of Great Britain!”

They both smiled and laughed. Moore waved as he headed out to his car. Luke thought he eyed Carly with greater speculation.

When he was gone, she asked Luke, “Did you—”

“Meet Hamish of Inverness. He died soon after Culloden, heading this way to avoid the king’s troops,” he said. “His injuries were too severe to survive, even though he escaped the main battle, is what I think from what he told me. And he saw our good friend Clayton Moore disappear into the forest with the young woman Herr Grunewald asked about this morning, Mary Nelson. He said they went into the woods together. But when Moore came out, he was alone. And now Moore claims Mary Nelson has headed north. How well do you know these woods?”

“Not very,” she told him. “I know Urquhart, the walk along the water. I never came out here to play in the woods.”

“That’s what I thought. And I’m trying to figure out a way to ask Campbell to have the local authorities check it out.”

“I’ll work on that,” Carly said, drawing out her phone.

He listened as she lied. A good lie.

“Sir, I lost the tourist who was just talking to me, but she insists she saw Clayton Moore disappear into the woods with a woman he claims left Gordon House to head to John o’ Groats and the Shetlands. Perhaps she’s fine and we might reach her...Oh. Well, we were hoping...I don’t know her name. My witness disappeared on a departing tour bus. She was distraught, but seemed to want to warn me about being alone with Clayton Moore...Yes, sir, thank you.”

She ended the call and looked at him.

“Come on,” he told her. “We’ll slip a few feet into the woods ourselves, and I’ll introduce you to Hamish and let him know the authorities will be searching for Mary Nelson.”

He reached for her hand. He wasn’t sure why. She took his easily. They were playing a part, of course, but there was no one watching them and...

He decided to quit overanalyzing himself and led her toward the point where he had met Hamish, stepping behind the cover of trees, although a conversation would look much more natural now that there were two of them.

Hamish stared at Carly in amazement, pleased to take her hand, and Carly knew to move it as if she could feel the pressure of his touch.

“Two in a day! I am stunned. It’s been decades since I’ve met a seer!” he exclaimed.

“And I am extremely pleased to meet you, Hamish of Inverness!” she told him. “And I want you to know the right people will be out here soon to comb the forest.”

“I cannae believe this!” he said, still studying her incredulously. “And I am e’er so grateful!”

“No, we’re grateful,” Carly replied.

Hamish turned back to Luke. “The lass is...”

“FBI, too,” Luke told him.

“But ye must take extreme care!” he warned.

“We will, I promise!” Carly said. She looked at him. Luke was afraid that she was going to suggest that they begin exploring the forest themselves. He spoke quickly.

“I wanted you to meet,” Luke said. “But I think we need to get back. There’s an elderly gentleman at the manor and I’d like to see to his welfare, too.”

He realized by the way Carly looked at him that she immediately understood his apprehension.

“We will meet again,” Carly assured Hamish. She turned to Luke. “Perhaps we should hurry!”

He nodded. “Check for a ride. I’ll get info to the right people and...”

“Someone will search the woods,” she finished softly.

“As I will be doin’ meself,” Hamish promised.