Hot Blooded, page 2
Ryder made a face. “Are you insane? Why say something like that and tempt the cosmos?”
Laith watched him walk away, wondering if he had just drawn the interest of fate.
CHAPTER
TWO
After twenty years, Iona was back in Scotland. She drove the small rental through the winding roads of the Highlands ignoring the spectacular beauty around her that urged her to grab her camera and document it. But it was difficult.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love the scenery. Even when she tried to forget her childhood in Scotland, she felt something missing in her soul. It wasn’t until she landed in Edinburgh that she realized that missing piece was the wild, mystical land.
Iona’s hands were sweating as she gripped the steering wheel. The closer she got to her childhood home, the more her heart pounded. She wasn’t sure if it was nerves or sadness that brought on such a reaction, and she didn’t want to delve too deep into the emotions to find out.
Just last week while on assignment in Afghanistan, she’d nearly been killed. It was because of the U.S. Marines she was with that she managed to come away with only minor injuries, but it put things into perspective. It made her realize how very short life was, and regardless of how she felt about what her father did, she needed to talk to him, to see him.
No sooner had she packed her belongings and booked a flight out of Afghanistan to Scotland than people began asking her about her family and where she was from. It was … odd.
Almost as if fate stepped in and gave her another nudge to return home.
As if she needed it. The near-death experience was enough.
But she was too late. During a layover, she was notified by the company she worked for about her father’s death.
Iona hadn’t shed any tears. Instead, anger welled up within her. She was furious that her father had died before she got to see him. Yes, it was silly and irrational, but it didn’t change her feelings.
No sooner had she found out about her father’s death than she got a phone call from her father’s attorney wanting to know when she would be in town for the reading of the will.
Iona focused on the winding road as she passed through a cluster of rain clouds. The windshield wipers were loud and squeaky as they diligently worked to keep the windshield clear of rain.
Everything grated on her nerves. She felt raw, exposed. And she hated it.
She was used to being completely independent, moving from place to place with just her backpack. Iona had learned very quickly in her early years that the only one she really could depend on was herself. There was no use putting her faith or trust in anyone else, because they always disappointed her.
It began with her mother and father, and it continued on through school and university. She liked being alone, and despite what some people thought, being alone didn’t mean she was lonely.
Which is why she loved her job. Photography was her life. For as far back as she could remember, it’s all she had ever wanted to do. She was lucky enough to work for the Commune—a group of wealthy business owners from around the globe who hired experts in various fields for any number of things.
For Iona, her assignments could be nothing more than photographing a horticultural exhibit in Paris or, like her last mission, deep in the middle of battle to get a firsthand view of the war being waged.
She bounced along the roads, encountering a car or two in the otherwise quiet mountains. She might have been only eight when her mother took her away from Scotland, but she recalled how quiet and still life had been.
A glance at the directions next to her had her turning left onto a dirt road that was more mud than anything. She drove around puddles not knowing how deep the holes might be and not wanting to get stuck.
Even after so many years since she lived in the Highlands, she still recognized the gate ahead of her. Iona stopped the car and put it in park, staring at it. Her father had set her atop the gate when he had opened and closed it. It was one of the few memories she allowed herself to remember, because opening that floodgate would do her no good.
Iona unbuckled her seat belt and threw open the door. Her hands shook as she walked to the gate and unbolted it before she pushed it wide. It creaked loudly, silencing the birds chirping around her.
She looked around at the dense forest. Her photographer’s eye noticed the deep green of the pine needles, the paler green of the ferns that blanketed the ground and how they added contrast against the dark-colored bark and the sun filtering through the tree limbs.
It would make a beautiful picture, but documenting her trip was the last thing she wanted to do.
Iona returned to her car and drove through the gate before getting back out and shutting it behind her. She then drove slowly down the narrow road through the woods. Twice she had to stop to miss a pine marten that darted across the road.
When the trees thinned and she came upon the clearing with the small cottage, she had to stop the car, she was so overcome with memories.
Iona drew in a breath, her throat tight with emotions. Her eyes welled with tears, but she refused to shed a single one on a man who hadn’t tried to contact her in twenty years. He was her father, and she would bury him since she was his only relative, but she wouldn’t cry for him.
Or for the memories of the past.
The last time she saw the cottage was in the middle of the night during a vicious thunderstorm. She was drenched by the time her mother dragged her screaming to the car. All the while her mom kept telling her what a good life they would have in Kent, and that while England seemed a long way, it really wasn’t.
Iona hadn’t paid much attention to her mother. All she could do was stare at the silhouette of her father in the doorway as he stood watching them leave. She screamed for him to stop her mother. She held out her arms to the man who had never let her down.
But that night she discovered the man her father really was.
He watched them leave without uttering a single word. He didn’t try to stop her mother or even attempt to keep Iona with him.
For weeks afterward she knew her father would come for her. He would take her back to the cottage and their woods, but the days turned into weeks and weeks into months. He didn’t call, he didn’t write, and he never came to see her.
Iona blinked away the sudden rush of tears and drove the last few hundred yards to the house. She was slow to exit the car. Once she had, she didn’t move. She wasn’t sure she could go into the house.
Leaning against the rental car, she slowly perused the area. The cottage itself was in neat order. There were bird feeders everywhere, something that had been added after she was gone.
How many times had she begged her parents for a bird feeder? She hadn’t had a camera at that age, but seeing the birds had been just as good.
Iona straightened and walked around to the back of the house. A wooden deck had been extended from the back door. A wrought-iron table and two chairs were perched on the deck as well as a book, opened and lying facedown.
The wind riffled the pages, damp from the frequent rain showers. The book had been set aside as if her father planned to return. Which meant his death had come about suddenly.
That was one thing she hadn’t asked—how he died. Iona hadn’t thought she wanted to know.
The sound of a motor broke the peace of the forest. Iona was instantly on guard when she walked back to the front of the house. Her steps slowed, and then halted when she saw the tow truck come to a stop with her father’s 1972 Range Rover hooked to the back.
The door to the truck opened and a balding, heavyset man with graying hair and a bushy beard got out. He flashed her a smile. “I was told to return the vehicle now that the authorities are done inspecting it.”
“Inspecting it?” she repeated.
He looked up from his clipboard. “Aye. That’s usually the case when an overturned vehicle is found.”
“Overturned vehicle?” Iona couldn’t stop repeating his words. She knew she sounded like an idiot, but that was before she discovered how her father died.
The driver raised his gaze to her and slowly lowered the clipboard. “Forgive me, lass. I thought you knew.”
“I just arrived.” She swallowed, hoping he didn’t hear the catch in her voice. “Please tell me.”
He hesitated as if he were trying to think of a way to get out of explaining. Finally, he pursed his lips for a moment and then said, “John’s Rover was found on its side about two miles from town the day before yesterday.”
Two miles? That meant he was coming off the mountain. There were no guardrails, just boulders and more mountain, if someone went off the side.
“I’m sorry to say, lass, that John was found deceased.”
Iona blinked and nodded. “Did you know my fa … John?”
“I did. I considered him a friend. He would hate to know that you’d finally come home now that he’s gone.”
She couldn’t stand the censor in his dark gaze, nor did she care that her father had a friend. “Was John drunk?”
“Nay,” the old man said, affronted. “He came into town three times a week for dinner and then went to the pub for a dram with me and a few other lads.”
It seemed odd to find out such little things about her father’s life now that he was gone. She grew uncomfortable standing there talking about her father.
The driver must have sensed her unease because he went back to writing on the clipboard. A few seconds later, he tore off a portion of the paper and handed it to her along with the keys. “It’ll take me just a moment to unhitch the vehicle.”
Iona didn’t move from her spot while the Range Rover was freed from the constraints, nor did she move until the truck was out of sight. Only then did she let her shoulders sag. Now that she knew her father died so unexpectedly and harshly, she felt bad for thinking so callously of him just moments before.
With the trees blocking most of the light, the shadows began to lengthen, urging Iona to get her things and go inside the house.
The key was on the fob with the others of her father’s. She let herself in, and then closed and locked the door behind her. Paying little attention to the house, Iona walked to the first door on the right and came to a sudden stop.
Her old room was just as it had been the night she left. Nothing had been moved, though everything had been recently dusted. Even the red plaid comforter was still draped across the bed.
Iona dropped her bags next to the bed. It was like walking back in time, except she couldn’t pick up her life at eight. She was twenty-eight.
She spent the rest of the evening going from room to room looking through everything. Her father’s office, next door to his room, was a complete mess. Just as she recalled from her childhood. There were papers stacked everywhere. His computer was on, the cursor blinking in the middle of the page where he had stopped writing.
When she next looked up at the clock, it was well past midnight. Iona shuffled to her bed and fell upon it, still fully dressed.
She only meant to rest for a moment, but exhaustion won out. The night was passed filled with dreams of her mother and father, and when her life was turned upside down. Iona would wake up and roll over, only to be woken with another dream.
She tossed and turned all night, and finally gave up trying to sleep. It took two cups of coffee before she could even glance at the clock to see it was just after six in the morning. The sun was shining as she set aside her cup and made her way into the bathroom.
After her shower and a change of clothes, she felt more human. She would give the cottage one more night, since it could have been all her snooping that caused the dreams. But if she had another sleepless night, she would book herself into the nearest motel or B&B until all of her father’s belongings were taken care of.
Iona dropped her head forward to bang against the mirror in the bathroom. She still had the funeral, and since she was his only living relative, it would be up to her to arrange everything. Not to mention the reading of the will.
The sooner she got everything over with, the sooner she could move on. She lifted her head and smoothed aside her wet hair before she reached for the blow dryer. As she dried her hair she made a mental note of all she needed to take care of like the funeral, his will, his bank accounts, selling his Range Rover and the property.
Iona didn’t think there would be much in his bank accounts since her father had never been good at controlling his funds, but with the sale of the land and the SUV, she figured it would be enough to reimburse her for what she would have to shell out for the funeral.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Attractive, that’s what men called her, but not a great beauty. She didn’t turn heads or cause men to forget themselves. Occasionally she would catch a man’s eye, but with her schedule of travel, she didn’t go looking for a relationship. Of any sort.
Her parents might have played a huge role in that decision-making process, however, when it came to men and relationships.
Iona ran her fingers through her pale blond hair. It took her forever to straighten, and with the humidity of the Highlands she didn’t even bother to try. She opted to go with her natural state, which were waves. Not pretty curls, but waves that did whatever they wanted.
To help fortify herself, Iona pulled out what little makeup she carried with her. The small village wasn’t London or Sydney, but she wanted to make a good impression.
Less than an hour later, she walked out of the house to her car. Another thirty minutes and she was in town. It took her two passes through the narrow street where most everything was located before she found the police station.
Iona parked and took a deep breath before she stepped out of the car. She closed the door and realized that several people had stopped and were staring as if she were some oddity.
She put a smile on her face, pulled her purse on her shoulder, and went to collect her father’s body.
CHAPTER
THREE
It was the longest day of Iona’s life. Everyone wanted to talk to her about her father. John Campbell had been admired, respected, and even loved among the people of the village. Odd since it went against everything she remembered her mother saying of him.
Iona was dead on her feet by the time she returned to the cottage in the late afternoon. All she wanted was a sandwich and a beer. She tossed her keys and purse on the kitchen counter and kicked off her shoes. Then she opened the fridge looking for a beer.
“Of course,” she mumbled when she didn’t see one.
It never dawned on her that she might need to pick up some groceries. She made her sandwich before going outside to sit at the table. As she ate, she watched the birds flying from feeder to feeder, their singing soothing. One by one, they settled for the night. Dusk was upon her, and yet she didn’t want to go inside and be reminded of her childhood.
Not that sitting outside was any different. She recalled playing among the trees as a young girl and hunting the wild cats in hopes of getting a glimpse of the elusive animals. She hadn’t had the entire forest to play in, however. The forest was huge, covering several hundred acres, but she had been confined to a small portion near the house.
Campbell land, her father called it. The land beyond belonged to Dreagan Industries. She still didn’t understand why one company would need so much land.
Iona finished her sandwich and sat back in the chair. She remained until it grew so dark that she couldn’t see anything. As she rose to return to the house, she paused, sure she heard something in the forest.
She listened intently, but didn’t hear anything else. With a shake of her head, she walked inside the house and closed the sliding glass door.
She was walking to her room when she saw her keys on the floor. Iona bent and picked them up, sure they had landed by her purse. Or maybe she was just too tired to realize they had fallen.
* * *
It was after midnight when the mobile phone rang. He rose from his bed and the warm body of the woman to pad naked to the coffee table where all six of his mobile phones were lined up.
He sat on the cream leather of the Chesterfield sofa and reached for the fourth phone. He answered with a curt, “Yes?”
“She’s arrived just as you said she would, sir,” came the Australian accent across the line.
“Good. What other news do you have?” he asked.
The mercenary said, “She visited the morgue and talked to many of the villagers before returning home. I looked through her purse while she was outside, but I’ve not found anything yet.”
“Keep looking. John will have left her something.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about the other group of men I sent? Have they spotted you?”
The merc chuckled. “No, sir. It’s working just as you told me it would.”
“Excellent. Have they been seen?”
“Not yet, but they’ve remained hidden in the trees behind the house with only two as guards watching who comes up the drive.”
He leaned back against the couch and smiled. “Keep me posted.”
The call ended. He replaced the phone back with the others. Everything was falling into line perfectly. Next, Con would send one of the Kings to get close to Iona in the hopes of determining how much she knew.
Then the King would notice the group of men following Iona, just as he had set up. The Kings would be so focused on the group that they would never realize what was really going on around them.
He could almost taste the victory.
* * *
Con flew amid the clouds, loving the feel of the wind against his scales. As much as he wanted to enjoy his time, he was on patrol. Though it gave him time to think over his next step with Iona Campbell.
Just as he’d asked, he was notified as soon as she arrived in town. It was going to take one of the Dragon Kings to make a connection with her to discover if John left her instructions on what to do. Because if John didn’t, then it was going to be up to the Kings to fill her in.
How Con hoped that wasn’t the case. He didn’t know Iona, but he expected her to be like most humans and scoff at the idea there were other beings on the planet with them. The fact that the land was crucial to Dreagan didn’t help matters.
