Fire on the Island (32 page)

Tilting his
head, he deepened the kiss. When he lifted his head, his eyes were bright and
his face was determined. "Darlin', if you think I'm letting you get away,
you ain't got your head on straight."

And, oh, how
she loved the way his accent got so thick when he was turned on. It gave her
delightful little shivers all over.

"Seriously,
love. In case I haven't said it well enough or often enough, I love you. You're
it for me and we're in this thing together, for sure."

Rolling them to
their sides, facing one another, he hitched her leg up over his hip. They both
gasped as he slid into her in one smooth motion. They made love slow and
gentle, the cool light of the moon glinting off their skin.

When Isla
finally crested the wave of her release, Jeremiah was right there with her,
pouring his whole self into her. Finally rolling apart, Isla curled into his
side and closed her eyes. Everything would be fine, she thought.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Jeremiah woke
up to the incessant croaking of a bullfrog next to his ear. What...what?
"What the
—
?" he groused, his voice gritty from sleep.

Isla groaned
and put a pillow over her face. "Oh dear God, make it stop!"

"What the
hell is it?"

"It's your
phone, genius. It's Andrew. He changed your ringtone to the frogs while he was
fiddling with it," she mumbled and tossed a pillow at him. "Just
answer it already."

Clicking the
phone onto speaker, Jere glared at the goofy picture Drew had taken of himself
to pop up when he called. "What?"

"Aw, now
that's no way to talk to your best good friend. Where y'at, Cap?"

"Drew,
what the hell time is it? Where are you?"

"Just
settling in at my hotel in Edinburgh, thought I'd see if you had any questions
about the rest of the translations," he answered, studiously ignoring the
first question. "You?"

"We're in
bed, you ass! It was a long night."

"Oh, I
see. You're all bent outta shape because I interrupted you with your new little
piece—"

"Mornin',
Dr. Deveraux."

"I'm just
pickin' atcha,
cher
. When are you gonna leave that
coullion
and
run away with me?"

"Did you
have a point?" Jeremiah growled at his friend.

"Sure did.
The University set me up with a penthouse suite at the Balmoral. I was
wondering if y'all would like to come up north and keep me company for a day or
two. We could discuss the translations."

Jeremiah didn't
get the feeling his friend had any new information. More than likely, he was
just bored. "Don't think we're at a point where we can leave, but we'll
think about it and get back to you."

"Sounds
good, brother. Take care."

"Yeah, you
too."

Sighing,
Jeremiah rolled over and buried his face in the crook of Isla's neck, while she
gently rubbed his back. Eventually they were able to drift back to sleep.

Another rude
awakening came when Isla's phone began to vibrate...against Jeremiah's head.
"You have
got
to be kidding me." He took the phone and padded
out of the room, thinking that at least one of them should get some sleep.

"Hello?"
he answered when he reached the living room.

"Ah...Yes.
I was looking for Isla MacAllen. To whom am I speaking?"

"This is
Dr. Jeremiah Rousseau." He clenched his jaw hard to try and keep the
irritation out of his voice. Rubbing at a sore spot on his shoulder blade, he
waited for the speaker to continue.

"Oh, Dr.
Rousseau, good. This is Dr. MacLaren from Sacred Hearts. I was calling to talk
to Isla about Mrs. Mackay. I'm afraid I have bad news."

Isla felt the
mattress dip as Jeremiah sat down beside her. She didn't move, hoping he would
give up and go away. After only four hours of sleep, was it too much for a girl
to ask to sleep in?

A gentle shake
to her shoulder caused her to grumble and peek up at him through her curls.
"Darlin', you have a phone call." His tone caused a spark of worry in
her, but she brushed it off, thinking he must just be tired.

Moaning a little,
she stretched and yawned. "Tell them I'll call them back."

"No,
Isla." He waited until she looked up at him again. The look in his eyes
caused her heart to plummet. "You need to take this, baby."

Pulse drumming,
she accepted the phone from him. "Hello, this is Isla."

"Isla, Dr.
MacLaren here. I am afraid I have some bad news about your grandmother."

She listened
numbly to the doctor for several minutes.. Finally she ended the call and
stared down at the phone in her hands as if she was surprised to find it there.

"She's
gone." Her voice was quiet. Brittle.

Sliding over
beside her, Jeremiah gently took the phone from her and pulled her to him.
"What happened?"

"Not sure,
exactly. He used a lot of medical lingo, but the gist of it seemed to be that
she died of natural causes. It happened in her sleep, around three a.m. He said
she wouldn't have been in any pain."

For a moment,
he looked as if he wanted to say something, but shook his head and smiled
weakly. "I'm sure he's right."

"What were
you thinking? You have to be honest with me, Jeremiah. I'm not going to
break."

"Three
a.m. The witching hour. I just wonder what time it was when Alastore made his
grande
entrée
."

"I looked
at the clock when I first woke up. It was two forty a.m. Which would have put
the time he 'killed' the astral projection of Mhairi..."

"At around
3 a.m. Damn."

"His hands
are all over this," she said. "I don't know how, and I don't know
why, but he did this. We have to stop him before he hurts anyone else."

When neither of
them were able to go back to sleep, they showered and dressed. As Jeremiah
emerged from the bathroom, Isla pulled him into a tight hug, needing to feel
his strength surrounding her. Her hands snaked up his back to rub in gentle
circles, but he hissed and pulled away when her hand brushed his left shoulder
blade.

"What's
wrong? Are you hurt?"

He shook his
head and gave her a pained smile. "It's nothing. I think I must have
gotten burned by some of the fire-rain from last night." And just how
ridiculous was that statement, she thought.

Isla decided
that they should head into Expeditions for the morning. Having lost her only
real family member, Isla felt a pressing need to be surrounded by her little
makeshift family.

The lobby was
bustling when they arrived. The morning tours were just going out, and Callum
and Jack were returning with a group from an overnight camping trip.

Isla smiled as
Amy led a group of young kayakers through the lobby with Kieran trailing
behind. Just before he went out the door, Kieran turned. "Hey Isla? Almost
forgot. Some fancy lookin' bloke came in looking for you. I told him you
weren't in yet, but he wanted to wait. He's in the lounge."

Exchanging a
worried glance with Jeremiah, she waived the young man off. "Thanks,
Kieran, have a good trip and be safe."

"Will
do!"

The lounge was
created as a place where customers and employees could relax and enjoy the
scenery. It had high, vaulted ceilings with exposed rafters, and picture
windows along two walls. The view was one of the best the island had to offer.
The floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace topped off the rustic coziness of the
room.

When she came
in, Isla saw the man standing in front of the western window with his back to
her. Hearing them enter, he turned around and gave her a sad smile.

"Miss
MacAllen?" His voice was smooth, cultured, with a hint of Slavic...maybe
Russian. When she nodded, he stepped forward. "I am Alexei Vasiliev. I'm
afraid I have some sensitive information to discuss with you." He cast a
wary glance at Jeremiah.

"Mr. Vasiliev,
this is Dr. Jeremiah Rousseau. Anything you have to discuss can be said in
front of him."

Vasiliev
appeared disconcerted at first but eventually shrugged and gestured toward one
of the plush leather couches. "As you wish. Shall we sit?"

Isla sat at one
end of the couch, across from Vasiliev, while Jeremiah sat on the coffee table,
seeming to invade the newcomer's personal space with his presence. She had to
bite her lip to keep from laughing at his obvious alpha posturing.

"Why are you
here, Mr. Vasiliev?" She saw no need in skirting the issue.

"I have
come to speak with you about your family's estate."

Confusion
marred her brow as Isla tried to process the information. "I don't
understand. There isn't any estate. I don't have a family."

"Perhaps
you should start at the beginning," growled Jeremiah.

"Yes, of
course. I am one of the solicitors on retainer to represent the interests of
the patients at the Benton Heights Asylum in Edinburgh."

The name
dropped like a stone in the quiet room, and Isla felt the dread welling in her
to the tip of her toes. "What would you want with me?" she asked in a
small voice.

"You are
the daughter of Mrs. Eileen MacAllen, yes?"

"She
birthed me, if that's what you're asking," she said coldly.

Obviously uncomfortable,
Vasiliev cleared his throat. "I'm afraid Mrs. MacAllen is not well. She
has requested that I draw up a will for her, and she is naming you as her
beneficiary."

He paused for
dramatic effect, as if he were expecting some sort of jubilation. When silence
reigned in the room and all he got was a dead stare from Isla, he pressed on.
"Of course, you would have to come to Edinburgh to sign all of the
official documents, but she plans to leave everything to you when she passes.
She has also requested to meet with you before the papers are signed.

Vasiliev jumped
when Jeremiah cursed. Isla squeezed his knee, letting him know that she was
okay. "Why now?"

"Pardon?"

"Why. Now?
Are you aware of what happened between my mother and I, Mr. Vasiliev?"

"Alexei,
please. I only know what little Mrs. MacAllen has told me...that because she
was an alcoholic, you were taken from her at a young age and put in an
orphanage."

She laughed,
but the sound was hollow and humorless. "I haven't seen my mother in
twenty years,
Alexei
. Not since she slit my throat when I was
eight."

The dark-haired
man's chocolate-colored eyes widened, and Isla lifted her chin back so that the
scar was visible. "She had told me that my grandmother, who would have
been my only other living relative, was dead, when in reality Eileen had kicked
her out and told her never to come back. After my mother tried to kill me, I
was put in an orphanage and I never heard from her again. I assumed that she
must have died in prison or in whatever cage they put her in. No offense."

Vasiliev
shrugged weakly, clearly shaken and off-kilter. "None taken, of course. I
apologize for bothering you and bringing up these obviously painful memories.
However, if you'll allow it, I do have a piece of advice."

When she gestured
for him to continue, he nodded his thanks. "Whatever happened between you
and your mother, she isn't going to be with us much longer. So if you need any
kind of closure—if you have anything you've always wanted to ask or say to
her—then I would encourage you to do so. I know it's none of my business, but
for what it's worth, I am no stranger to unfinished business."

A shadow
crossed his face in the space of a second, before he rose and shook hands with
both of them. He handed Isla a business card with an apologetic smile.
"Should you decide to visit, just give me a call and I'll set it up for
you. Just think about it."

"Thank you
for coming all of this way, Mr. Vasiliev. I'll show you out."

He raised a
hand to stop her. "No need. I'll find my way." And then he was gone.
Isla sank back down on the couch and stared at the card in her hand.

Jeremiah sat
next to her and turned to face her. "You don't have to do anything, you
know. You can just throw it away."

She shook her
head. "Yes, I do. Vasiliev was right. If I don't go, I'll always regret
not confronting her. And besides, the most important thing right now is
learning how to defeat Alastore. She may have information that can help
us."

Squaring her
shoulders, Isla raised her eyes to Jeremiah's face.

"I'll call
Drew and see if his offer to take one of the rooms in his suite is still open.
We can drive up today and spend a few days in the city while Vasiliev sets up
the visit."

Silently, he
pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, and Isla knew he was trying to
give her all the strength he had.

~~~

As they stood
in front of the Benton Heights Asylum, Isla felt a cold fist of dread surround
her heart. The five-story stone building was an imposing figure, silhouetted
against the early evening sky.

It resembled a
medieval keep, complete with battlements and turrets. She wondered if it had
been built to look that way or if the building had been converted. Iron bars on
the upper level windows reminded her of what exactly the facility was meant to
house. Dangerous criminals who were deemed unable to stand trial due to lack of
mental faculties.

They approached
by the front walk that wound its way through what probably used to be elaborate
gardens, left to grow wild from lack of care.

Pausing at the
front steps, Isla glanced around at the dismal setting and then turned back to
Jeremiah. "Don't let me forget who she is."

He nodded. She
knew that Jere would understand her first instinct would be to feel sorry for
someone who had to live in this environment, and she may need a reminder as to
why her mother had earned her place at the forbidding institution.