Authors: Sophia Knightly
"Thanks, I hope so,” Natasha said, sending Ian a hopeful look.
Connor typed in several commands and shook his head. “It looks like it’s either damaged or something else is going on."
"Damaged?" A chill snaked up Natasha’s spine. "How is that possible?"
“Flash drives take a lot of wear and tear,” Ian said. "It could have been tinkered with. Or maybe just knocking around in your suitcase did it. Who knows?”
“Can it be fixed?” Natasha asked.
Connor nodded. “Probably. Let me try something else. The USB connector seems to be intact, so that’s a good thing.”
Natasha's mind raced with all kinds of questions. What if the mob caught up with her and demanded the flash drive? What would happen to her if they couldn’t access the information? She didn’t even want to think about it. She glanced at Ian to gauge his mood. He stood rigidly behind Connor, his eyes glued to the screen.
After several minutes, Connor leaned back in his chair. “Done,” he said with an air of triumph. “All the files are accessible now.” He got up and rolled another chair beside the one he’d been sitting in. “You can sit here and read them.”
“I’d rather not,” Natasha said nervously. “Would you take a look, Ian?” She walked away from the desk and let Ian sit beside Connor.
Ian clicked on several files and gave them a quick glance. “Some of these have names, addresses and dates. And events.” He turned to look at Natasha, his expression dire. “Looks like we have a directory and timeline of Mafia activity here.”
Natasha returned to his side and peered at the screen as he clicked on a few files. “Wait a minute. I think I see someone I recognize here,” she said, shocked. “Doesn’t
gamberi
mean shrimp in Italian?”
“Yes, why?”
She pointed to the screen. “Look, it says Rico the shrimp here. That has to be him!”
“Who the hell is Rico the shrimp?” Ian demanded.
“He used to own the jazz club with Tony. The irony is that Rico isn’t a shrimp, he’s pretty tall,” Natasha said. “Now I’m wondering whether it was Rico or one of the mob guys who were in my apartment.”
“Do you want me to take it to the police?” Connor asked. “I have a friend who’s a detective—”
“No,” Ian cut in. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather not involve Interpol. We need to get this back to the detectives in the States so they can put the word out that Natasha doesn’t have it. Her life is in danger until they do.”
The walls of the small office seemed to close in on her as icy terror crawled up Natasha’s spine and spread over her suddenly chilled flesh. Ian was right about everything, especially the part about her life being in danger.
Back in the car, Natasha’s hands shook as she stared at the flash drive. “To think this tiny object holds information that’s already gotten one person killed.”
“Tell me about this Rico guy,” Ian said, eyes on the two lane road.
Natasha shuddered. “He’s scary. The morning after my place was ransacked he ambushed me outside my building and demanded that I give him the flash drive.”
Ian’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to her with an exasperated look. “Why didn’t you tell me the
scunner
showed up at your building?” he demanded, his voice deepening with each word.
“Hey, don’t get mad at me. There was so much going on, I forgot to mention it.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What else did you forget to mention?” he growled.
“Nothing. I was in a state of shock…and injured, remember?” she said defensively.
Ian shook his head and muttered a string of expletives.
Natasha touched his biceps, the tension steely beneath her hand. “What do we do now?” she asked cautiously.
“We can’t go to Interpol because you’ll be detained forever as they try to sort it out.” He thought for a moment. “Do you have a lawyer you trust?”
“Yes. Her name is Saundra Armstrong. She handles all my contracts.”
“Good. Call her first tomorrow and fill her in on everything. She can contact the detectives on your behalf. In the meantime, I’ll arrange for Ron, my pilot, to hand over the flash drive to one of the detectives.”
“That would be great.” She stared at him in awe. “When did you come up with this?”
His gaze flicked over her with concern. “It occurred to me while we were looking at the files. Anything to keep you safe,” he said resolutely. “Once the police have the flash drive, they’ll have to move quickly to put the word out so the mob knows you don’t have it."
She nodded. “I just want all of this to be over with. I wonder if Detective Carson was able to identify the fingerprints of whoever ransacked my apartment.” She paused and considered it. “I guess it’s doubtful they got any prints if they were wearing gloves."
"Don’t be too sure. Certain types of plastic gloves aren't thick enough to conceal fingerprints, especially if the fingers are deeply ridged like a man's."
"Really? Are you certain?"
He slanted a look that said are you kidding me? "I'm a dermatologist, I know about skin.”
“True. You know about a lot of things. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“I won’t let any harm come to you. And you’re not going back to New York until it’s safe for you to return,” he said, turning his attention back to the road.
She kissed his lean jaw. “Thank you, Ian. I so appreciate your help,” she said, touched he wanted to protect her, but disappointed he was already mentioning her going back to New York. She looked out the window, lost in thought as Ian drove to the orphanage.
They arrived at the Old Edinburgh Orphanage after a short drive and entered the old stone building to find Mrs. Byrne waiting for them outside her office door. Ian introduced Natasha to the middle-aged headmistress. Mrs. Byrne wore her steel gray hair in a no-nonsense pixie cut and was dressed in a perfectly pressed, but faded blue shirtwaist dress.
She greeted them courteously. "Wee Arthur will be verra pleased to see you, Dr. MacGregor. He has high hopes that you’ll be able to help him.”
"I’d like to meet him. Where is he?" Ian asked.
"Outside, playing. I'll take you there."
They followed the tall, athletic headmistress to a birch tree-lined playground filled with run-down wooden swings and one old metal climbing gym showing signs of erosion and peeling paint. She pointed where a skinny pint-sized boy sat, tracing circles in the sand. Small shoulders slumped and dark head bent, he was alone, away from the other children his age playing and shouting happily.
Mrs. Byrne clapped her hands briskly. "Arthur!" she called, "Dr. MacGregor is here to see you. Come quick, laddie."
Natasha was struck by the stark loneliness in Arthur’s eyes when he glanced up. When he saw Ian, his face blossomed with hope. He jumped up and brushed the sand from the seat of his worn, oversized jeans and ran toward them. Natasha's heart clenched with despair when she saw the vivid purple blotch that started at the boy’s left temple and swept down the whole side of his face to just below his chin. Thankfully, it didn’t cover his eye. How on earth was Ian going to be able to erase it? It would take a miracle. Adding to the tragedy, the other half of his face was beautiful, almost poetic. The boy's fair complexion and deep blue eyes contrasted vibrantly to his dark, close-cropped hair.
Ian smiled at Arthur who stood before him, thick-lashed eyes downcast. He tilted Arthur's chin up with a gentle hand and looked into his eyes. Natasha watched them quietly, captivated by Ian’s tender expression as he gazed at Arthur's face.
"Hello, Arthur, I'm Dr. Ian.” His big hand engulfed Arthur’s tiny one in a man-to-man handshake. “Come with me and I'll examine your face. Then I’ll explain how I'm going to erase the mark. Would you like that?" he said kindly.
Arthur nodded, his grave face transformed by an eager grin. Natasha's heart melted as she watched Ian hold Arthur's small hand in his on the walk back to Mrs. Byrne's office. Ian would make an amazing father one day, she thought, her heart melting.
Natasha waited beside Mrs. Byrne outside the office, while Ian examined Arthur's face. Moments later they emerged laughing together.
"Mrs. Byrne, I've invited wee Arthur to lunch with us. Does he have your permission to join Miss White and me?" Ian said.
"Aye, Dr. MacGregor," Mrs. Byrne said with a courteous smile. "He'll miss spelling, but he can make it up tomorrow." She turned to Arthur and fussed over him, tucking in his shirt and smoothing his hair. "Mind your manners, laddie. Remember what you've been taught here."
"Aye, Mrs. Byrne.” Arthur looked up at Natasha and smiled shyly.
Natasha couldn’t resist taking Arthur’s little hand in hers as they walked to the car.
They stopped at a store near the park. When they entered, the room grew hushed. The patrons stopped talking and stared at Arthur with perverse curiosity. The mother lioness in Natasha emerged as she leveled a deadly stare at them until they averted their eyes and minded their own business. Why did strangers have to be so cruel? Through no fault of his own, Arthur was born with a defect, yet they thought nothing of staring at him as if he were a freak. Her heart went out to him, and she wished she could protect him from similar episodes in the future.
Natasha took Arthur outside while Ian bought a picnic lunch of sandwiches, fruit and cookies, and a soccer ball to play with. After lunch, Ian played soccer—or football as they called it in Europe—with Arthur at a playground off Bruntsfield Links. She was anxious to find out Ian’s diagnosis for Arthur's face, but she would have to wait. They were having too much fun playing and she knew Ian was doing it to make Arthur relax and trust him.
When they rejoined her, out of breath and ready for a sweet treat, they stopped at S. Luca, an ice cream shop on Morningside Road. Ian bought them “cheeky chocolate” ice cream, as Arthur had requested, and they went outside to eat it. The afternoon sun tinged the clouds a salmon color. Natasha slowly inhaled the cool, damp air, enjoying the aroma of distant bonfires. She and Ian walked down the cobblestone street with Arthur happily ensconced between them.
"Do you like school?" Natasha asked Arthur.
He shrugged and tilted his head to one side as he regarded her pensively. His clear, somber eyes had the astuteness of an adult’s, yet his face was that of a child. "Sort of," he said at last.
"What's your favorite subject?" she asked.
"Art. I like to draw pictures."
"I love art too,” Natasha said. “What do you like to draw?"
"Faces. Bonnie ones like yours,” he said ducking his head as his cheeks bloomed hot pink.
“Why, thank you, Arthur.” Natasha smiled at his bashful admission. "Do you like Mrs. Byrne?"
"Aye. She treats me like the other kids, even though my face looks like the devil himself," he said, nodding emphatically.
With a sinking heart, Natasha realized he was repeating what others had told him. All because his mother had gotten it in her head that he was the devil’s son. So bizarre. "You don't look like a devil, Arthur. Quite the contrary! You have handsome eyes and a wonderful smile."
Arthur’s face lit up and he flashed a surprised smile as his dark blue eyes regarded her curiously. "I do?"
“Yes, you do.” Natasha’s throat clogged with emotion at his look of relief. She winked at him. "I can tell you’re smart too.”
“And brave," Ian added with a kind smile. "We’ll be starting the treatments soon. Your scar will improve and I may be able to erase it completely."
"Will it hurt?" Arthur asked, round-eyed.
"No, not too much. Maybe a twinge or two. Laser treatments are a bit like magic," Ian said.
“They are? Are you sure it won't hurt?" Arthur’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Don't you have to stick me with needles?"
Ian shook his head. "No. Lasers aren’t like shots at all," he assured him. "I'll explain each step of the treatment before we start. Do you trust me?"
Arthur nodded vigorously and took a large spoonful of the chocolate ice cream. The ice cream missed his mouth and landed on his blue shirt. He nervously clutched his cloth napkin and dabbed at the spot, making it worse. "Oh, no! Tis my Sunday shirt," he wailed anxiously. "Mrs. Byrne will be mad that I spoiled it." He looked like he was about to cry and Natasha wondered if he was afraid of being punished by Mrs. Byrne.
"Don't worry, sweetie. I'll get the stain out for you," Natasha said quickly. She ordered a club soda and when it arrived, she saturated her napkin with it and worked the stain out of his shirt.
Arthur glanced at her with grateful eyes. “Thank you, Miss.”
"You're very welcome. And you may call me Natasha," she said giving him a hug. She exchanged a look with Ian before releasing him.
“I wish I could change my name,” Arthur mumbled.
"Why would you want to?”
Arthur shrugged. “The kids make fun of it.”
“Don’t pay attention to them. Arthur is a very noble name. Don't you think so, Ian?" Natasha said, glancing at him.
Ian nodded sagely. "Arthur is a grand name for a brave lad like you. Do you know the story of King Arthur and his knights of the round table?"
"No," Arthur replied in a small voice.
"Arthur was a smart and noble king who ruled over a perfect land called Camelot. When he was a wee lad," Ian paused and smiled at Arthur, who was listening raptly. "Around your age, I believe ...”
By the time Ian finished the story, Arthur was beaming. "I think I'll keep my name. Arthur's a name to be proud of, eh?" he asked Natasha.
“It is,” Natasha agreed with a warm hug.
When they returned Arthur to the orphanage and Mrs. Byrne's care, Ian stood with him just outside the headmistress's office. He was so much taller than Arthur, he had to squat down before him to look directly in his eyes. "As soon as my laser equipment arrives, we'll start your treatments. Until then, if you need anything, you can call me."
Ian retrieved a small calling card with his cell phone number on it. "Here is the phone number where you can reach me. Can you read it?”
“Yes, sir. I know my numbers and my letters,” Arthur said earnestly.