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Liam knew. Jamaica had powers. She’d sworn never to use them again, but when the situation was dire vows would be broken, blood would be spilled, sacrifices made.
“Who?” Liam murmured, the softness of his voice belying the turmoil within.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here; I’d be kicking his ass until he occupied a bed in the room next to hers.”
“Why are ye here?” Liam asked. It didn’t follow that Jamaica being hurt would send Marty to his sister.
Marty’s gaze was tortured. “Because the last thing Jamaica said before she lost consciousness was, ‘Save Kris.’”
*
Kris awoke with a nasty headache. If she got conked on the head any more she was going to wind up with brain damage.
Except she hadn’t been hit. Not this time. This time she’d been drugged.
Which was so much better.
She was cold. No longer inside, but somewhere near the water, as she could smell the loch and … pine trees.
Kris opened her eyes. It was still dark. She hadn’t been out that long. Unless she’d been out an entire day and most of the night. But she didn’t think so.
She lay on the ground. Her hands were bound, but her feet weren’t, so she sat up, and then wished she hadn’t. Not only because of the increase in brain pain, but also because as soon as she did she saw that she wasn’t alone.
“How are you feeling?” Dougal Scott asked.
“Are you crazy?”
Fury flashed in his eyes, and Kris wanted to bite her tongue. Obviously he was crazy. He was a damn serial killer. Pointing that out, however, probably not the best idea while bound and helpless.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said, getting over his anger fairly quickly. “If you’d be up in the middle of the night again and see the e-mail in time.”
“I—” Kris broke off. “How did you know I’m up in the middle of the night?”
“Your lights. I could see you moving about behind the curtains.”
He’d been watching her. No wonder she’d felt so … watched.
“What if I hadn’t seen the e-mail?”
“I’d have come to you.” He shrugged. “But it was easier if you came to me.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“I need them off my back.”
“Them?”
“The Jäger-Suchers. Interpol.” He took a few steps toward her. “Clever to send you. I didn’t suspect. Not until I found your silver knife.”
Hell, she’d known that was going to bite her on the ass.
He tilted his head. “But are you J-S or Interpol?” He continued before she could deny being either one. “Doesn’t matter. I was mad.” He wagged a finger at her. “You fooled me. I thought you liked me. Still, I shouldn’t have used your knife on that girl.” His face fell. “I never meant for her to be found. But she got caught in the damn lock. And that put a crimp in what I’ve been trying to do.”
“Which is?”
“Don’t play stupid!” His shout echoed over the silent loch. Would someone investigate? Should she hope they did or that they didn’t?
He appeared to be waiting for her to answer. Considering his hair-trigger temper, she decided to humor him. “You wanted Nessie blamed for the killings.”
