Page 115 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I leaned against my car and gulped in several breaths of the cool air. My brain felt scrambled.

It was awful what had happened to Emily, and I could understand why Hazel was so consumed by grief over the death of her sister. But what she was accusing Rafe of…

I caught sight of myself in my car window. What if what Hazel said was true? What if Rafe had left that poor girl to perish in the car?

But then I thought back to Hazel’s irrational behaviour and her refusal to consider Rafe as a victim too. She hadn’t seen his face.

Everything was jockeying in my head for prime position.

I climbed into my car and switched on the headlights. They dazzled like giant eyes, illuminating the dry-stone wall in front of me.

I clutched at the steering wheel. Why was I so keen to speak to Rafe about all this, anyway? Why was it so important for me to believe the best of him?

I fired up the car engine and took off back towards Loch Harris, before taking the diversion towards Galen Waterfall.

I knew what I wanted to think – my heart was screaming at me – yet, beneath this, there was now an incessant murmuring, a droning voice that wouldn’t leave me alone.

You don’t know what really happened. You can’t know.

I swiped one frustrated hand across my forehead and concentrated as much as I could on the road snaking ahead of me.

My headlights picked out the waterfall as it gushed down the rockface in the dark, with Coorie Cottage’s lights seeping through the cracks in Rafe’s blinds on the opposite side of the road.

I parked, listened to the car engine fade, and snatched my bag from the passenger seat. My eyes slid up to my rear-view mirror. I had chewed most of my lipstick off.

With my stomach turning itself over, I stalked towards Rafe’s front door to talk to him about Emily. More importantly, to talk about him.

Chapter Sixty-One

Rafe’s voice almost blended in with the sound of Galen Waterfall. Judging from the direction the music was coming from, it seemed he was in the garden, strumming his acoustic guitar.

“Rafe? Rafe, it’s me. Layla.”

His tall shape emerged from near the herbaceous border, pushing back his hood and smoothing his hair.

It was a simple action. One of trust. It made my heart clench.

But did I trust him, still?

Of course I did, I concluded sharply.

My head buzzed as he pinned me to the spot with his black eyes. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.” I felt a sudden chill and wrapped my arms around myself. “I need to talk to you. About Emily.”

His handsome face closed down. My attention strayed to his scar.

“I take it you’ve been talking to Hazel Jennings.”

I blinked up at him. “There was someone here that first time, wasn’t there, when Tom and I turned up? It was her.”

He held my gaze but said nothing for a few moments.

Rafe’s beloved garden, with its heavenly scents, shades, and shapes, swayed behind him.

“Yes, I thought there was someone hanging around outside. I thought I heard Hazel trying to talk to me through the front door.” He whipped a frustrated hand through his hair. “I thought I was going crazy.” He sighed and carried on. “So I went out to check, but I couldn’t see anyone and just assumed it was my imagination playing tricks on me.”

Rafe rubbed at his chin. “Then when you and your police officer friends arrived here, saying that a passing motorist had seen someone prowling around, I didn’t know what to think.”