Page 65 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Dad rested one arm along the window. “You hardly know this Mask guy. You don’t even know what this disturbance is and yet you’re rushing up to his house.”

I indicated right, taking the open road past the dark shimmer of Loch Harris. “I’m just being neighbourly.”

“And?”

Galen Waterfall slid into view down the rock face, through the black night.

A police car was stationed in front of the cottage and Tom and a female colleague were clambering out.

Dad was still studying me, waiting for a response.

“Mask gave me two CDs of his exclusive new songs to play at the launch night of The Conch Club.” Dad’s brows rose with surprise. “I guess I also feel a bit sorry for him, living up here alone.”

“Maybe it’s his choice.”

Something niggled at me. A voice inside my head wasn’t convinced about that.

As the ignition wound to a halt, Dad smiled over. “You were always a soft-hearted soul, even as a kid. You definitely didn’t inherit that from your mother.”

We jumped out, slamming the car doors. Tom and his blonde police companion were peering at us as we approached. “Hi Layla,” puzzled Tom. “What are you doing up here?”

“I was kind of wondering the same thing,” mumbled Dad, shaking hands with Tom and the female officer.

I hooked my thumbs into the pockets of my glittery jeans. “Is everything OK? It’s just I sort of know the person who’s living here now.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” twinkled Tom. “And it’s not like you just live around the corner.”

“Well, I suppose nobody does,” I pointed out. “At least not in this area. The guy who lives here is on his own; I thought I should make sure he was OK.”

The policewoman shone a torch down past the cottage to the garden. It illuminated the waggling branches of flowers and leaves in various silhouettes of shape and height. “Looks like someone has green fingers,” she remarked, scanning the darkened garden.

“You should see it in the daytime,” I replied. “It’s stunning.”

The female police officer clicked off her torch. “One of our colleagues at the station received a call from a passing motorist to say that there seemed to be some sort of commotion taking place outside the cottage.”

“Well officers, I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.”

We snapped our heads round to look at Mask, who was partially concealed by his open front door.

The four of us shuffled closer, making him retreat further back behind the door. A shadow fell across his masked face and thick shock of dark hair. He wasn’t wearing a hooded top this time.

Mask’s chocolate brown eyes fell on me. “Ms Devlin?” He angled his head to one side, his voice taut. “This is becoming a bit of a habit.”

Two stripes of heat rose in my cheeks. “I was in the local pub with my dad and heard there had been some sort of incident up here, so I thought…”

Mask’s mouth flatlined. “Thought what? That you’d break the monotony of a thrilling night in the local hostelry to have another nosey about?”

Embarrassment flared in my chest. Sarcastic sod.

Tom flashed me a look of sympathy. “There’s no need to be rude, sir. Ms Devlin was just being neighbourly, that’s all. Now, we had a report—”

“I just told you, officer. Everything is fine. Whoever reported an incident must have thought they saw something when they clearly didn’t.”

The blonde police officer didn’t appear convinced and answered Mask’s insistence with a cynical hitch of an eyebrow.

Neither was I.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” added Mask tightly. “Have a good evening and again, I apologise for your time having been wasted.”