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Callum swung his fist and managed to connect with Lake’s jaw.
“You hit me again and I’m going to hit back. You got it?”
Like Callum gave a crap. “Bring it on, English.”
An arm clamped across his forearms, holding them in place.
“Hurry,” Joe said. “He’s strong.”
Callum shouted obscenities until he felt the veins in his neck bulge and his head grew light. Suddenly, the cool cotton sheets of his bed were at his back.
“Get his legs,” Lake said. “Put them on the chest. I’ll put the wheelchair beside his bed. He’s less likely to throw the wheelchair at us. If he wants his legs, he can roll over and get them.”
Callum grabbed his alarm clock and lobbed it at Lake’s head. His aim was off and the clock hit the wall and shattered.
Cold eyes caught his. “I will knock you out.” Lake’s voice was icy calm.
“Bring it on.” Callum made a fist and waved it. “I can take you. You arrogant English bastard.”
Joe shook his head and left the room. Callum could hear voices coming from the other room. All of his damn team were there. All of them. He’d locked himself away from them. And they were there anyway.
“I don’t want them in here,” he told Lake.
“What the hell do you want?” Lake folded his arms and glared down at Callum.
The question knocked the wind out of him. He sagged back into his bed and stared at the ceiling. But he didn’t see it. He saw his past. The part of his life that was never coming back. The part where he knew who he was and what he could do. The part where he’d felt invincible.
“I want out,” he said. “I’m done being part of Benson Security. I want to go home.”
To Scotland. To die.
Because.
He.
Was.
Done.
CHAPTER 2
Present day, the village of Arness, Scotland
ISOBEL SINCLAIR SHOULD HAVE CONTACTED the authorities the first time she saw the boat sneaking into the cove. But she didn’t. She should have called when there was a storm during the boat’s third visit, and the crew lost some of their baggage on the rocky path up to Arness. But she didn’t. Instead, she’d gathered their lost cargo, called it her own and sold it to help pay off her ex-husband’s debts.
Which made her a thief, just like him.
And her thieving was the reason she still didn’t call in the authorities the time the boat turned up in the dead of night, and there was shouting in the darkness. Or the time she’d seen evidence that someone had dragged something heavy over the beach.
No, she’d never called the authorities. Not once. Even though she knew the boat brought nothing but trouble each time it snuck into shore.
But she should have called, because the boat had come back.
And this time, they’d left a body behind.
“What are we going to do with him?” Isobel’s youngest sister, Mairi, stared down at the man.
The dead man.
