Prologue

You can never really imagine how bad things can get.

Of course you worry about it... Did I leave the iron on? What if the airbags don’t go off? This headache must be a tumor...

There’s always that comforting thought—even if it’s buried deep inside you—that there’s probably nothing to worry about. And when you can breathe that sigh of relief—you didn’t forget your keys, you did just update your home insurance, you did pay that bill—there’s always that moment when you shake your head and say, how silly of me.

I was always one of those people who was able to relax, sit back and laugh, no matter what was happening out there in the real world. Because bad things only ever happened to other people. My life hadn’t been stained by some unseen tragedy that I would need years of therapy to cure. There were no skeletons in my closet. And as someone who was unmarked by misfortune, I lived a fairly laidback life. Nothing ever really bothered me. I had great friends, an exciting boyfriend, my own car, my parents were happily married… life was grand.

This past summer, my boyfriend, Jeremy, and his best friend, Patrick, concocted an idea that was too good to pass up. They wanted the four of us—Patrick also happened to be dating my best friend, Lisa—to go out to Edinburgh for the Fringe Festival before school started. Patrick’s cousin Neil went there to study theater and was going to be in a production written by a local playwright for the festival, and since the family he was staying with had extra rooms in their house they said we could all go and stay with them for as long as we wanted. Sounds like a good deal, right? I thought so.

My parents had taken one of their many impromptu yacht trips at the end of July. Since school was going to start in a month, I decided that it was the best time for a last-minute summer adventure before my final year of university. I was in Sociology at Yale, getting really good grades and working really hard. Living at home and having my tuition paid for probably made that a little easier. I knew I was the 1% that wouldn’t have to slave away for the next fifteen years just to pay off school loans, and I was certainly grateful for it.

You see, we were sort of rich. And when I say rich, I’m going to go ahead and guess that we were somewhere in the neighborhood of Vanderbilt-rich. My dad owned a shipping company with his brother that operated out of the UK, and my mother inherited quite a bit when her father died, not to mention her occasional consulting and public speaking gigs. I was an only child, which meant the fortune would one day be mine, but I very humbly used my trust fund only for school, a few shopping sprees here or there and the occasional trip abroad. And the bmw I so lovingly called Babs was a gift from my uncle for my twenty-first birthday three years ago. Watching him try to figure out Skype when I wanted to call and thank him was both embarrassing and hilarious. He lived in Scotland, and my dad was here with us in Connecticut, but they were always on business trips together. My dad was the money man, had his iPhone and iPad with him wherever he went. He would often leave the room to take a call from his brother, who was in charge of operations, but clearly had no idea of how to operate modern-day electronics.

So, with every reason to go to Scotland written on a checklist and ready to read to my parents if they ever picked up their messages and called me back, I decided that hell freaking yeah I was going to Scotland.

Even though my dad and Uncle Garrick were close, both professionally and personally, I hadn’t actually gone to see him since I was twelve. He always came here about once or twice a year, and said it was easier for one man to travel than my both my parents and myself. I didn’t really understand what he did for the company exactly, but I knew he was really important and very wealthy. Obviously, once a young girl knows her family is rolling in it, she doesn’t need to question why the money is there. After thinking about my uncle’s little personality quirks, I decided not to tell him I would be in his country on vacation. It would be my first time there as an adult, and I could just imagine him trying to slip my friends twenties and lending us his sports car to go have a bonny time. He was my flesh and blood, and I did love him, but there were corny family trips, and there were get-drunk-with-your-friends-and-dance-until-your-feet-bleed kind of trips. Guess which one I wanted to take?

I will see him next time, I had promised myself.

And maybe that next time he wouldn’t be under house arrest, or whatever the hell was happening when I was there last. We went to visit when I was twelve years-old, and there were several men with walkie-talkies and guard dogs all around his property, even a guy at the front gate with a huge gun. I had completely forgotten about it until a few years ago, when Jeremy had the not-so-brilliant idea to drive down to Mexico with one of his college buddies during spring break. When he told me what the border patrol looked like, I was instantly reminded of that time at Uncle Garry’s. When I asked my father about it, he said I had imagined it and waved me off. Waiting until I was out his sight to roll my eyes, I decided it didn’t really matter. I was a mama’s girl and numb to his dismissive comments. Besides, what daddy said was best, right? He was the type of man that always wanted a son and was not afraid to admit it. Oh, he loved me for sure, why else would he support me through one of the most expensive universities in the world? But like I said, if I needed love and support, I went straight to my mother.

When we got to Edinburgh, there were people everywhere. On most days, the capital city of Scotland is jammed with tourists, but during the Fringe Festival, you couldn’t stretch your arms out without touching someone. But it only made it that much more spectacular. The four of us drank whisky, climbed Arthur’s Seat, watched the shows, danced at the ceilidhs—we were having a blast. We even went to one of those underground ghost tours that managed to scare the crap out of Lisa and me, and gave teasing rights to Jeremy and Patrick for the entire week. But we got over it. What with the music, the fireworks, the shopping… we were having the time of our lives. And why wouldn’t we? We were young, worry-free, and I was about to embark on the last stretch of my education before I could really start my career.

What career could you get with a Sociology degree? Just about anything under the sun, really. And as a spoiled young woman, the idea hadn’t crossed my mind as much as it should have. Probably because my father expected me to be Jeremy’s housewife one day. It wasn’t the most comfortable conversation I ever had with him, but I learned at a young age that if I didn’t want my father’s opinion on something, I shouldn’t ask. Did I want to live through life never having a real job? Did I never want to know the feeling of getting a paycheck, of earning my lifestyle instead of just having it handed it to me because it was my birthright?

The jury was still out on that. My mother seemed happy with it. But to me… that type of existence just seemed so empty. I didn’t want to be a delusional woman who ended up having her own reality show and making a mockery of herself. I was having fun with my friends, certainly, and I would probably remember it for the rest of my life, but the hard reality was, this wasn’t life. This was a party. A really, really long party.

The family that Neil was staying with, the Nicholsons, were quite hospitable, and even though I had to share a bathroom with six other people, their house was quaint and smelled like baked goods at all times. The mother was a short, middle-aged woman who was never seen without an apron and reminded me of Mrs. Weasley from Harry Potter. The father, whom I rarely saw, worked outside the city and was only home late at night and on the weekends. They had three teenagers of various ages and they all played in a band that practiced in their friend’s garage. They were like the band geeks that you knew in high school, only better because they were Scottish.

About two weeks in, after a bit of cabin fever had threatened to ruin the mood of the trip, Jeremy decided to take me out, just the two of us, on a good old-fashioned date. Unused to romantic gestures, I was taken aback by his idea, and I grew excited to go out on the town. With the living situation we were in, we hadn’t enjoyed much privacy, and I knew he was getting a little antsy for attention, if you get what I mean. Our plan was to find a little restaurant in New Town, have a few pints, and if we were up to it, find a place where we could dance. Jeremy was the kind of guy who liked to be the leader. No matter how many people were in the group, or what type of event it was, he had to be in charge. Most of the time, I’d say it was an attractive quality. Confidence was not something Jeremy lacked. There was something about the way he would guide me through anything that—even if I knew it was bad—was hypnotizing.

There were other times, like when he popped pills and got shit-faced drunk, that it would really get on my nerves. Jeremy’s family was also wealthy. He was three years older than me and managed to somehow graduate from Yale while partying the whole time. I knew his father had something to do with it. That was one of the great, big, shining, colossal differences between him and me, and one of the things that sent waves of resentment through my body whenever he flaunted his wares.

I was spoiled and I knew this. Jeremy was the very definition of spoiled rotten and had no idea. Whenever he did something that reminded me of this difference, I could do nothing but ignore him for a few days until my anger cooled. Thankfully, it didn’t happen that often.

His parents divorced when he was a baby. His mother remarried. His father didn’t. He was a successful stockbroker who owned his own firm in New York City, and she had been his young trophy wife. It was the perfect environment for Jeremy’s childishness to grow. But with all his faults, I still loved him deeply. He was a true friend and had a knack for subtle romance.

We’d just finished having some drinks on Rose Street and were walking a bit wobbly over the cobblestones when he pulled me roughly by the collar of my blazer and kissed me wetly on the mouth. His breath tasted like fish 'n' chips and beer, and my first reaction was to push him off me. Being the small person that I was, I only managed to push myself backwards, and my heels caught in the cracks of the cobblestones, causing me to slam against a wall behind me. Someone wolf-whistled from across the street as Jeremy’s lips met mine again, possessing me sloppily. He breathed loudly, his hands pulling on my hair, trying to push my blazer off my shoulders, and as much as I tried to push him away he wouldn’t move.

C’mon baby, stop, I admonished, trying to nudge his face away.

Just kiss me, Ellie, he urged, pulling my chin toward him a little too roughly for my liking.

I swatted his arm away and gave a little push. People had stopped to stare and I didn’t want to make a scene, but he had gotten out of control in the past and the last place I wanted to end up was in an Edinburgh police station. That would have been an embarrassment I couldn’t live down.

He laughed softly and placed his hand on his heart. That smile, that pearly-white, the-best-money-can-pay-for smile got me every time. Jeremy was your typical Abercrombie hunk of gorgeous: tall and lean, with curly, light brown hair, and baby blue eyes that melted my heart and usually got him out of trouble for lesser crimes. His eyes practically twinkled as he looked down at me, like I was his favorite pet. Ellie, what am I going to do with you?

I shook my head and pulled him off the main street onto a less occupied lane. It was private, but there was enough traffic on each side that if I needed help, I could get it. Not that I would. What is the matter with you? I hissed. How many pills did you take?

He gave me a wolf-grin that would have melted the panties off a lesser being and shrugged. Mom’s just gonna hafta heal natrer-rally for now…

My eyes widened. From her recent tumble down the stairs that resulted in a broken arm to the two-year long battle with depression, the woman was on loads of meds, and Jeremy was pilfering them. I didn’t think he could stoop so low. Didn’t he love her at all? The problem was, I knew he was a decent guy, so why the hell was he doing this?

Come on, we’re going back to the house, I said assertively, in no mood to be around him, especially on the date that he suggested and now ruined.

No, c’mon babe. I s-said we’d go out let me… let me take you out. He seemed so genuinely disappointed that I sighed in exasperation, and he knew that was my surrender. He pushed me against the cold stone wall behind me and planted wet kisses on my neck and shoulders. I turned my head and let him kiss me, looking out for any passersby. I hated that my gut reaction to his kisses was negative. So what if he kissed like a fish? Jeremy Faustein was the man I would probably end up with. He had a good family, an education, and he was handsome and very charismatic. I knew that one day we would be husband and wife, and that we would have kids and live a very fulfilling life, and whether or not that included me having a job, I still hadn’t decided. But that was the reason I let him kiss me like that. Even though he made my skin crawl when he got high and drunk, I did it because I knew he was going to be my spouse one day and he would support me through thick and thin. Just like I would for him.

It happened while his hand was crawling up inside my shirt.

A white unmarked van swerved around the corner and screeched to a stop right in front of us, and all I could think of was how embarrassed I was that I’d been caught like this. The headlights illuminated the foggy street and hit me right in the face, making it impossible to see who was inside. Jeremy—whose wasted state of mind kept his reflexes on the slow side—swiveled around as the side door slid open, and I watched in shock as four masked men dressed in black filed out of the car at lightning speed.

Suddenly, my arm was pulled, Jeremy was punched in the face, and I felt an instant spike of adrenaline as terror weighed me down with indecision. My sky-high heels made it an easy task for them to yank me towards the van, and I screamed at the top of my lungs as they shoved Jeremy inside, head-first.

No! I shrieked. Locking my legs straight, I swung my Longchamps purse around like a mad woman, suddenly remembering, as it clunked against one of their heads, that Jeremy made me put a full bottle of Glenfiddich in it. Then I swung my hardest.

Two of the men got into the car to restrain Jeremy as I fought tooth-and-nail to maintain my freedom from the rough hands of the other two. The more I screamed, the harder they tried, but something inside me refused to get in that car, no matter what it took.

A new set of headlights flashed behind us, but I didn’t dare turn around. I hoped that whoever it was, had the brains to at least take down the plate number if they were too afraid to get out of the car. It didn’t even occur to me that whoever was in the car could have been more of these assholes. But luck was on my side that night (at least for this part of it) and the sound of the honking horn made everyone snap to attention. The masked driver barked commands in what sounded like Russian, and the men released me, running back into the car as quickly as they got out. Before I could beg them for Jeremy’s release—offer everything in my wallet and bank account in exchange for his freedom—before they even closed the side door, the car peeled down the road.

I exhaled a shaky breath, clutching my purse against my chest as I watched the taillights disappear around the corner, my boyfriend vanishing with them.

I blinked in horror, my mind still processing what had just happened. What did just happen? How could he just be gone like that? Who were these people? Was this some kind of sick, twisted joke? Even Jeremy wouldn’t be that insensitive.

Oh my god, I whispered. The reality of what had just happened was forcing its way into my conscious mind, but I couldn’t accept it. Didn’t want to. Accepting what happened came with responsibilities, with uncomfortable conversations and realities that I would have to face. I wasn’t ready for this.

Are you alright?

I turned on shaky legs to the old couple that had emerged from the car, looking like they weren’t exactly sure what they had just seen.

My boyfriend, I gasped, realizing how selfish my thoughts had become. I shivered so violently that my legs buckled, and if it weren’t for the kind support of this elderly couple, I would have collapsed on that back road.

They took my arm and guided me slowly to their car, promising to get help. Their concerned frowns made me blubber, and I felt a rise of panic in my chest. I sat in the backseat next to their shaggy dog, my purse still clutched to me like my life depended on it. They spoke softly to me and kept asking me questions, questions about myself that I couldn’t remember at that point in time. Who I was, where I came from… it was a blur. My mind rested in a crevice of thoughts, in that transitional point in my brain’s wiring that switched one thought to the other, always at a constant uhhh.

When I burst into tears, I knew it was real.

My name is Ellie. And this is the story of how disaster stole my life.

PART I

Chapter One

Ellie, just calm down!

I can’t calm down, Lisa. He’s still out there!

I was in shock. I knew it. The old couple had dropped me off at the Nicholson’s instead of a police station. I insisted. I was too high on fear to go through that now. I took another swig of the Glenfiddich that had saved my life, wondering only after it was too late if the police would need it for evidence. I was beyond frightened. I never had to speak to cops before in my life. What if they thought I was part of it? What if they didn’t believe me? What if I was all over the news and my parents saw and they never forgave me? An even scarier thought that didn’t seem to frighten me as much was, what if they found me? What if whoever it was that wanted to take me along with Jeremy had tortured him for information, found out where I was staying, broke in at night and slashed me with a knife? My thoughts were morbid but there was no stopping it. I couldn’t get a grip because there was nothing to hold onto.

As soon as I got in the house, I grabbed the phone and called home, praying that my parents had at least checked in and told Nora, our housekeeper, when they’d be back. They hadn’t and she had no idea. It wasn’t uncommon for them to be gone for months at a time, and they usually checked in only every few weeks or so. I didn’t have time to wait for them. And I most certainly couldn’t count on them, not when time was precious. With a shaky voice, I asked Nora to leave them a message in case they called, and hung up.

Then I did what I should have done when I first arrived in Scotland, and called my uncle Garrick. The phone rang twice then went to what sounded like a fax line, and the piercing scramble on the other end made me pull the phone away from my ear. I hung up and tried again. Same thing. No answering machine, no housekeeper to take a message, nothing.

That was when I really started to panic. I felt the weight of what had just happened press me down into the kitchen chair, pushing me until I could no longer move. My boyfriend was just abducted, my parents were in the middle of the ocean and my uncle was unreachable. I had no one to help me, and Lisa and Patrick were the only people who knew where I was. I suppressed a shiver. I couldn’t forget the fact that had I not been packing a full glass bottle of booze and an adrenaline rush that I was still coming down from, I would be in that van with Jeremy.

We’re going to the police station now! Lisa snapped, pulling me up from my seat. How could I forget the other driving force in my life? My best friend. If she wasn’t there, I wouldn’t know what to do. If she wasn’t bossing me around, telling me how to make this right, I would be running around like a chicken with its head cut off. If she could be strong, so could I.

I nodded, wiped my face, took two steps and puked.

Remember that thing about nothing bad every happening to me? Well that made it real hard for my body to know what to do with shock.

*****

"Tell us again, Miss Reardon, Detective Inspector Walker said, putting a paper cup of coffee in front of me, you didn’t see their faces, and they didn’t say anything to you?"

I took a calming breath and pulled my hair into a bun. I usually played with my hair when I got nervous, and at this point in the night I knew I had shed my DNA all over the station floor. The police officers made me anxious with the wide-eyed way they stared. The chair was uncomfortable, there was no air conditioning, and my throat was parched. I was already on edge when I went in there: tear-streaked, shaking like a leaf, and ready to cry on anyone’s shoulder. But whenever they said my last name like that, it made my stomach coil into a tight knot of uncertainty. I wasn’t sure if they thought they knew me, or if they didn’t believe I was who I said I was. Being the kind of person that never had to deal with law enforcement in the past, I wasn’t even sure if that was normal or not.

"Like I said, Detective… they did speak, but since I don’t speak Russian, I don’t know what they said…"

And you’re sure it was Russian? he asked, looking at his colleague. They gave each other a glance that I could not translate, and more than anything, I wanted to scream at them.

I don’t know! It sounded Russian to me. I snapped.

Walker didn’t flinch. He didn’t seem fazed by a whole lot. He had one of those faces a withered cop would have: one where you could tell had seen way too many bad things in their lifetime. And have you had a lot of experience with Russian men?

What’s that supposed to mean? Lisa asked, incensed at his tone.

He shrugged. We just don’t see a lot of American tourists getting kidnapped by Russians here in Edinburgh, do we Jakey?

The other guy, who looked like he was trying out for the role of Danny Zuko in Fringe’s newest version of Grease, shrugged and shook his head.

Are you suggesting that I’m making this up? I said and gasped. There are witnesses!

Now don’t get your bloomers in a tangle, he said and gave me a look that reminded me of my father. Impatience and patronizing placation stared back at me through his beady little eyes, and only the fact that he was a police officer stopped me from crawling over the desk and strangling him to death. We believe you, Miss Reardon. And we’re going to call Mr. and Mrs. MacFadden as soon as we’re done here…

Well what are you waiting for? Go out there, put an APB out for a white, unmarked, windowless van! Lisa demanded, her black curls bouncing with the angry shake of her head. She was my hero. Also, she watched too many cop shows.

Walker shook his head in disbelief and looked over at his partner, Jakey. A wordless conversation transpired and whatever it entailed had Jakey slumping down in one of the nearby cubicles and picking up the phone. Had I not seen his petulant eye-roll, I would not have known that Walker was in charge. My shoulders relaxed a smidge when I heard Jakey describe word-for-word the van that took Jeremy.

Now Miss Reardon, Walker said, "the word is out. But you said this happened a few hours ago. This isn’t America… if they’ve boarded a plane, there’s not much we can do for you here."

I nodded. Europe made it easy for anyone to hop from country to country, even if it was just in a car. I took comfort in knowing that we were at least on an island and he was most likely still on British soil. But still, what was to stop them from boarding a plane and going anywhere? Even if we followed them to Russia, it would be hopeless.

Lisa grabbed my hand and squeezed my cold fingers.

I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. What are the chances that…

They waited as I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes. If I couldn’t even say the words, how was I going to manage if it actually happened?

Did your lad have any enemies? Did he owe anyone money? Walker asked.

I shook my head. He’s just a rich kid from Connecticut… he’s never been to jail, never got into any real trouble…

Ellie, Lisa said, squeezing my fingers. Her brow lowered and she gave me a meaningful look. Tell him.

Tell me what? Walker said, leaning forward as if I was about to mutter a state secret.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Jeremy’s family had been through enough in the past two years. I didn’t know what his mother would do if she lost her eldest son. This would surely kill the poor woman.

Jeremy’s father was killed in a plane crash about two years ago.

Walker leaned back and gave us a scathing look. Not to sound insensitive, but what does that have to do with anything?

I cleared my throat. Jeremy’s mother had the FBI open an investigation. She doesn’t believe there was a plane crash. She thinks it was a cover up.

Just saying the words made my skin crawl. I wasn’t built for this depth of intrigue. I liked my life, and I didn’t want anything to dampen the white puffy cloud of my innocence. Jeremy only told his closest friends but swore us all to secrecy. Even though his parents divorced when he was a baby, he had started spending more time with him in the past few years, and I knew his father was important to him. His mother still held a candle for the man, after more than two decades of not being together. Now both men were gone, and I wanted to stick my head in the sand and pretend it was impossible that the two events were connected. Surely this kind of thing was only something you read about in books or saw in movies. This kind of thing just didn’t happen to people like us. We had people who paid people who paid people to make sure of that. Didn’t we?

Walker smiled politely and rose from his chair. We’ll do everything we can Miss Reardon, he said, raising his arms helplessly. It was the international gesture of, I can’t do anything for you at the moment, and you need to leave.

Lisa and I took our cue and got up. I looked around at the other officers, all either on the phone, talking with each other or drinking coffee. For nearly three o’clock in the morning, the place was busy. The festival must have brought a yearly influx of trouble from tourists, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my case fell to the wayside.

Walker guided us to the front entrance of the building and I turned around to face him at the glass front door. Detective Inspector Walker, I would appreciate if you didn’t call Jeremy’s mother just yet. Not until we know for sure…

I could see in his face that he would have to break a rule or two to do as I asked. If we can’t find him in twenty-four hours, I would start working up the courage, lass…

I bowed my head to hide my trembling lip, and nodded. Okay.

Come on, there’s a cab parked outside, Lisa said, pulling my arm.

I turned to leave but Walker stopped me.

One last thing, he said, and held on to the door, letting the air filter through the stuffy building. "You’re not really a Reardon, are ye?"

I bit my inner cheek. I knew I didn’t imagine his interest in my last name. I didn’t know if that word had a different meaning in Scotland, or if there was a famous rugby player by that name, but I did know that I was in a foreign country with no one but my tourist-friend to trust. His interest made my scalp prickle. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t put my trust in this stranger, not until I grew the balls to figure out why my name had such meaning here.

I shrugged my shoulders. Of the Greenwich, Connecticut Reardons.

You’ve no kin in Scotland?

I gave him a smile that I perfected as a freshman, my don’t-cross-me-dickhead grin. No.

I turned to leave, but he stopped me again. Miss Reardon?

I sighed, exhausted and ready to pass out. Yes?

And just when I thought I couldn’t get any more freaked out about this whole thing, his permanent scowl softened and he spoke in a soft voice. Be careful.

I stared into his worried gaze, confused by the concern written on his face. I could see he struggled with this warning, for it meant that he was open to the possibility of believing my elaborate story. His career was on the line for alleged FBI cover-ups and rich boyfriends getting kidnapped by non-nationals during the biggest event of the year. And being the tenured cop I knew he was, it was comforting to know that he wasn’t writing it off from the get-go.

I smiled, grateful that my first impression of him was not entirely correct.

Lisa pulled my arm. Let’s go El.

*****

What do you mean there was nothing in it?

I was running on three hours of sleep, four cups of strong black coffee and no food. Putting on eyeliner would be a joke. I could hear the phone shake against my earring as I held it up with my trembling hand.

When Lisa and I got back to the house in the middle of the night, I popped an Ambien and fell asleep on the couch next to the phone. And despite the magical powers of the sleeping pill, I had woken up with a start, my heart pounding in my ears, my chest covered in sweat. The nightmares I had were no worse than what I’d actually experienced, and I ran to the bathroom to have a cold shower and get it out of my system.

Then I proceeded to call every goddamn investigator and surveillance company in the phone book. No one wanted to take my case. They gave me every excuse in the book: from the very lazy, We don’t speak Russian, to the downright rude, We’re currently busy with Scottish matters. And when it looked like I was finally getting somewhere, they would find out my last name and rush me off the phone. Not even offering an exorbitant amount of money was going to sway these people.

As much as I wanted to grab someone on the street and force the answers from them, I was afraid to know what was so bad about being a Reardon. Every time I loaded up the internet on my phone to run a search on my last name, I chickened out and shoved it in my back pocket. If I saw that I came from a long line of serial killers or the name meant bad luck in another language, I would scream.

The incident with Jeremy happened just outside a private home which happened to have a surveillance camera outside. The owners had graciously allowed the police the take the tape, and from it they were able to get the plate number. The car was spotted by an off-duty constable on the side of the road up north. And it was empty.

What about fingerprints? I asked, my voice high-pitched and jittery.

Walker sighed into the mouthpiece. It’s clean Miss Reardon. Everything’s been wiped down.

Dread filled my chest and I shook my head. What does this mean? Just because he’s not in the car anymore doesn’t mean he’s not still missing, right? You’re going to keep looking for him, aren’t you?

I know who you are, Miss Reardon he said quietly, and I could hear his feet crunching on gravel. You lied to me yesterday.

What are you talking about? I asked shrilly.

I could hear the betrayal in his voice, and it made me cringe with regret. Lisa and Patrick poked their heads around the corner, their eyes wide with surprise and apprehension. I ignored them and turned around, waiting for his answer. He had covered the microphone to speak to someone else, and I couldn’t make out the words. I imagined the scene: police tape everywhere, undercover cop cars with cherry tops blazing their red lights of authority, policemen and reporters questioning witnesses, maybe even a helicopter overhead, getting the full picture of the scene for the eleven o’clock news.

Suddenly the sound popped back and I snapped out of my delirium.

It’s not safe for you in Scotland, Miss Reardon. Go home. While you still have the chance.

Chapter Two

It felt like I had been run over by a train. Of all the things I had envisioned for my summer trip to Scotland, calling Jeremy’s mother to tell her that her son had been abducted by masked Russians who left no leads, and took him God knows where, was not one of them. Detective Inspector Walker offered to do it, said he had to make a few unpleasant phone calls in his life, but only on the condition that I was on a plane back home while he did it. I didn’t know what he meant by his cryptic warning (even though the abduction attempt was a good clue) but all I knew was that there was no way I was going to leave Jeremy behind. I