Trusted By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance Read online

  God, this guy must be rich.

  And then the two of them were in the room. Melanie just wanted to get enough shots to incriminate the guy thoroughly, then she'd drive off. But this was Gina, who Melanie had known for over a decade… she wasn't just going to leave it at shots of the guy in a hotel with a scantily clad woman, she wanted physical contact before she'd be satisfied. But irritatingly, the two of them seemed determined to chat. Melanie gritted her teeth as the two sat on the edge of the bed, inches apart, talking away about something or other… Melanie could see that the woman was faking her interest in whatever the guy was nattering about, clear as day… and just as clear that he had no idea he was being misled.

  Was he paying her, she wondered as she waited irritably for the two of them to fall into each other's arms? Was it that straightforward? Or was it just a question of… no, there it was. She grinned triumphantly as he reached into the pocket of the coat he was wearing and withdrew a sleek black box that she recognized as belonging to one of the more high-end jewelry stores in town. The woman's eyes glowed as she opened it, and Melanie readied her camera. The husband draped a glittering necklace embedded with rather an excessive number of diamonds around the woman's neck as she held her hair back with practiced ease… and then she expressed her gratitude with a kiss that Melanie snapped a few well-framed photos of. A kiss was good… a little more than a kiss, and she'd be satisfied. And the husband seemed to be determined to get to 'more than a kiss' nice and quickly, with how swiftly his hands were roaming all over the woman's body, tugging at her robe…

  Melanie wrinkled her nose. This part was always so… unpleasant. No doubt it didn't feel as sordid as it looked from inside the scene, but from out here, the light rain drumming on the roof of the car, it just looked… gross. The tacky hotel, the aging man, the jewelry box, already forgotten, kicked to the floor as the two of them embraced each other… was it really worth it? Melanie wondered, taking a few more shots for good measure as the two of them got horizontal. Was the thrill really worth all the… unpleasantness?

  But then something unexpected happened. The two people sat bolt upright, undeniable expressions of fear and worry on their face… more fear on the husband's face, more confusion on the woman's. What had happened? Melanie caught her breath as the husband rose cautiously to his feet then moved out of view — hiding in the bathroom, no doubt. The woman headed for the door and opened it…

  And Melanie's heart sank into her chest. There, standing in the doorway with a familiar red coat around her shoulders, was none other than Gina. But she didn't look good. Her face was streaked with mascara and her hair was askew — even from here, Melanie could tell she'd been crying — and she shouted something at the woman, her voice loud enough to reach Melanie on the other side of the hotel, though she couldn't quite make out the words. That meant the husband would have heard her. She scanned the building, seeking out the adjoining bathroom window… sure enough, as she found it she saw the husband's face, a mask of terror, peering through it, his hands desperately pressing at the frame. But it was no use. Even if he could have gotten the window open, or broken, it was far too small to allow him to climb out of. He was trapped in there…

  And Gina hadn't stopped screaming. Melanie felt a mixture of amusement and pity for the woman. Maybe she wasn't quite so unfeeling as she'd made out… maybe the constant routine of betrayal, apology, forgiveness had finally worn on her too much. She was speaking rapidly, and Melanie could imagine her voice, imagine what she was saying to the blonde woman, who had rapidly refastened her robe. She wished she could see her face, but her back was to the window. At least Gina didn't seem to be directing her anger at her — she kept pointing in the direction of the bathroom, clearly well aware of where her husband was hiding.

  But then Melanie's amusement disappeared. Because Gina had reached into the little clutch handbag she always carried and withdrew what was unmistakably a gun.

  The woman raised her hands automatically and took a few worried steps backwards, but Gina snapped something that froze her in her place. Her hand was trembling a little as she raised the gun, and Melanie felt her heart racing. Could it be loaded? Was Gina really the kind of person who'd bring a loaded gun to an altercation like this? She bit her lip, her eyes flying down to her own gun. Technically, she shouldn't interfere, here… she was meant to be an observer. But Gina wasn't meant to be here at all. And she didn't want the woman to get in trouble. Passion could make you do all kinds of stupid things… and she'd be paying for them for the rest of her life. And somehow, Melanie suspected that the affable but very spoiled woman wouldn't have a good time in prison.

  Before she knew it she was out of the car, the chill night air biting into her as she hastened across the parking lot toward the side of the building with her hand on her gun. This was foolish, she knew that… but with a friend there, maybe Gina would calm down a little. She hastened along the footpath, worry clutching at her belly as she realized she couldn't hear Gina's voice anymore… but then she reached the room. Gina was inside, the gun still pointed at the blonde woman — and she looked up with blank shock when Melanie stepped through the door.

  "Gina, what are you doing?" she said quickly, taking her hand off her gun in the hopes that she could de-escalate the situation verbally.

  "I knew it," Gina said triumphantly. "This is her, isn't it? This is the bitch my husband's cheating with —"

  "Watch your mouth," the woman snapped, folding her arms over her chest. She had impressive presence and posture for a woman who was barely dressed with two armed strangers in her hotel room.

  "This is her, isn't it. The woman you've been staking out."

  The woman turned her angry blue eyes to Melanie. "You a cop or something?"

  "Private eye," Melanie said, shrugging her shoulders apologetically. "Gina here is my client. It seems you know her husband?"

  "I don't know anyone's husband," the woman said coolly. "And if neither of you have a warrant, I'd thank you to get the hell out of my hotel room. I was about to take a bath."

  Gina barked laughter, and Melanie felt a pang of fear go through her at the hunted look on the woman's face. She looked bad. She looked unhinged… and Melanie didn't like at all the fact that she was holding a gun. No trigger discipline, she noted with a deep wrench of worry. Anything could happen right now. "Gina — what's say we put the guns down, hm?"

  "No way," Gina growled. "I'm waiting for my son-of-a-bitch husband to come out from wherever he's hiding. Where are you, Mikey? Under the bed like the cockroach that you are?"

  "What happened, Gina?" Melanie pleaded, trying to distract her. "What happened to just wanting an apology? Remember the trip he took you on?"

  "The trip? Hah," Gina spat, rolling her eyes. "Sure, he was sorry then. But the more he does it, the less repentant he gets. Last time, do you know what he bought me? A brooch! A damn brooch! I looked it up – couple a hundred bucks, it costs. That's what I'm worth to him. Less than he spends on his goddamn shoes."

  "Listen, lady," the woman started. Melanie could see that the worry was starting to get to her, too — despite her cool facade, her eyes kept darting to the gun, which was still pointed in her general direction with Gina's finger very clearly right on the trigger. "I don't see anyone who I know is married, okay?"

  "This isn't about you," Gina snapped, narrowing her eyes. "I don't care what you do with your life, I care what you do with my husband. But if he doesn't get out here soon —" She reached down with her other hand and clicked the safety catch off the gun. The woman uttered a little scream… and the bathroom door slammed open. The husband came down the hallway, pale as a ghost, a terrified look on his face.

  "There you are, you piece of shit," Gina said, voice low and venomous. The husband gritted his teeth, his eyes flicking around the room and settling on Melanie with a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

  "Do I know you? Are you some thug my wife's hired?"

  Thug, Melanie thought with some amusemen
t. Nobody had ever called her a thug before — she had her short stature and 'cute' face to thank for that. But she supposed she was a stranger, dressed all in black, standing in a hotel room with her hand on the gun at her hip, so it wasn't an unfair estimation. "I'm a private investigator," she said, hoping to de-escalate.

  The husband scoffed. "So, you're the one who's been costing me a fortune. I must be single-handedly keeping you in business."

  "Wouldn't have happened if you were faithful to your wife," Melanie pointed out, bristling a little at the snide tone in his voice. "Gina —"

  But Gina had levelled the gun straight at her husband's chest, and the sound of her voice sent a chill down Melanie's spine. "You said last time was the last time."

  The husband sighed. "Come on, Gina. You're not really going to shoot me."

  But Melanie wasn't so sure. The trembling that had been in Gina's hands was gone now — she was as still and icy as a military-trained sniper as she adjusted her aim, readying herself for the shot. Melanie could feel the situation escalating out of control, felt her mind racing. If she could just get the gun from Gina…

  "You said it would be the last time, but it's never going to be the last time, is it? You're just going to keep whoring and whoring and whoring…"

  "I object to that," the woman said, raising an eyebrow.

  "You stay out of this," Gina snapped, turning a little… and Melanie seized her opportunity. She surged forward, taking advantage of being out of Gina's field of vision as she lunged forward… but the husband gave her away, stumbling backwards with his eyes widening. Had he thought she was going for him? Stupid — because as she reached out to grab Gina, the woman screamed, startled into squeezing the trigger. The blast was terrifyingly loud in such close quarters — but Melanie couldn't even see who the shot had hit before there was another shot, and another, Gina twisting out of her grip as she fired the pistol again and again.

  And then there was an almighty crash. Adrenaline surging through her body, Melanie was struck with confusion for a moment — it had felt for all the world like an earthquake, like the ground itself jerking away under her feet. There were no shortages of earthquakes in California, but this must have been a big one… she felt herself flying across the room with the force of it, but to her confusion, nobody else seemed to have been affected. The sound of that last gunshot was still ringing in her ear as she hit the wall and slid down it, shaken up by the impact… and she must have hit the wall hard. Very hard. Extremely hard… there was so much pain in her chest that she felt her breathing stop completely in an effort to keep the pain from getting worse. Had she broken her ribs against the cheap plywood wall, somehow? Surely not…

  There was a great deal of screaming going on, she realized dully as she slid down the wall into a crumpled sitting position, one hand raised weakly to her chest to try to protect it from whatever was causing the pain. The woman had risen to her feet, the husband was shouting something as he gripped Gina in his arms — and Gina herself was screaming loudest of all. She'd dropped the gun, at least — Melanie could see it lying on the floor of the room, and she breathed a sigh of relief and felt the pain stab at her again. Troublesome, that pain. What was going on? Why was Gina screaming so much?

  And then she looked down… down at her chest, at the front of her coat. It had been raining a little outside, that was true… but only a light drizzle, and she'd only been out there for a minute or two. Surely the rain couldn't account for this much moisture… the front of her coat was absolutely soaked, the black fabric glistening wetly in the poorly lit hotel room. She could hear voices outside, doors swinging open as the other inhabitants of the hotel came to investigate the gunshots. The gunshots. Of course. There would be some kind of investigation, no doubt… she hoped Gina wouldn't be in too much trouble. After all, nobody had gotten hurt — Melanie scanned the room, a little puzzled by how slowly her mind seemed to be working. What was going on? Was she tired, or something? She usually did much better at keeping her focus in situations like this, but for some reason she was feeling overwhelmingly sleepy. Maybe it was the pain in her chest, distracting her…

  And then Gina was kneeling at her side, her eyes huge with horror and regret as she squeezed her hand tightly. She was saying something, but Melanie realized her hearing had gone strange… it was fading in and out in waves, and she struggled to focus on Gina's face, blinking her eyes again and again as the room itself threatened to disappear from her field of vision. She was… begging her for something. Apologizing? What did she have to apologize for? It was the husband who should be apologizing… the husband, standing in the background with a horrorstruck look on his face, and the woman standing beside him, her face buried in his chest and her shoulders shaking. What had upset her? The gunshots? The angry wife?

  Melanie lifted her shaking hand away from her front and blinked down curiously as she looked at her fingers, which were bright red and shining wetly in the light. That was funny. Where had all of that come from? It looked like the red ink her father had once spilled all over his desk when a ballpoint pen he'd been chewing on had snapped… he'd looked horrific, as though blood had spilled down his chin and across the papers… bright red, wet and shining. Like blood. Like —

  And then, as abruptly as a light switch going out, Melanie lost consciousness.

  Chapter 3

  Light, she thought drowsily, drifting in and out of a state of consciousness that was maybe two degrees above the deepest sleep she'd ever been in. There was light. She could tell there was light, even though her eyes were closed… the way that bright light pierced through your eyelids. Was she on the road, sleeping in the back of the car on a long road trip, like they'd taken a lot when she was a kid? Headlights, maybe. But they didn't feel like headlights, these lights. She wanted to open her eyes and check it out, but something made her put it off. She was so comfortable… it was so warm here, so safe. Was her alarm about to go off? Surely not. She could sleep and sleep for as long as she liked…

  But something kept pulling her away from that deepest of deep sleeps. Something held onto her consciousness, kept her just on this side of awake. Her mind drifted crazily through the strange thoughts that you have on the edge of sleep, the beginnings of dreams curling around her mind… strange images flashing past, images of figures through a window, dark shapes cut out against the bright light… and the glint of silver, again and again, slightly worrying. The gun. The gun was on the ground… she needed to grab it, needed to make sure it was safe, that nobody could get hurt.

  The light kept moving around beyond her eyelids. Melanie focused on that, now, trying to make a game of it. Could she figure out what the light was without looking at it properly? Interminable time passed, and she was beginning to work on the theory that they were shapes, figures composed completely of light. With a herculean effort, she opened one eyelid a crack… and the light washed in, unbearably bright, flashing straight into her retinas and making her squeeze her eyes shut hard in protest. Alright. Far too much light. Far too much… but what she'd seen, in that brief flash, was fascinating. Just as she'd suspected… tall, slender figures composed of light, blurry but distinct, standing around her as though around her bed. Was she in bed? No… there were no blankets on her.

  It was more like an operating table.

  There was something she was forgetting. Something important… some realization she'd made earlier, some conclusion she'd drawn just in time for her consciousness to be yanked away from her… she gritted her teeth, trying to remember even as she drifted in her mostly-asleep state… it was something about… something about the room, the gun, about Gina, about the wet patch on her coat, about the dull pain in her chest that seemed to be slowly but surely reducing and reducing. Had something happened? Was she hurt? Had that earthquake done her harm, somehow? And where was she now?

  And then, clear as day, she felt it. The soft touch of what she somehow knew was a hand, even though she couldn't see it, or even make out its distinc
t edges… it was warm, and soft, and seemed to radiate a glow of light or warmth or something else through her. It pressed against her chest, the upper part of her sternum, just below her collarbones, where she'd always suspected her heart was located… and then the light was brighter, and brighter, even managing to pulse through her eyelids now, making her wince as she tried to squeeze them shut tighter and tighter. Something told her that that light was dangerous, that it was too bright for her to look at, that if she opened her eyes right now she'd not only be blinded, but possibly worse… that that light might just sear straight through her eyes and into her mind and send her completely mad…

  And then it was dark. Blessedly, blessedly dark and cool, and the light was gone from her eyes and the pressure was gone from her chest and the dull pain that had been in the back of her mind, too, was completely gone. On impulse, she reached up with one hand to touch her chest and found a curious resistance as her hand moved through the air. The air? No… she realized, as she kicked her legs, that it wasn't air that surrounded her. It was water. Then how was she breathing? She — she wasn't. She wasn't breathing at all.

  How long had she not been breathing?