Ghosts of Culloden Moor 10 - Macbeth Read online

  “Mac,” said a quiet voice. The lass with the too-charming smile stood at the end of the counter holding a cup out to him.

  He reached for the drink and inclined his head to acknowledge what she’d done to avoid embarrassing him.

  “Take your time. It’s hot,” she said. “And if you don’t like it, let me know. I’ll keep trying until I find something you love.” She gave him a bright wink and started to turn, but his fingers had overlapped hers and she had to wait until he released her else the hot coffee might have spilled.

  With a smile like that, and words like love tripping so easily off her tongue, he was tempted to hold her captive just a moment longer.

  It was a temptation he found himself unable to resist.

  She laughed. Eyes turned their way. He had no choice but to release her. And when she hurried back to serve a new customer, he knew she was relieved for the excuse.

  Poor lass. It must have been a frightening thing to have a stranger take such a liberty. And when he imagined other men doing the same, his stomach lurched.

  Surely the lass would be wise not to work in such a place where she would be forced to speak with strange and untrustworthy men all day. And due to the nature of her product, some of those men might not be pleasant while waiting for their addictions to be satisfied.

  He glanced about the tables to judge for himself what sort of man might visit the place on a regular basis. It only made him crosser when he found nothing objectionable in the current lot. His frown grew weighty but he couldn’t seem to help himself. So he bent his head to hide his features within the drape of his hair and returned to his small table. As any canny soldier would do, he turned his back to the wall and waited for the next round of customers to fill the seats.

  It shouldn’t take much time to find the justification the lass would need to locate other employment. And perhaps, if he pointed out that justification to her, her life well might be saved in the doing.

  If nothing better came along, it might be the good deed he’d been sent to do. For it would take no small portion of bravery on his part to give the lass such bold advice. And he’d take heed—ensure she wasn’t holding a scalding cup of coffee in her hands when he broached the subject.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cat was pretty proud of herself for keeping her cool. The trick was to look the guy in the eyes and keep her attention away from those knees. And how cute was he for letting all the female customers go ahead of him?

  Cute? Are you crazy? You hate Scots, remember?

  She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the customer in front of her. “Decaff. Of course. It’s late.” She nodded and asked the guy to spell his name.

  Jack. Easy. Thank goodness.

  When she saw how shaky the letters were, she chucked the cup and started over.

  It had been enough time. She should check on the Scottish dude. He’d had plenty of time to taste his coffee and decide.

  She handed Jack’s order off to Spencer and walked to the end of the counter.

  Don’t get close. Eyes off the knees.

  She’d given her grandpa a hard time for the way he went on and on about Scotland. He’d told her if she ever went to Scotland she’d probably fall in love a dozen times over and never come back to the states again. She’d doubted. She’d blamed it all on Hollywood.

  But at the moment, she wondered if the old man knew something about Scotsmen she didn’t.

  Of course her grandfather had never been to Scotland. He’d inherited a little Scottish blood from his grandmother, but that was it. There really was nothing to his obsession, and she’d pitied him for not having something better to give his loyalty to.

  In his attempts to pull off the whole Scottish package, he’d taken up smoking a pipe. If he’d just found a football team to root for…

  With long dark hair and sharp blue eyes, her Scottish customer would be mouthwatering no matter what he was wearing. But he was downright heart-stopping in a kilt that looked more like ruffled bedcovers than the pleated things bagpipers wore.

  Lucky for her, she was able to keep her reactions hidden better than that other woman had. But she still had to speak to him again! Would she stutter? Would she drool? Would she trip and fall at his feet like every other woman in Portland was probably gearing up to do and they didn’t even know it yet?

  What she needed was a reason not to like him. A second later, she remembered she already had one. The obsession with Scotland was why her grandfather was on his last lung, and it helped wash away any magic love potion the guy might be carrying in his pouch.

  “Hey,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to walk over to his table to get his attention. But that wasn’t necessary—his gaze nailed her to the spot. “Um… What do you think? Will it do?” She nodded at his cup.

  “Aye, lass. Whatever ye’ve added to the coffee is perfection itself.”

  The whole cafe fell silent at the trip of his tongue. He probably had a speech coach. Was probably some weirdo from Spokane or something, had to move on to the next city where no one knew his story. But she didn’t care about his story, or his brogue, or his plaid…or those knees.

  “Great,” she snapped and turned away. “It’s kind of slow, Spence, and there’s only a half hour before—”

  “Go.” Her manager gave her a wink. “But if you want me to walk you, you’ll have to wait.”

  She was already halfway to the break room. “No need.” She clocked out on the computer, hung her still-clean apron on a hook, then got her stuff and went back out front. Four customers bumped around each other to get in the door. She turned to look at Spencer.

  “Go.” He pointed to the door and plastered a smile on his face for the new crowd.

  She didn’t need to thank him. He knew how important it was for her to get home and he’d only chew her out for dawdling. One day, when it was all over, she’d have to give in and go out with him. She owed him at least that much.

  She swung the door open and glanced to the side, out of curiosity, not interest. But the guy in the kilt was gone.

  Not that she cared.

  ~

  A cold raindrop splashed against the back of her hand. It was as good as a kiss. The skies above Portland loved her, knew how much she loved the rain, and seemed to give her a shot of cheer every time she needed it.

  The Great Northwest. No better place in the world.

  The sun hadn’t been down for long, so walking home alone didn’t bother her. Surely the creeps wouldn’t be out for hours yet. And if it rained any harder, they would be hiding in their holes all night. Besides, the street lights reflected off wet cars and made her route home seem brighter than usual. A cheery place. No creeps allowed.

  She ignored the hood on the back of her vest and let herself get wet. It was more like a summer rain anyway with no cool breeze to hide from. Just a casual shower of tiny droplets washing away tiny droplets of worry. Or maybe not so tiny.

  She took a deep breath of fresh air and wished the stirred-up dust could replace the smell of coffee in her nose. When she got home, she would open all the windows and smell the rain on the screens—

  The hairs on the back of her head tingled. She was being followed.

  She moved her bag over in front of her body to let her stalker know she wasn’t going to just give up her stuff without a fight. She also slowed just a little to prove she wasn’t afraid. Nearly everything she’d ever been taught in self-defense classes rubbed her the wrong way. She wasn’t about to let someone mess with her life. She’d worked too hard for everything. And she sure as hell didn’t have time to go get a new driver’s license and replace her credit cards.

  Give up her purse?

  Not a chance.

  And if someone wanted a piece of her, they weren’t going to get the piece they wanted.

  She fished in her pocket and slipped her fingers into her brass knuckles. With her left hand, she plucked the taser out of her purse. A car passed and made that whispering
, splashing noise that meant the road was wet, but not yet soaked. Then another car. When they passed the alley where Cat was walking, the noise echoed into the darkness and died. Next to the buildings, the sound bounced and seemed louder.

  Then there were no cars at all. Nothing but the sound of footsteps behind her. At least two sets. And she could hear them whispering. Another alley was coming up. If she was going to be attacked, it would be there.

  She gripped the taser, lifted it clear of her pocket, but held it in front of her. Then she imagined turning and shocking the spit out of some couple out on a date. What if she was wrong? What if the hairs on the back of her neck stood up just because of the rain, or because she had wondered about the guy dressed in a kilt who was out there in her city…somewhere.

  She was at the alley. One, two, three…now six steps, seven—cleared it. Still no mugging.

  Another car passed. The wheels hissed against the wet asphalt. The sound died along the alley, then picked up again. Everything normal.

  The hairs on the back of her neck changed their mind and lay down again. Her ears strained for the sound of footsteps, but they were gone. People walked on the other side of the road headed back toward the coffee shop. They paid no attention to her side of the street.

  Nothing interesting then—no gang of thugs preparing to jump her.

  Her phone rang once, twice. In order to answer it, she’d have to let go of the knuckles or the taser.

  Not a chance.

  It rang twice more, then stopped. Her pocket stopped glowing.

  The steps were back. The hairs all over her body came alive and apologized for not listening to her before.

  Shoot someone, they screamed.

  Her heart raced, but she wasn’t going to let her adrenaline make her decisions. Whoever it was certainly hadn’t gotten the message, that she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. So she took a deep breath and she spun around to face her pursuers.

  But there were no punks behind her. No couple out for a stroll in the rain. Just a large Scotsman pausing in mid-step, startled to be caught in the act of stalking.

  Alone with him, on the street, he seemed a good foot taller than he had in the coffee shop. A menacing psych patient following her home on the dark city streets.

  She pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Some tasers are more powerful than others.

  Cat had purchased something with teeth to it. In the wintertime, it started getting dark at five, but she’d been home before then. Now that she was also taking late shifts, to cover the cost of the nurse visits, she knew she’d need protection. And a taser was just the ticket to keep her from worrying herself to death.

  However, just because Catherine Dabelko had a little backbone didn’t mean she was capable of true cruelty. So she’d taken a class and learned how to use her weapon. She’d even allowed herself to be tasered so she wouldn’t go around hitting every suspicious character she met. She knew how much it hurt. And she’d given herself a good three seconds to decide whether or not the tall, hot stranger deserved a taste of the concrete and a jolt that would shake the marrow of his bones.

  He’d crossed the line.

  And deep down, she believed that she hadn’t made her decision based on the fact that she blamed the Scottish nation as a whole for her grandfather’s lung cancer. At least, not consciously.

  He didn’t shake like any taser victim she’d ever watched before. It looked like he was doing a pretty good job fighting it, jerking only occasionally instead of just convulsing as Spencer had done when he’d insisted she practice on him. Of course her boss had been trying to earn a little pity so she would start going out with him.

  He’d been so wrong.

  She was careful to release the trigger after just a few seconds. Fifty thousand volts could convey a pretty clear message in no time, despite how intelligent the receiver was.

  The guy rolled onto his back and slapped his arm against the sidewalk, making a noise that was somewhere between an angry growl and a sharp, short war cry. Then he lay still, gritted his teeth, and blew out his breath like he was trying to blow up a balloon. His broad chest rose and fell like bellows feeding a fire.

  Yeah. She knew what that burn felt like. Her fingers tingled in sympathy, remembering the sting of electricity hitting a dead end in her fingertips and just…sizzling.

  She retraced her steps until she was standing two feet from his shoulder. “I’m sorry I had to do that.”

  His left arm shot out and his hand caught painfully around her ankle and held her. She yipped, fearing some leftovers of electricity might enter her body through the connection, but she couldn’t struggle without landing on her butt. She wasn’t really afraid of him, for some reason, but she still held onto the brass knuckles.

  “Let go of me, please.” She figured a guy with gentlemanly manners in a coffee shop would react to a polite request—unless he was out of his mind in pain.

  “One of us is a fool, lass.” He released her ankle and rolled away from her.

  She suspected he meant her, but wasn’t going to ask.

  She looked around the street, but no one seemed too concerned about the guy on the ground. It was dark, and most faces had phones pressed against them. Cat turned to find they weren’t as alone as she’d thought.

  A very curious woman came closer. Cat was disgusted when she realized the chick wasn’t as concerned for the big man’s safety as she was for how high up his kilt was going to ride. So Cat moved around to stand between the two, blocking the rude woman’s view. It didn’t seem to discourage her until Cat finally put her hands on her hips and gave an exasperated grunt. Only then did the woman show the least bit of embarrassment and walk away.

  When Cat turned back to see how he was recovering, the Scot was gone. Like, gone! Not ducking into the alley, not turning the corner in the distance. She hadn’t had her back to him for more than a few seconds. He couldn’t have gotten far.

  The hairs on the back of her head were screaming at her again. She turned in circle after circle, but saw no one. So she decided the best way to get that screaming to stop was to grab up the leads of her taser and run for home. It didn’t matter what it looked like. She was done trying to prove to the creeps on the street that she was willing to fight.

  You can’t fight what you can’t see.

  ~

  Seoc was pleased when he heard the slap of the lass’s running feet. He’d ducked across the street and behind a parked car while the young woman had been distracted, and now that she was gone, he was able to breathe freely and recover.

  And to think, he was savoring his reclaimed sensations only a short while ago…

  Auch, but he wasna proud of calling her a fool, but he’d had no control over his tongue at that moment, nor control of much else. But he’d been lucid enough to know that she’d decommissioned the one man on the street determined to protect her.

  She clearly felt threatened by him—which proved her opinion of him—when she’d pulled the trigger on her taser. She obviously thought him a thug, no better than the three men he’d dispatched a block away who had been bent on harassing her.

  Perhaps he should have been less discreet when knocking their heads together. Then she would have known his gallantry. She’d have felt no need to wield her weapon, let alone use it on her savior.

  It had happened so quickly, and yet he remembered all of it, despite the electricity still humming through his body…

  A misstep. He’d forgotten for an unfortunate moment that he, no longer a ghost, could not simply follow someone about without them knowing. A few centuries of habit were to blame. And he’d been so surprised by her sudden turn, he’d had no time to form the words that might ease her mind.

  A full second of surprise on both their parts.

  Another second of consideration on hers.

  He’d been certain she would give him the time to explain, but then, in that third second, he’d read something else in
her eyes—a conscious decision to shoot him! An innocent man—or fairly innocent in any case. Of course he was guilty of following on her heels, but nothing so egregious as to earn him the bite of her weapon.

  A she-devil to be sure. A she-devil that hid behind a come-hither smile.

  And the devil was getting away!

  Seoc jumped to his feet and started after her, hoping the slap of her shoes on the wet pavement would lead the way. He also hoped the small act of discouraging the trio of ne’er-do-wells wouldn’t count for his heroic deed, for he wished to enjoy his mortality a wee bit longer—at least long enough to replace that electrified memory with something more pleasant.

  And long enough to put a certain mean-spirited lass in her place.

  Seoc stood and made for the road, intending to cross and go after the wench, but he paused for just a moment to consider.

  Was there a chance wee Soncerae intended for him to remain at the coffee shop? Was he missing the opportunity to prove himself? Or, had he already done so when he’d frightened away the three young rabble-rousers who had been following the lass?

  It was a light detail, to be sure. They’d given up the fight so quickly he doubted they would have truly caused the lass harm. But who was he to judge? He’d seen a fair number of pocket-pickers and their ilk on the grounds of Culloden who had appeared harmless. And some who caught his attention simply because they looked like trouble—with unkempt hair and clothes, and a bit thin on the bone—had turned out to be the nonbelligerent chaps who’d wanted nothing more than to enjoy the peace Culloden had to offer.

  So, no. He could not say the trio were harmless at all. But since the wee witch had not yet come to collect him, he supposed the deed that awaited him would be a greater challenge. However, with no weapons to hand, he doubted it would be a bloody battle he’d be facing.

  But where was this test to be played out?

  He glanced back toward the tea shop. It was still close enough he could almost taste the dark, robust coffee in the air. It would be a simple thing to return and wait for trouble to find him. And to soothe his pride, he could see if another coffee confection might help erase the memory of convulsing on the walkway while the mean lass looked on.