CHAPTER 28

JACK HAD BEEN IN GLASGOW’S Royal Infirmary hospital for three days. They’d had to operate on him to fix the internal damage caused by the knife. Isobel had been assured that nothing major had been hit and he would make a full recovery. He’d always have a scar, but it would be small. Sometimes, when she was alone and no one was looking, she had to hold on to the nearest wall to stop herself passing out at the thought of her son having a knife scar.

Callum had gone with her to the hospital, making sure that she and Sophie were looked over and given the all clear. They were physically fine, although Isobel expected there would be many nightmares in her future. She looked up from Jack’s bedside in the small private room Callum had finagled for them, to see him stride in. The fix for his leg had been simple—all it needed was a part swapped out—and Isobel had been relieved about that.

“How’s he doing?” Callum put a plastic bag on the end of the bed and glanced at the kid’s bed that had been set up in the corner for Sophie. He smiled when he saw she was cuddling the hippo he’d given her to keep the giraffe company.

“Good.” Isobel smoothed back Jack’s hair. It needed a cut. Something else to add to the list of things she had to do when they eventually got out of the hospital.

“I cleared everything up with the police,” he said. “They don’t plan on charging you with anything.”

Part of the tension coiled inside her released. “That’s great.”

He nodded. “They’re over the moon about the information we were able to give them on the ACAB Militia. They’re tracing money from that account in the Caymans and they’ve found several threads to follow from that dark web address. The militia site had been closed down, but there’s still enough to go on.”

There was an awkward silence as the two feet between them seemed to stretch to miles. Isobel badly wanted him to close the gap and hold her, to tell her things would be fine, in that convincing voice of his. At the same time, she knew she had to stand alone and figure things out for herself. She’d made so many mistakes, and she was terrified of rushing into yet another.

“I saw on the news that the police had foiled an attack on the Scottish Parliament,” she said.

“Aye, that’s what they were planning.” He looked around awkwardly. “That was your doing, Isobel. If you hadn’t been so nosy, they would never have found out about the planned militia attack. In fact, they would never have known who was behind it. That’s how the militia work. Someone else always takes the credit for their work. That’s what they’re being paid for.”

There was another uncomfortable silence. “I’m sorry about your granddad’s house,” she said at last.

“I was only hiding there. It’s time to rejoin civilisation.” His eyes captured hers. “What are you going to do?”

She looked up at him. So tall and strong and indestructible. “I don’t know.”

She still had the three thousand he’d gotten for her. It was enough to start again.

He cleared his throat. “I want you to come to London with me. The three of you.”

Isobel’s breath left her in a rush. Part of her wanted to run to him, screaming yes at the top of her lungs. She fought that part of her under control and made the sensible choice. The painful choice.

“I don’t think I can.”

His head jerked back slightly before his jaw clenched. “You want to tell me why? We have something between us. Something important. The kind of thing that only happens once, maybe twice, in a lifetime.”

“I don’t trust what I feel. I’ve made so many mistakes. Twice I thought I loved a man, and twice I was used and cast aside. I can’t keep risking myself or my kids.”

“And you think I’d use you and cast you aside?” The vein in his corner of his jaw throbbed harder.

“No, I don’t, but I don’t know if what I feel for you is real. We had an intense week together. But it was still only a week. Do you really want me in your life knowing that reality will be far different from what we experienced? Everyday life with two kids is boring and repetitive and stressful. You really want that?”

“Aye.” There was no hesitation.

Isobel blinked back tears. It seemed that all she did these days was cry. She couldn’t do it any longer. She had to be strong. For her kids. For herself.

“I can never repay you for what you’ve done for my family,” Isobel said, wanting to give him something. Wanting him to know how important he was to her, even if she couldn’t go any further along the road he wanted her to.

“I don’t want your thanks, or your repayment. You don’t owe me anything.” He took a step towards her. “I want you and the kids to live with me. I want a lifetime with you. I want to wake up in the morning and have you as the first thing I see. I want to teach Jack how to be a man and scare off every boy that dares sniff around Sophie. I want to be the man you lean on when you need it. I want a life with you.”

Isobel sniffed, feeling her throat close up. “I can’t. Not right now. I need time.”

He nodded, taking a step back again. “I love you, Isobel Sinclair. Take what time you need to figure out what I already know, that you love me too.” He strode towards the door. “Let me know if there’s a baby.”

And then he was gone.

Isobel sank back into the chair beside Jack’s bed and put her face in her hands. Silent sobs racked her until she felt like she was going to die. A soft hand settled on her shoulder, and she looked up to see her sisters. Each face filled with love and sympathy.

“Oh, Izzy,” Donna said. “What have you gone and done?”

“I sent him away.” Isobel threw herself into Agnes’ arms and felt her other sisters pat her back.

“Why on earth would you do that?” Agnes asked, but there was no censure in her voice, only sympathy.

“The Sinclair curse!” Isobel wailed. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. I can’t tell if he’s a good man or if I just want him to be. I can’t think straight. I need time to figure out what’s happening and if this whole thing is real. I can’t make another mistake just because I fall fast and hard. I can’t do that to my kids.”

“You’re scared,” Donna said. “We all are. But you have more reason to be than the rest of us. You saw Dad make Mum’s life a misery for years, then you got pregnant and Darren ran out on you, then your marriage failed. Of course you don’t trust that Callum is real. It’s okay, we understand.”

“Take all the time you need, honey,” Agnes said. “If he loves you, he’ll wait for you.”

“I can’t make another mistake,” Isobel said as she clung to her sisters.

“We understand,” Donna said.

“I don’t,” Mairi said. “The guy almost died protecting you. He saved Jack’s life. He took you in and strong-armed the pawnbroker for you. What makes you think he’s anything like the losers you’ve chosen before? This is the Sinclair curse. It isn’t that we choose badly, it’s that we can’t recognise a good man when one bites us on the backside.”

“Mairi!” Donna said. “Have some sympathy. Isobel has been through hell this past week.”

Isobel sat back and looked up at her sisters. Donna and Agnes were sympathetic and annoyed with Mairi. Mairi was annoyed with Isobel.

Isobel faced her youngest sister. “Did I screw up?”

The sisters looked at each other.

“Maybe a little,” Donna said.

“What do I do now?” Isobel asked. “Do you want me to run after him?”

“No,” Mairi said firmly. “Take your time. Sort yourself out. And then go get him. Otherwise he won’t know you mean it when you do.”

“Where is this coming from?” Agnes said. “None of this sounds like you.”

Mairi waved a hand. “Cosmo.”

There was a pause before the sisters burst out laughing. Isobel smiled through her tears and her eyes strayed to Jack. He was awake and staring at her.

“Jack,” she whispered, and reached for him. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah.” He licked his lips, and she reached for the glass of water beside his bed and put the straw against his lips. He sipped while Isobel and her sisters stared at him. All of them kept a hand on him somewhere, as though touch was the only way to assure themselves that he was still alive.

“You’re going to be fine,” Isobel told him.

“I know.” He motioned for her to take away the straw. “Where’s Callum?”

“He’s gone back to London, I think.” Isobel forced a smile.

Jack frowned. “That doesn’t sound like him. What did you do?”

“See?” Mairi said. “Even the kid knows Callum is a good guy.”

“Do you think that?” Isobel asked him.

“Mum, he took a bullet for you. He had a chance to run away and he didn’t. He didn’t run. He’s the only one who hasn’t run from us.” His eyes drifted closed.

“I’ll sort this out,” Isobel said, but Jack was already asleep. She looked up at her sisters. “I just need some time.”

There was nothing in Arness to go back to. Callum’s grandfather’s house was a crime scene, and the police had promised to call once he was allowed back in to see what was salvageable. Callum didn’t care. There wasn’t anything in the house that he was that attached to. Everything that meant anything to him was in the hospital behind him.

The strange thing was that he understood Isobel. She’d been damaged and didn’t trust what was staring her in the face. She said she needed time, and he’d give it to her. But he wasn’t going away. She’d learn that he wasn’t like the guys she’d known before. He didn’t run when things got tough. And he didn’t walk away from the woman he loved. Not ever. So he’d give her time, and then, if she didn’t come calling, he’d go looking for her.

In the meantime, he had some things he needed to settle. He pointed his car towards Glasgow’s East End and pressed the phone app on the dash while he did it.

“What is it?” Betty demanded.

“You owe me money, old woman.” Callum negotiated Glasgow’s city centre traffic as he talked.

Betty cackled. “You heard about your porn movie, then. No, wait, they call them sex tapes now. All the B-list celebrities have them because they think showing their bits on the internet will make them more money.”

Callum let out a sigh and wondered yet again how he was going to pay Lake back for bringing Betty into his life.

“You’d better not have made any copies,” he said.

“Now, would I do that?”

“Bloody right you would.”

Her cackle was like nails on a blackboard.

“This is your only warning; I want all copies destroyed by the end of the week or I’m coming to see you.” He turned into a narrow street, flanked by tall red sandstone tenements. Young men loitering on the corner stared at him. Graffiti covered the boarded-up windows of the ground-floor spaces that used to be shops. It was a dump.

“And you’ll do what? I’m eighty-nine. Threats of violence don’t work on me, son. You’ll need to do better than that.”

“I wasn’t planning violence. I was planning on taking care of you. I hear there’s a really nice nursing home in Aberdeen that you might like. I’m willing to pay for you to move in there and live out the rest of your life in comfort. Sure, it’s far away from Invertary and they lock the residents in at night, but you’d be happy there. Okay, maybe not happy, but definitely contained. I have the paperwork all drawn up that says I’m your son and I have power of attorney over your health, seeing as you’re suffering from dementia and all.”

“You’d never get away with it.”

“Try me.” He hung up as he pulled the car up in front of the last close in the tenement.

There was a crowd of young men hanging around outside the entrance to the flats. They all looked undernourished and beady-eyed. Callum got out of the car. He’d worn his shoulder holster for this occasion, and made a show of putting his gun in it. Guns weren’t a common sight on Scotland’s streets, not even in areas like this, and Callum knew if the young men were armed, it would be with knives.

He strode towards them, making his way right through the middle of their group.

“The car stays in one piece,” he said.

“Or what?” A young punk stood in front of him. Callum grabbed him by the nape and smashed his face into the wall of the building. He heard his nose break and then the howl of pain and disbelief. Callum kept on walking without saying a word, confident his message had been heard.

The close was remarkably clean, considering the state of the street outside the building. Callum made his way up the concrete steps to the top floor, passing doors that remained firmly closed. When he turned into the last flight of stairs, he wasn’t surprised to find two men waiting for him. They were bigger and more muscled than the boys downstairs. One wore knuckle dusters; the other held a knife.

“Either of you boys called Ray?” Callum asked.

They shared a look. “No. Who are you?”

“I’m here to see Eddie.”

“Eddie’s no’ takin’ meetin’s.” The one with the knife pointed to the stairs. “Get oot of here while ye still can.”

Callum didn’t bother arguing. He jabbed the guy with the knife in the throat, disarmed him and threw his knife into the stairwell. The man fell to his knees, choking. The other guy threw a punch. Callum ducked, grabbed his arm and used his forward momentum to propel him down the stairs. He didn’t turn to see what state he was in. Instead, Callum strode forward, lifted his foot and kicked in the door to Eddie’s flat.

Inside, a woman screamed. Callum ignored it and headed down the hallway. A short, nasty-looking guy with heavy rings on all of his fingers and a gun in his hand stepped into the doorway at the end of the hall.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Ray?” Callum asked, striding towards him.

“Ray, who is it?” someone shouted from inside the room.

Callum nodded. “Then you’re Ray.”

This was the man who’d hit Isobel and threatened to rape her. Callum saw Ray lift the gun. He wasn’t fast enough. Callum grabbed the arm with the gun, bent back Ray’s hand and released the gun into his own hand. Ray tried to head-butt him, but Callum sidestepped it, pressed Ray’s gun to his thigh and pulled the trigger.

Ray squealed like a pig and crumpled to the floor. Callum pointed the gun into the room, aiming it at the two men sitting on the leather chairs with glasses of whisky in their hands.

“Don’t move,” he ordered them.

Then, keeping the gun pointed in their direction, he looked down at Ray. “You like to hit women, Ray? You liked hitting my woman.”

“Fuck off,” Ray said as he held his thigh.

“Wrong answer.” Callum pointed the gun at him. “Hands up above your head, flat on the floor, or I put a bullet in the other leg.”

Ray cursed, his face turning red, but he put his hands on the floor. Callum didn’t hesitate—using the strength of his prosthetic leg, he stamped on both hands, satisfied when he heard the crunch of bones.

“That should stop you punching women.” He looked down at the sobbing Ray, who held his hands against his chest. “But if I ever hear that you’ve done it again, I’ll come back and smash the rest of you. Are we clear?”

Ray only whined, and Callum took that as a yes. He stepped over Ray and into the room. “Which one of you two is Eddie?”

There was silence.

“Should I just shoot both of you?”

“Him, it’s him.” One of the guys pointed at the other.

“Johnny, you fucking coward,” Eddie said before looking back at Callum. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Well, that’s easy, Eddie.” Callum pointed the gun at Eddie’s head. “I’m Isobel Sinclair’s man, and I want to put a bullet where your brain should be.”

There was the unmistakable stench of urine, and a wet patch appeared on the front of Johnny’s trousers.

“I’ll keep away from her,” Eddie said, tripping over his words.

“Now, why don’t I believe you?” Callum stepped closer. “You told her to pay you with sex.”

“It was a joke.” The weasel started to sweat.

Callum looked at Johnny. “Does he normally ask for sex?”

Johnny nodded, and Eddie’s face turned into a mask of pure menace that promised retribution. In Eddie’s tiny pond, he was the one to fear. But Callum wasn’t a local fish. Callum was a shark.

He lifted his foot and slammed it into Eddie’s crotch, using all the force of his bionic leg. A high-pitched whine escaped Eddie, he grasped what was left of his dick and keeled over, landing in a heap on the floor. Callum wiped Ray’s gun and pressed it into Eddie’s hand. With Eddie’s finger on the trigger, Callum pointed at the man’s foot and shot. The scream was piercing.

Callum looked at Johnny. “If you want to live, leave now.”

He ran, dropping the glass of whisky onto the carpet as he did so.

Callum pulled out his phone. “I’d like to report gunshots,” he said to the police, and rattled off the address before hitting the end button. He leaned into Eddie. “This is your last warning. Go near any of the Sinclair sisters again and I will cut off your dick and staple it to your door. And, if the cops ask, I was never here. Ray kicked you, you shot him and then, being a stupid bastard, you shot yourself. I don’t know how Ray’s hands got smashed. You can make that part up.”

He turned from the writhing man, stepped over Ray and left the apartment. Nobody stopped him on the way to his car, and he was pleased to see it was still in one piece. As he opened the door, he heard sirens. The cops could sift through Eddie’s paperwork and deal with him and his henchman. Callum knew that there was enough evidence lying around Eddie’s flat to put him away for a very long time. His source in Eddie’s team had made sure there would be.

Callum put the car in gear and pointed it south.

It was time to go back to work.

It was time to head home to London.