Stolen (Wild Mountain Scots, #3)

“Your final week is going to be intensive.” Jordie ended his presentation, the topic of the evening complete. “If you think I’ve been tough on you up until now, you’re in for a shock. Tomorrow, we’ll finish up manoeuvres. Each of you gets to be on the wrong end of the winch and playing rescuer. Then you get the weekend to recover before I throw the works at you.”

“What does that mean?” Tommy asked.

“I’ll be pushing each of you hard to fulfil your potential as leaders of crew, something even more vital in the extreme circumstances you’ll be facing. Are we good?”

We whooped, and he released us from the classroom.

Next to me, Tommy stretched his arms out, slyly finding a way to slap me upside the head.

I shoved him away. “Idiot.”

“What?” He grinned at me. “All I heard was one more day then we get a break. Fucking A.”

In the cosy bunkhouse, I grabbed three beers from the mini fridge, cracked them, and handed them out. After nearly three weeks, I’d become friends with the two fellow pilots, Tommy the open book and Gabe the dark horse.

Tommy planned to join the US military after Christmas and was a decent pilot with a chill attitude but a tendency to get spooked. I suspected I liked him because he was American. Same as a certain lass who played on my mind.

Gabe, a fellow Scot mixed with some American roots, stuck headphones in and spread his long body out on his bed. The guy rarely spoke if he didn’t have something important to say. Behind his quiet brooding, he was top class at his job. Probably a better pilot than me. We’d copiloted for each other a lot this past couple of weeks, and I’d never seen him slip.

I took a swig of my light beer then raised the bottle at the two men. “Want to head out somewhere?”

‘Out’ meant a drive down icy roads. We were miles from any town, something I was well used to. During our last day off, we’d stayed overnight in Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital, and went to a gig—the locals seemed crazy for hardcore metal music, folklore, and monster trucks—but that was hours of travel away.

Tommy checked the time on the bunkhouse’s wall clock. Seven PM. Jordie’s lecture had been a short one tonight. He filled our days with hard work and, in the dark evenings, gave us a good grounding from his experience and knowledge. December in this country was harsher by a long shot than the winter months back home. In Scotland, I’d long been used to rescues in the snow and ice, but more commonly driving rain. Iceland had the works.

“We could take a snowmobile up to see the Aurora Borealis,” he suggested.

Aurora. I groaned.

“What did I say?” he asked.

I held up my phone and waggled it at him. “Aurora. That’s her name.”

Tommy squinted at the screen. “The woman you’ve been daydreaming about?”

“Aye, that one.”

“She’s calling you.”

Shite! I’d had my phone on silent during the lecture and had yet to flip the sound back.

After our spectacular video call a few days ago, I didn’t want to miss a single message from Rory, even if we’d both been too busy to chat since.

I jerked up to sitting and accepted the incoming video call. A dopey grin caught my lips. Tommy snickered, and across the room, Gabe raised a solitary eyebrow. Not that I had any attention to spare for either of them now.

“There ye are,” I greeted Rory.

“Hey, handsome,” she sang. Behind her, people cluttered a busy street. “You alone?”

Tommy let out an even dirtier cackle.

I heaved a sigh. “Sadly, no.”

Panning the camera around, I showed Rory my pilot friends, and Tommy gave a goofy salute. Even Gabe raised a hand in a short wave.

“Nice to meet you,” Rory told them.

“Ye on lunch?” I asked, bringing the camera back to me. Since we’d worked out that California and Iceland were eight hours apart in winter, my mind kept a running clock of the time difference.

“I am, I just grabbed iced coffee and a breakfast burrito.”

“Oh snap,” Tommy uttered. “I miss fast food. Where does your girlfriend live?”

“She’s a friend, and she’s in LA,” I filled him in. Then I leapt up. “I’m going to take this somewhere more private.”

Not that there was much by way of privacy here. Jordie lived in the main house with his family. The bunkhouse had a conference room next to it where we did classroom training, or there was outside in minus temperatures and biting wind. I crossed to the hall.

“Nice to meet you, Aurora. We’re going to see your namesake in a minute,” Tommy yelled after me.

Inside the classroom, I switched on the light and perched on a desk. “Sorry about that. He means the Northern Lights, not another lass.”

Rory smiled, the effect radiant. “Good to know. But listen, I’ve got something exciting to tell you. You know the money in my account? I have a lead.”

Rapid-fire, she told me of a note her mother had found in their mailbox while Rory was in Scotland.

“But it can’t be from Mom’s husband. Why would he sign himself off with the wrong initials?” she added. “It’s wishful thinking on her part, and she clearly didn’t want to tell me about it. I’m pretty certain the note’s for me. I think it’s someone telling me to keep hold of that money until they return.”

“Did ye say the initials were SJ?” I cradled the phone then cast my mind back over all the names she’d gone through when constructing her list. Our drive along the NC500 felt a million years ago.

“Yep. I know who it is,” she said. “Stafford Jackson. Do you remember me mentioning him? We shared a class and dated for a couple weeks, but then we never spoke to each other after. He didn’t reply to my text, and I didn’t bother chasing him down.”

She lifted her hand and waved at someone. A car pulled up, and Rory climbed inside.

“What are ye doing?”

“I’m going to see him.” She pushed her headphones in, her gaze on the driver before returning to me. “It’s got to be him. Remember my housemate said his dad runs a multi-million-dollar business, and Stafford works for him now? I’m gonna turn up there and ask him.”

I jumped to my feet and swore. “Are you kidding me? What if that money’s hot? What if he’s dangerous?”

Rory’s brow furrowed. “It’s broad daylight. I’m just going to walk into the place and ask if he was trying to contact me. If I get any weird vibes off him, I’ll know he’s got something to do with it.”

Anxiety crunched my gut. In odd moments, I’d considered Rory’s problem and concluded that the money could only be stolen. No other explanation made sense. Any legitimate owner would be yelling about it.

I jammed my fingers into my hair and paced the conference room floor. “Talk me through this. What kind of business is it?”

“They run a chain of bars and nightclubs, mostly in LA, and down the West Coast. I looked up Stafford, and he works front of house in a club. I figure he’ll be there somewhere, maybe sorting out stock or handling staff.”

My sense of unease intensified. Even in the middle of the day, dodgy people hung out in nightclubs.

“I’m worried for ye,” I confessed.

Rory stared at me.

In a beat, I felt the lack of my right to be so concerned. I wasn’t her boyfriend, and no matter our startling chemistry, she had every right to hang up the call and carry on with her life in the way that she wanted.

But then her gaze dipped. “Thank you. There aren’t that many people around who would care so much.” Her chest rose and fell on a heavy breath, but then she brightened, her spark of personality returning. “Tell you what, I’ll leave the call going and stick my phone out of my purse so you can see what’s going on. Oh, and wait up.”

She raised the phone and pressed things I couldn’t see onscreen. Then a message came through to me: the address where she was headed.

“Just in case something happens,” she added.

It was nowhere near enough, but her taxi reached her destination, and she climbed out. After positioning her phone in her bag and whispering to me to stay silent, she marched up to a single-storey building by the side of a busy street.

I stared at the shaky view as she opened the nightclub’s door and marched right in. In a painted black corridor, Rory called out a hello, then trod deeper into the dark.

A cavernous room waited behind double doors.

“Hello?” she called again.

The open space yawned, no person in sight. A long bar stretched across the back of the room, and stools perched on tables, the cleaning service presumably having been through.

Rory’s hand drifted in front of the camera view. Her fingers shook.

“This is giving me the creeps,” she said softly.

I continued my pacing on silent feet, my jaw locked. I didn’t like the look of the place at all. More than a nightclub, it had to be a biker bar. Fewer cocktails and more like fifty types of whisky.

The view changed, and Rory advanced into the room.

Then the sound came, and she spun around.

“Oh! You made me jump.”

At the edge of the screen, unclear from where the lass moved, a man was staring at her. I willed her to keep still, peering closer at the arsehole.

In a patched leather vest over a T-shirt with some band’s logo on it, the guy folded heavily tattooed arms. No way could this be her college friend. The guy had to be forty at least.

I didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

He angled his head. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m trying to find Stafford. Is he around?” Rory’s voice didn’t waver, but somehow, I still sensed her nerves.

“Who wants to know?”

“That’s between me and him. Is he here?”

The guy’s interest dropped, and hostility replaced his predator’s expression. He took a step towards Rory, and she retreated the same distance.

“You expect to walk in here and throw your weight around, darlin’? Ain’t happening. Name. Now.”

Fuck. I hated this with every inch of my being. I couldn’t help her. I could do nothing but watch as she faced off to some fucking gangster dick. If he crowded her, or she gave me any sign that she was afraid, I…had no idea what I could do. Call the Los Angeles police? Fucking explode and teleport to her rescue?

All my skills, my ability to fly fast, were useless right now.

“Rory?” another voice sounded.

Rory rotated to show another man on the screen, this one much younger. A fleeting expression I couldn’t read crossed his face.

“Stafford!”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

Stafford exchanged a glance with the other guy.

The younger man didn’t smile, and instead, jutted his chin at the door. “Not happening. Leave.”

“I just have a question. It’ll take ten seconds.”

Now, Stafford’s mouth twisted in frustration. He marched up to Rory, then the camera jostled, and I caught sight of his hand locked around her arm. He towed her back into the corridor and to the front door. Then he thrust her outside, and Rory staggered. At the crash of the door slamming, Rory took off at a jog.

I gripped the table, frozen in fear for her.

A few streets down, she lifted her phone, and her panicked gaze appeared onscreen once more. “Holy shit. Did that really just happen? He threw me out.” She pulled the phone closer and pressed something on the screen. “I’m ordering a car. There’s one just a minute away. I have to go back to work. But holy fuck, Maddock. It has to be him, right? He didn’t want to talk to me in front of that shady guy. That could only be because he’s hiding something.” She peered around, checking back over her shoulder, then hissed, “Like a million dollars he shouldn’t have and needed to hide.”

“Meanwhile, I’m over here trying not to have a heart attack. Fuck, Aurora. If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll—”

Her eyes widened. “Did you just full first name me? And finish that threat. Take me over your knee? Hell yes.”

Despite her tease, I picked up the stress in her voice. That had scared her. Everything else was bravado. And there was nothing I could do to make her feel better. Frustration churned inside me that I could neither be with her, protect her, nor comfort her beyond useless words.

I leaned on the conference room’s cool wall and banged my head once and hard.

Rory continued walking until she met her ride, then she climbed into the car.

For a couple of minutes, we stayed on the line together in silence.

I found my voice. “I want ye to be safe. That was very unsafe.”

Her gaze travelled back to the screen. “Yeah, it was a little reckless. Next time, I’ll think it through.”

“Next time, don’t do it alone,” I ordered, my alpha side coming out.

“I know—”

“Seriously,” I barked.

Rory didn’t cut me off, so I guessed my words hit home.

“I’m outside work now. Thank you for hanging out with me while I did that.” Her voice came out small.

“Can we talk later?” I asked. “I’ll get up at five. Nine PM your time.”

“Sure.” She summoned a smile and let me go.

I took out my energy on a brutal snowmobile session with Tommy. We set out on a well-used track, slicing through the snow to crest a hill behind Jordie’s home, the air bitter and the moon full. When we returned, half frozen, I had my emotions under control.

Rory and I were friends. And only that.

I just had to repeat it until it fixed in my mind.

She didn’t want a boyfriend, and if I didn’t rein myself in, she’d drop me. For some reason, the thought left my chest tight.

After a fast shower, I dove into my bed. Tommy already snored. At the desk in the corner of the long room, Gabe worked on something on his laptop.

While I’d been out, I’d lost signal, and now, back on Wi-Fi, my phone loaded with messages.

The first was from my brother.

Max: Got home yesterday. Isobel called me up to the garage. Ye arsehole.

He’d finally seen his repaired scrambler. His working trip had been extended, so my surprise had waited for his return. I grinned at my phone.

Maddock: I broke it, so I fixed it. A few years late, but it’s done.

After a minute, his reply came in.

Max: Thanks.

Maddock: No problem.

I hadn’t expected a wash of gratitude, but this was better than silence. Another small step towards repairing us was complete.

My uncle had sent a message checking in on me, and I tapped out an update on the training. I didn’t ask if there had been any progress on the heli contracts. Any news, and he’d let me know.

Gordain: Not to second-guess Jordie, but before you go out on the winch, check your radio and check it again. Don’t rely on hand signals, even if you train in this method. People have died from poor communications.

Maddock: Will do. Thanks for the warning.

My mind drifted to a frozen hillside, a storm battling. The final week of training included putting ourselves in the role of the people we’d be working with. Going out on the winch, rather than being the pilot keeping the helicopter steady, was a gap in my experience, and one I wasn’t too thrilled about. But this was the point of being here.

No pain, no gain.

A solid night’s sleep later, and I woke a few minutes ahead of my call with Rory. I dragged on a hoodie and joggers, stepped into my trainers, sprinted for the bathroom, then threw myself back on my bed. The guys were still sleeping, so I stuck in headphones, and readied to speak low.

I called her. No answer came.

A few minutes later I tried again, with the same result.

“Come on,” I muttered at my phone.

I tapped out a message, to say that I was ready for her, then sat tight, waiting.

Three missed calls later, and panic rose within me. Had she gone back to the nightclub? Was she there now, in danger?

While I stressed out, Gabe woke. He pulled his jumpsuit over thermals, brushed his dark hair from his even darker eyes, then gestured to me.

“What gives?”

“Rory, the lass I was talking to last night. We’re meant to be on a call, but she’s not answering. I can’t stop worrying about her.”

“That’s a lot for someone you claim is a friend.”

I stared at him. He hadn’t seemed to be listening yesterday, but that was obviously wrong. “She lives in California. My home is in Scotland. We can’t ever be more.”

“If ye want to see her, hitch a ride with me on Friday. I’m flying into LA for a meeting with my father.”

We had the weekend free to do whatever we wanted. I knew Gabe wasn’t going to be here, but I’d figured Tommy and I would head out somewhere, or I’d take a solo flight to some far-out place in Iceland’s Highlands.

“Are ye kidding?” I said on a breath.

He shrugged. “Got a private plane and forty-eight hours to kill. Think about it.”

“I will. Shite. Thanks.”

All I had to do now was get Rory to answer the call and agree to a visit. Somehow, all the rest of it felt like the easy part.