Not Without Juliet (A Scottish Time Travel Romance) (Muir Witch Project #2) (3 page)

Juliet realized three things. First, the sisters were looking right at her. Second, they weren’t doing jumping jacks; they were flapping around trying to get her attention. And third, the man on the North hill couldn’t see them.

Or so she hoped. She swung the glasses in his direction to be sure.

The tripod hadn’t moved. The knees were gone, but as she scanned the area, she found a man’s torso. When he ducked to take a bite of something in his hand, she saw him.

Sunglasses. It was already too dark for those. The sun was nearly down. Dark shadows had already started creeping up the side of Castle Ross. It was too late for a good shot—at least with a camera.

The man straightened and moved. She watched patiently for a better glimpse of him.

“Don’t be Greek. Don’t be Greek,” she chanted.

Finally, she saw his head. It was covered with long orange curls. For a minute, she thought it was just the trick of the sunset, until she realized the bright hair was all natural. Not a Skedros, then.

Not a photographer. Not a Skedros. Either a hired hitter, or the FBI. FBI agents tried to blend in. This guy, with his lion’s mane of bright hair, wouldn’t blend in anywhere—maybe not even Scotland.

A hitman then.

She was dead. Her chances for survival just rolled away, down the hill, out of reach. The smart thing to do would be to get in her car and drive away. Act as casually as possible as the road would either take her down the hill and past the castle, right where he was watching, or up and back the way she’d come, about twenty feet from where his car was parked. Maybe he wouldn’t consider she’d blackened her hair and wouldn’t give her a second look. Once she was out of sight, she would have to high-tail it to Edinburg, turn herself in to the police and hope the FBI could come and save her. It was her only choice.

Fire or frying pan?

She was out of money. Nearly out of gas. And if she didn’t think of something quick, she’d be out of hope.

She looked back to the sisters. They’d seen the man. They’d seen her, and yet they were still waving. She had absolutely no idea what they could have deduced from that, but they seemed to be beckoning her inside the grounds. Did they sense her danger, or were they out of their minds? Why would they want to help her when they had no clue who she was?

Maybe they’d seen the man’s gun and freaked out. But she couldn’t just run down there and let them help her. She’d be putting them in danger. A hitter wouldn’t think twice about collateral damage.

But with no gas money, what choice did she have?

For just a second, Jules allowed herself to imagine the large dark Highlander, coming up the hill to rescue her, kilt and sword swinging as they had the previous day for his crowd of tourists. But the “see us tomorrow” sign had already been hung, the parking lot chained off for the night. And his Hummer was still gone.

The sisters waved limply, their arms at their sides now, no longer over their heads, but it didn’t look like they planned to give up. If they didn’t get out of there, there was a good chance they’d get shot. Maybe it was her Christian duty to make them go hide.

Jules waved her hand, then gave them a thumbs-up.

They stopped their antics and one grabbed the field glasses from the other to take a good look.

Again, Jules gave a thumbs-up.

She received two very broad grins in return—smiles that in other circumstances would have made her think twice about taking shelter at Castle Ross. They looked a little too pleased. Like they might have a pot of stew on the fire and were waiting for a bit of meat.

A chill went through her. She figured it was just adrenaline overload.

The jagged tips of the ramparts let go of the sunset and the famous Scottish gloaming settled over the glen with an almost audible sigh.

The car hadn’t moved. The tripod hadn’t moved.

Jules took a deep breath, appreciating for the moment that she was still breathing at all. She turned to look north again, to check the hitter’s location one last time and found herself staring into the guy’s small binoculars, aimed right at her.

Air locked in her chest and expanded, like whipped cream from a thoroughly shaken can. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t drop her glasses and hope not to be seen. It was too important to know what he would do!  Did he already have a gun in hand?  Had he already seen her and was looking to see if she was alone?

Time froze.

He only stared.

She didn’t dare hope he mistook her for anything or anyone else. They conversed silently.

Ah, there you are.

I can’t believe you found me.

Believe it, baby.

Now what?

You make the first move. Then I kill you.

It seemed like whole minutes ticked by without him twitching a muscle. That mean square jaw never softened, those lips never curved in satisfaction. A long orange curl swayed in a breeze that never reached her side of the crescent hill.

Calmly, in a less-than-dramatic act of defiance, she raised her left hand next to her binoculars...and flipped him off.

His head snapped back as he laughed—and she heard it, faintly. But the break in eye contact, such as it was, was all it took to shake her into action. She jumped to her feet and looked down at the gate. Blue. Still there.

She judged the distance to her car. He was much closer to his. He could drive over to her car before she could make her way up to it. If she ran flat out for the gate, she’d be an open target, but a moving one. If he tried to come after her, she’d reach the castle before he could drive to it, considering how the road twisted and turned down the mountain. He could drive like James Friggin’ Bond and never reach her in time.

But whom would she endanger?

She faltered. Would he take out everyone here?  There were children in the manor, or at least there had been yesterday. The more modern home was a good football field away from the castle, but could she honestly expect to take shelter in the old structure and not endanger the people in the new one? 

She recalled photos on the website depicting ancient weapons in the great hall. Maybe she could defend herself without any Highlanders needing to come to her rescue.

The start of the man’s car startled her like a shot fired. Her legs took all decision from her and propelled her down the hill. She made a bee-line for the parking lot since he couldn’t be trying to draw a bead on her and drive at the same time. He was coming after her, then. Maybe Gabby Skedros was in the area and wanted to do the deed himself.

And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t get the chance.

Her cowboy boots slid on the moist grass like skis on snow, so she braced herself and let them slide. One heel hit a stone and she rolled. How she got down the hill didn’t matter—down was down. On her feet again, she cleared a gauntlet of shrubbery she never could have named then jumped a hedge of purple heather before touching down on the solidly packed road.

Cowboy boots weren’t designed for running, and her sprint wasn’t pretty. She tripped but she didn’t go down. Two steps later, she realized she’d lost a boot in the gravel of the parking lot, but she didn’t slow. The roaring engine of a sports car gave her an added shot of adrenaline and she flew across the lot, then the land-bridge, and past the gate before the car ever made the last turn out of the woods.

She slowed, looking for a bit of blue. It was there at the back corner of the castle. Both sisters were waving her on and she obliged, limping, cursing her lost boot until she’d rounded the corner, out of sight of the road.

The sisters clutched at her, pulling her toward an open door, ignoring her resistance and her need to catch her breath. After they’d taken a dozen steps into the dark castle, she heard a strangled sound, as if a certain small car were four-wheeling from road to rocks, by-passing the chains, then barreling across the bridge and toward the back of the castle.

“Those people in the manor house!” She grabbed a boney forearm and forced one woman to stop. “He’ll kill them!  Can you call them?  Tell them to run and hide?”

“No one is at home, dear. They’ve all gone to the city. How else would we have been able to break in?”

Juliet shook her head. Her relief was a tidal wave, but not complete.

“
You
have to hide,” she told them. “I need a weapon...from the great hall...and you two need to hide!”

A flashlight materialized and the sisters led the way, silently. After a couple of turns, Juliet didn’t know up from down.

“Hang on. Did you understand me?  You two need to hide—”

A door crashed open behind them.

“No use for it, sister. We’ll have to put her in the hole.” The light was dimmed against a blue sweater, but two nodding heads were still visible.

“You want to hide me in a hole?  And where are you going to hide?” Juliet whispered, but the man stomping around in the dark castle wouldn’t have been able to hear much.

“Juliet Bell!” The hitter’s voice echoed around them, but he seemed to be coming no closer. “I know ye’re in here, lass!  I found your boot in the car park, all but pointin’ the way!”

Great. Skedros had hired a local. No wonder he’d had red hair. If he’d have worn a kilt and hung around the ruins, she might have walked right up to him!

One sister grabbed her hand and pulled her along. They finally came to a staircase and Juliet got a funny feeling. Deja vu, maybe. Not really a foreboding, but...yeah, a foreboding. She’d gotten them often enough, she should have recognized it for what it was.

When she’d tried to explain it to Nikkos once, she’d told him it was like playing the Hot & Cold game. Only something in her gut would tell her whether she was getting closer to something important, or moving further away. She’d felt like she was getting warmer the second she’d touched down in Scotland. Now she was burning up.

Either the hitter had stopped stomping around, or they were moving so far underground they couldn’t hear him anymore. After the hallway made a hairpin turn, the lead sister took the flashlight away from her sweater and shined it on the ground. A minute later, they hurried into a small room with a single large barrel in the center.

“Up on the barrel, dear, if ye please.” One sister offered a hand for support, but in this light, with shadows playing in the deep wrinkles of their faces, the pair looked too old to support their own measly weight, let alone hers.

The other shined her light on the odd ceiling. A large slab of stone capped the room, and in the center of it, a hole had been carved but was now plugged with a perfectly fitting block of wood.

“Just push up on the wood, dear. I assure ye there are no bodies inside the tomb.”

“A
tomb
? Are you friggin’ kidding me?” Jules couldn’t have whispered if she’d tried. That foreboding had turned into a loud clown orchestra with bells and whistles and all kinds of alarms going off.

“Shh.” A cool boney hand clamped down on her mouth, but Jules carefully removed it before glaring a warning at its owner.

“That’s the hole we’re going to hide in?” She had lowered her voice and tried to sound calm considering the noise in her head.

Both sisters shook their heads.

“We’re not allowed inside, dear—”

“We gave our word.”

Jules didn’t get it. “Then where will the two of you hide? This guy isn’t messing around. He’s going to kill me, and he’s going to kill you if he knows you’re here.”

“Oh, don’t worry about us,” said one. “There is a place for us just on down the hall, but ye’ll be safe here.”

“Yes, it won’t take us a moment to hide. But we’ll see ye safe first.”

Great. She’d come to save them and they ended up saving her.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s move.”

Jules did as ordered—they were a bossy pair—and pulled herself up into the hole. She couldn’t think of it as a tomb and still crawl inside. Once she was out of it, she’d ask questions.

She stuck her head out and watched the pair turn for the door.

“Wait a sec,” she said.

“What is it, dear?” asked one.

“You’re not ghosts, are you?” She pretended she was joking.

They both chuckled. One of them winked in the light from the flashlight shining on her wrinkled face. “Not yet, dear. Not just yet. And don’t forget to plug the hole.”

When she’d first stuck her head inside, Jules had seen a stash of flashlights and candles against one wall. She felt for them now, praying at least one would have live batteries. The first one she tested worked. Then she did what the old chick had done and put the bright end against her shirt. If the guy came looking and found the little room, the last thing she wanted him to see was light shining down through the ceiling.

Oh, she was in a tomb all right, and it took a lot more courage than she thought she had to nudge the plug into the hole with her foot.

But which is better, dead or just temporarily buried?

A room—she’d just think of it as a stone room.

It was oblong. Its walls were black stones of all shapes and sizes that fit perfectly, like a puzzle. The ceiling was high enough to let her stand, as if the guy who built it expected a tall crowd inside.

Jules had read every word on the website, but hadn’t paid much attention to the fairy tale crap. She’d been more interested in the current Lady of Clan Ross, not the marketing aimed at the tourists. Now she wished she’d read it more carefully.

She ran one hand along the wall. The mortar and cobwebs felt old and genuine, not like a recent set design. The air smelled dusty and stale and she hoped it had nothing to do with the decomposed body of some Ross woman who’d been buried alive by her brother. At least the body had been removed. A ghost she could handle. A skeleton?  Not so much.

“Joooliet! Come out, come out, wherever ye are.”

The hitter’s sing-song words were muffled and came from her left. He must have been standing in the great hall. No way did he know she was inside unless light was finding its way out some crack, but there was no way she would turn off the flashlight now. What if it didn’t turn back on? Then, he’d know exactly where she was because she’d be out of her friggin’ mind and screaming her head off.