The Redeemer (30 page)

Fuck. I don’t know where they live . . . Oh, she’s Scottish . . . she said they’d moved back.

‘Do you have their address?’ he demanded.

She grinned. ‘I don’t and if she wanted you to know it, I’m guessing she’d have given it to you. Therefore, I wouldn’t give it to you if I had it. Do yourself a favour. Go home. Give her time to think about what she wants. If she wants you, she’ll let you know. Pushing her won’t help.’

‘You don’t understand. I need to explain. I need to make her understand.’ Xander dragged his hand through his hair. ‘I know they’re in Scotland. Do you know whereabouts? North? South? East or West?’

‘Listen laddie, you men always think you can explain your way out of anything. Heed my advice and leave her be. There’s nothing to be gained from trying to rush her. Like I say, if she wanted you to know where she was going, you’d know.’

Thankfully, the knowledge that Red’s next of kin would most likely be her parents and that he’d have their address on file, helped him to resist the urge to strangle her. He raced back to his car and called the hotel, asking Belinda to put him through to Alberto. It rang and rang before Belinda informed him that there was no reply.

No shit, Sherlock.

‘Belinda, could you—’

He stopped, realising that he was about to ask the queen of gossip to give him Isla’s parents’ address. For the sake of a few minutes, he could get it himself.

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back in a few minutes so I’ll sort it then.’

Hanging up abruptly, he fired up the car and tore back to the hotel. He wrenched open the filing cabinet that contained the staff’s personal files before grabbing Isla’s and throwing it down on his desk. As he opened the file, he noticed an envelope addressed to him . . . in Isla’s handwriting.

He snatched it up, not registering that his palms were sweaty as he tore it open but unable to ignore the banging inside his chest. Even before he began to read, he knew he’d lost her. By the end of the first paragraph, she’d confirmed it.

With every bullet point that she’d given as her reason for leaving that he read, he felt more confused.

We’ve been over this. I didn’t lie. I haven’t cheated on you. Who have I manipulated and to what end?

He read on . . .

My wife confided in your ex? What the fuck? Why the hell would my wife be speaking to your ex? How would she even know who your ex was? Fucking hell, Isla . . . have you totally lost it?

He continued until the words began to swim in front of his eyes.

Janine told your ex he was the father? How in hell’s name . . . whoa . . . Janine is Ms Big Tits? No fucking way!

Oh Isla, you stubborn cow . . . she did not kick me out, nor did she file for divorce. I could have proved that if you’d asked me . . .

. . . but I wasn’t here to ask. I’d crawled off to lick my wounds, leaving her to cope with the fallout. Fucking hell. Her ex? My wife? Jesus, no fucking wonder she’s fucked off.

I need to see her. I can explain. Well, I can explain that you’re wrong about me wanting Janine and her kicking me out . . . I have no fucking clue about why you were told that. Some fucker is playing games . . . whoever it is, I’ll break every bone in their fucking body if I lose you over this.

He grabbed Isla’s personal file and tore out the page of personal data containing her next of kin. It was given as her parents.

Yes! Thank fuck for that.

He scanned it.

Edinburgh? Fucking hell, that’s a long drive. Perhaps I should fly up . . . No, by the time I’ve farted around getting a flight, driving over there and getting checked in, I’ll be halfway there.

He was almost out of the door, determined to do without any overnight things when he remembered that Alberto had brought some over a few days before. He located his case, stuffed Isla’s letter inside and got on the road.

He snickered when he programmed the Murrayfield address into his Holden’s satnav.

‘Seven and a half hours, my arse. I’ll do it in half that.’

He put his foot down, grateful to be just missing London in rush hour. The problem was, the faster he drove, the quicker his fuel gauge went down. He cursed, knowing that having to take extra fuel stops would cut down on the time he gained from speeding up the A1(M). Rush hour hit as he approached Peterborough. Until then, he’d been too busy focusing on the road ahead; driving at breakneck speed on British motorways required balls of steel and total concentration.

It was only when he found himself stuck at a crawling pace that his mind was able to fully consider the contents of Isla’s letter.

Janine told Isla’s ex that he was the father? Why would she do that?

Wait a second . . . Thursday? Didn’t Red say that Janine had called him up to give him the DNA result on Thursday? Fuck, where’s that letter?

He rifled in the overnight bag on the passenger seat and pulled it out. Scanning the letter again, he saw that was indeed what she had written.

But I haven’t even told Janine about the results yet . . . I paid for the test and I got the results sent to me late on Friday afternoon. What the fuck is Red talking about? Her ex is feeding her a pack of lies. Hang on . . . has Janine told him he’s the father? And that it’s proven by the DNA test? Why the fucking hell would she do that?

And why would she even ask him for a DNA sample? Something’s wrong here . . . something’s very fucking wrong.

Fuck!
Xander had almost driven into the back of the car in front.

Fuck this! I can’t fucking drive until I know what the fuck’s going on here. And I need fuel . . .

He pulled into Grantham services and parked up. A quick call to the DNA company revealed that they had only received two DNA samples: his and the baby’s.

So what the fuck did Janine do with the other one? She must have requested a kit from a DNA lab in case I didn’t come back as the father . . . she must have sent it off with samples from Red’s ex and the baby to prove that he was the father if my test came back negative.

But why tell him that he’s the father? I want to know what the hell is going on.

He dialled Janine’s number but it diverted to her voicemail. He tried the landline but that rang out until the answering machine picked up.

Groaning in frustration, he debated what to do.

Why would Red take off without talking to me first if she thought he was the father and not me? Did she simply believe his lies about Janine kicking me out and filing for divorce? Would that make her hate me that much?

Hurt that Isla would believe her ex and not him, he pulled into the fuel station and refuelled.

Is there even any point in driving to Edinburgh? She obviously doesn’t trust me . . . despite what she said, she doesn’t think I told her the truth. So what’s the point?

He got back into the car and was sorely tempted to drive back down the A1. But something wouldn’t let him. He still had the feeling that something wasn’t right. Janine telling Red’s ex that he was the father made no sense. The DNA paternity result was back late on Friday so he knew Janine had put it in the post either on Wednesday evening or on Thursday as she’d agreed.

Why pay for another test before waiting for the result of my test? It’s a forty-eight-hour wait, for fuck’s sake.

Why contact him and get a DNA sample . . . the result of which was back on Thursday . . . both results can’t be positive. We can’t both be the fucking father!

What is she playing at?

Suddenly, he snatched his phone up and scrolled through his redial list.

A few minutes later, he was heading north again. And this time, his head was clearer. He had a plan. It was risky but he had a plan.

Darkness was falling by the time he roared into Edinburgh, passing close to the country’s national rugby stadium. He skidded to a halt outside a modern-looking premises and raced to the intercom, fearing that he was too late. Mercifully, the man he needed to see was still inside. Ten minutes later, having handed over a considerable wad of cash as well as something that may prove priceless, he was on his way again.

Never before had he managed to show the enormous level of restraint and patience as he did when he parked outside a hotel, checked-in and sat down to a much-needed meal. Nor when he bypassed the bar and stayed in his room all night. Sober. He sat tight and, for the first time in his life, he prayed. He prayed that he could do the impossible.

‘If there’s anyone up there, any superhuman entity or . . . oh, I don’t fucking know.’

What the fuck am I doing? I’ve lost the fucking plot. Talking to the ceiling as if some almighty power has control over my life like I’m some fucking puppet . . .

But I’m desperate. So fucking desperate that I’ll try anything.

‘Hey, I don’t suppose you’re even listening to me. Oh God, I can’t believe I’m even doing this. In the morning, things could go one of two ways. I’ll give up everything I own, or am likely to ever own, if justice would prevail in the morning. I know I’m no angel, but I’m no damned cheating prick. I don’t deserve the shit storm that’s been raining down on me lately but there’s someone else in all this. Someone who is kind and good and true. Someone so fucking perfect for me. But even if she can’t see that, I need her to see that I’m not who she thinks I am.

‘In fact, fuck all that I’ve said . . . if you can make her just hear me out – nothing more than that – I’ll pledge my soul to you or to the devil or to whoever the fuck you like. You need to make her listen. She’s feisty, she’s independent and she’s so damned stubborn. Make her listen to me. Don’t let her walk away from me until she has all the facts. I’d like to promise that I’ll let her go if she does but, like I say, I’m no angel and watching the best thing that’s ever happened to you, the one person in this whole fucked up world that really cares about you, never mind gets you, give up on you . . . well, it’s hard. Maybe even impossible.

‘I know I’ve no right to ask. And she doesn’t owe me a thing. All I’ve done is cause her hurt and pain but I promise that, from this moment on, I’ll treasure her and protect her from all that shit. And from anything that could possibly cause her harm. I love her. And I can make her happy. I know I can. And, after all she’s been through, she deserves a chance at happiness. Are you going to deny her that?

‘And if I fuck up, feel free to take my soul . . . in any way you see fit. Under a bus, a freakish bolt of lightning, spontaneous combustion . . . be as creative as you like if it amuses you. Oh . . . when I said, if I fuck up . . . I didn’t mean like forget to put the cap on the toothpaste . . . or buy her the wrong perfume. You get what I’m saying? I mean if I cause her any more pain. And yeah, I’m a cocky, arrogant fucker . . . I’ve been called that many times – behind my back . . . but, more than ever before, I can afford to be. I can put my life in the balance because I know I won’t fuck up.

‘Do we have a deal? I guess it’s too much to expect you to flash the lights or something, just so that I know I haven’t made a complete dick out of myself for the last five minutes? Ah, fuck this . . . I guess I’m on my own. I’ll just have to make sure she listens to me. I’ll probably have to restrain her and gag her and . . . no, you fucking deviant, get those thoughts out of your head. How the fuck can you be thinking of her, like that, right now?’

His cock twitched. ‘Ah, who am I kidding? I am what I am. And she accepts me, just the way I am. The real me, not the lying, cheating player she’s been led to believe I am.’

I might be losing my freaking mind, talking to thin air in the hope that someone might be listening . . . Man, Red sure got under my skin . . . right under the fucker . . . right in there.

He jabbed his finger over the left-hand side of his rib cage.

Christ, she must have done . . . I’ve just driven four hundred miles chasing a woman. I’ve never chased a woman in my life and, in the space of a week, I’ve literally chased Red all around the damned country. But then I’ve never had a woman worth chasing. Yeah, I thought I loved Janine but I was inexperienced with relationships. The way I felt about her is
nothing
in comparison with how I feel about Red. I can’t bear the thought of losing her. I want her by my side, always. No, I need her there. I don’t ever want to have to chase her again. And, if I’m remotely deserving of her, I’ll never give her reason to run from me again so I won’t have to.

His thoughts turned to the following morning when he would get the information that would either make or break his chances of winning Red back. He knew he shouldn’t count his chickens, but he had a feeling in his gut that everything would be okay. It had to be. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

The following morning, he was back at the modern building on the outskirts of Edinburgh more than thirty minutes before the time of his appointment. He rang the bell and paced up and down the paving slabs when nobody came to the door. It was all he could do not to break the door down and force his way inside. He’d had a dreadful night’s sleep that had nothing to do with the hotel, but more to do with his anxiety level. He was not a patient man. And, as a self-confessed control freak, finding himself at the mercy of things beyond his jurisdiction did not make for a restful night. There was too much at stake. Too much to lose.

Needless to say, he was not in the best humour so, when he finally heard the click of the door being unlocked, the poor guy on the other side of the door was almost flattened when Xander barged inside. He nearly took off the guy’s head when he attempted to make small talk, making it clear that he was there for one reason only. To get the results of their investigation.