Then he fell, hitting the apartment floor with a loud, decisive slam.
Relieved, shocked, I turned to Autry to make sure he was okay.
“Robbie,” Autry whispered, looking grief stricken.
“What is it? We’re okay, we’re okay.”
“Robbie, no.” He looked down at my chest.
Frowning, I followed his gaze and terror paralyzed me. There was a huge hole where my heart should be. A person could see right through me.
“He shot you, Robbie. You’re dead.”
It can’t be, a voice whispered in my mind as the floor came toward me. Robyn, you’re dreaming. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real—
My eyes slammed open, and I gasped for breath. The sight of the cracked ceiling of my hotel room brought reality crashing in and with it, a huge wave of relief.
It was just a nightmare.
“Fuck,” I muttered as my heart rate slowed. Pushing the heavy duvet off, I tried to cool down. Light perspiration coated my skin, and I cursed the lack of air conditioning in the Gloaming. Spring nights in Scotland were cold, so Gordon kept the hotel heated at a certain level, a little too warm for my liking. Especially after a sweaty nightmare.
Swinging my legs out of bed, I rested my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands.
I hadn’t had a nightmare about the shooting in months.
Pushing my hair off my damp forehead, I stared unseeingly into the connecting bathroom. It didn’t take a professional to explain that Mac’s attack had triggered the nightmare.
It wasn’t just that I’d almost died for a job I wasn’t passionate about. There was more to it than that. But I’d promised myself to stop living for other people and start doing what I wanted. Build a photography business. Travel the world to take pictures I could sell. It wouldn’t be easy, yet it would be worse not to try.
Somehow, however, I found myself back in cop mode.
When Mac had awoken in the early hours of yesterday morning, my flood of emotions took me aback. I did not want to cry in front of Lachlan Adair, but as Mac opened his eyes and slid them to the left—as if he’d felt me there—all my words caught in my throat as the relief, fear, confusion, and frustration strangled me.
“My wee birdie,” he whispered hoarsely.
Just like that, the tears spilled down my cheeks. There was no stopping them.
I hadn’t heard my father call me “wee birdie” since I was fourteen. “Hey, Dad.” I smiled through my tears.
I hadn’t called Mac “Dad” since I was fourteen either.
At the memory of yesterday, I swiped at my tears. I didn’t want to forgive Mac just because of his attack. But I also couldn’t deny the fact that as much as he’d hurt me, I still felt an undeniable connection with him.
I still loved him.
Thankfully, Adair hadn’t made a comment on my emotional slip. We both left not long after Mac shared a few words of reassurance. His eyes closed, and the nurse suggested we return home to rest. I’d gone back to the hospital the next morning, but Mac drowsed in and out of sleep, so I returned to Ardnoch when Adair and Arrochar showed up to sit with Mac.
Arriving back at my hotel emotionally and physically exhausted, I’d fallen asleep early and quickly last night with renewed determination that I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Yes, I wanted to get to know my father … but I also wanted to get to the truth about why someone had nearly taken away our chance to reconnect. If I had to put up with a few nightmares along the way, then so be it. I wasn’t leaving Ardnoch until whoever did this was brought to justice—until I knew Mac was safe.
“Which means finding somewhere cheaper to live,” I muttered, pushing up off the bed. First stop was a visit to Mac at the hospital. Later, I’d think about my next move for accommodation.
To be honest, I was surprised to walk into Mac’s private room that morning to find Adair already there. I knew he and my father were close, but I’d assumed his responsibilities on the estate would keep him away.
That he’d prioritized my father was incongruous to the information I’d gleaned the night Mac was rushed in. It had seemed to me then that Adair cared more about protecting his business than my father.
Still, I’d kept my word and I hadn’t told Mom that Mac had been attacked. She’d tried to video call me a few times, and I’d shot off quick messages saying I couldn’t talk. I knew she was probably hurt, and I hated the idea of hurting Mom’s feelings, but I’d just have to deal with that later.
Relief moved through me to see Mac sitting up, awake, with a little more color in his cheeks. “Hey,” I greeted him quietly as I stepped into the room. I ignored Adair but was extremely aware of his presence. “How are you?”
“Better.” Mac gestured to the chair on his right. “Come sit.”
That would put me directly opposite Adair who sat in a chair at Mac’s left.
I hesitated briefly.
Adair stood. “I better get going.”
He was dressed more casually than I’d seen him, wearing a fitted cashmere sweater and dark jeans. The sweater did great things for his physique. I’m sure he made nurses and doctors swoon as he walked through the hospital corridors.
Asshole.
Adair focused on Mac. “I’ll come back later.”
“Don’t,” Mac said, waving him off, seeming a lot more exhausted than I’d first thought. “It’s an hour here and then back. I’m fine. You need to be at the estate. Now more than ever.”
Another cryptic comment about the estate.
“I’ll come back later,” Adair insisted.
Stubborn asshole.
I found myself caught in Adair’s impossibly blue gaze that continued to lack that wicked, mischievous twinkle from his movies. “I hope you’re not here to interrogate him. He still needs his rest.”
“I guess I should abandon my plans to waterboard him then, huh?”
My father snorted.
Adair narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious.”
“I noticed. You should reconsider how serious you are. It’s interfering with the heroic efforts of the Botox in your forehead.”
I was pretty sure Adair didn’t use Botox. And I was also pretty sure I was being immature.
Yet I couldn’t help myself.
He cut my father an exasperated look. “I’ll see you later. No shoptalk until you’re fully recovered.”
Mac didn’t agree. “We’ll talk later.”
Adair lifted his chin at him and then strode out of the room without acknowledging me, though he couldn’t hide the way he bristled as he departed.
I smirked.
It was petty, but I liked that I had the ability to irritate him.
Mac noted my smugness and shook his head, though amusement glittered in his eyes. “You’re baiting him.”
“He makes it so easy.” I finally sat down, relaxing back in the chair. “So really … how are you?”
“I feel lucky.” Mac surprised me. “It could have been much worse.”
That was true. He could have been like me, fighting for my life for days in the ICU.
Guilt pricked me more than ever.
Mom hadn’t called Mac when I got shot.