“Why not?”
“I got a text from him yesterday. He apologized and told me he wasn’t going to pressure me anymore. He hopes I’ll let him bid against other offers. I guess he’s finally convinced I’m not going to sell Glen MacKenna... at least not to him.”
Nodding, he said, “Okay, so no one knows you’re here.” Thank God, he silently added.
“There were some teenagers at the airport who recognized me.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen or twenty. They took some photos and made a bit of a fuss. Why do you think I’m in trouble?”
He was about to ruin her day, and he was sorry about that. She had been so excited to see the Highlands. He felt as though he were snatching one of her dreams away from her.
“Remember the bloody flash drive you gave Nick to get cleaned up for you?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Oh no, did the blood seep inside and ruin it? Is that even possible?”
“It isn’t yours.”
“It... I’m sorry... what? It was in my coat pocket. Of course it’s mine.”
“No, it isn’t. Detective Walsh put it in your pocket before he collapsed.”
She thought a long minute, recalling the details of the incident, and then said, “He was clawing at me. I thought he was trying to hold on so he wouldn’t fall. What was on it?”
Michael had downloaded the flash drive to his computer, but he had also made a printout because he knew Isabel would want to read it over and over again—like he did—until she believed it.
“Everett, the tech, is calling it a kill order.”
A kill order? Isabel looked up at Michael. He wasn’t kidding.
He reached inside his jacket and produced the folded papers, handing them to her. Isabel put her teacup down and started reading. Michael waited silently, watching her eyes widen as the reality of what he had just told her began to sink in.
“The flash drive belonged to Detective Walsh?”
Before he could tell her what he and his brothers had learned, she said, “I won’t believe it. I learned a great deal about Detective Walsh. He’s a good and honorable man. He has received at least five commendations over the years, and his coworkers rely on him. He didn’t come to Boston to kill me. I don’t know where he got the flash drive, but I’m sure he was trying to protect me, and that’s why he got shot.”
“Isabel, no one—”
It was as far as he could get before she continued with her passionate defense of the detective. “He was happily married for twenty-six years, and he was devastated when his wife died, but he had to keep it together for their daughter, Kathleen. He flies back to Boston as often as possible. He grew up there and comes from a large family.” She added, “He’s going to move back there next year.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Kathleen told me. It took the police a while to find her. She was visiting friends in San Francisco. She flew back to Boston and has been at her father’s side almost every minute.”
“No one thinks the flash drive belonged to Walsh.”
“Then why did you let me go on and on—”
“I couldn’t get you to stop,” he said.
She decided to read the succinctly written kill order once again. Then she carefully folded the papers and handed them back to Michael.
“I don’t want you to be afraid,” Michael said.
Her back stiffened. “Afraid? I’m not afraid. I’m furious.” She jumped up and began to pace. “Is James Reid behind this? Of course he is,” she decided. “He’s probably getting a whopping bonus if I sell to the Patterson Group, and he represents them, remember? Every time he called he sounded more determined. Right?”
Michael didn’t answer fast enough. She stopped in front of him and asked, “Am I right?”