“This.” Her eyes dip to the image of that bastard’s face. “This is why he never turned up again. Because he’s dead. Murdered.”
“And buried under the concrete of some car park somewhere.” I scan the headlines, genuinely curious where he’d been found. And how. An underground water leak meant part of the carpark was dug up recently. Bad luck. “You really think Sandy did this?” I flip the newspaper over and slide it onto the coffee table. “That he buried him in a supermarket carpark, a Tesco’s in Ealing.” I imagine that’s what makes it newsworthy. The son of a peer in a supermarket.
I wonder if his parents are alive or if they’re turning in their graves. Not even a Waitrose carpark. The shame of it!
“I don’t want to think it, but all I can think is why else would that man have threatened me with it?”
Bad luck, I think to myself. Bad luck for Aslanov that he can join the dots but sees an elephant where others see a snake. Bad luck for him when I get my hands on him.
“I can’t let them go to the police with this.”
“I very much doubt that’ll happen.” My critical tone causes Isla to lift her head. “I would imagine the Metropolitan Police don’t have much faith in the word of criminals.”
“But it might trigger an investigation, and whether Sandy did this or not, Leonie’s death will come up. Leonie, his first wife, remember?”
“Yes, I remember.” I remember while wondering how much Isla knows about that rancid kettle of fish? Maybe she’s looking at me, wondering the same.
“Remember the media furor when she went missing. I mean, Sandy wasn’t even in the same country, yet people still pointed fingers. I can’t put him through that kind of scrutiny again.”
“He didn’t do anything to Leonie.”
“I know that.” She turns her watery eyes on me again. “But I’m not so sure about Giles.”
“Isla.” She allows me to wrap her in my arms and I pull her to my chest. Not that I’m worried she’ll see something in my expression, because what I feel at this moment is sheer relief.
“Chimu byt’, tavoh ni mihnovat.”
“What does that mean?” she whispers into my shirt.
“You can’t avoid what is meant to happen.” Why would I want to, even if this isn’t exactly going to plan?
“Because I don’t want to see my brother in a prison jumpsuit,” she says hotly. “You never struck me as fatalistic before.”
“It must be the Russian in me speaking.” Avos, or the concept of hope or maybe, what will be will be, has never been a philosophy I ascribe to. Life is unpredictable but we must make our own luck—a man makes his own fate and takes what he must. This situation I’ve just been handed? What do the English call it? A gift horse? It’s not one I’ll take lightly or ignore.
“What am I going to do?” Isla’s tears dampen the front of my shirt but I console myself I’m not the cause of them. Not entirely.
“I’m thinking.” Thinking of this gift horse I’m about to run with. I’m thinking of how long it’ll take me to convince her that this is the right path. By fair means or foul, I’d promised myself. I just hadn’t expected fate to work in my favor. “You should stay here the night.”
“Niko.”
I laugh at the way she draws out my name, but at least I’m still Niko. “You think I have nefarious designs on your body?”
“Nefarious isn’t necessarily the word I’d use.” A humorous lilt softens her words. “But I have to get back to the children, more so than ever.”
“But you don’t want to take this trouble back with you.”
In my arms, she gives in to a shiver. “Do you really think he’d follow me?” Her fingers flex restlessly on my chest.
“They, Isla. This isn’t a one-man organization we’re dealing with.” Though the snake only has one head. “I need a little time to make this go away.”
“How? You’re not—” she pushes up to sit. “You’re not going to pay off Thomas’s debts, are you?”
Was the lilt in her voice hope or incredulity? “No. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn’t work right now.”
“You think it’s too late?”
“Something like that. I have to go out for a little while.” Fear flashes in her denim gaze. “You’ll be safe here, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“But—”
“Stay, and when it’s time, I’ll take you back to Kilblair myself. I can call Alexander for you.”
“No!” she almost yells. “I mean, please don’t.”
I stifle a sigh. “You don’t want him to know you’re here.” Even now. Even after this.
“It’s not that. Not just that. Besides, Holland knows. I just…” Tears turn her eyes into pools again. “I got your number from her.”
“I gave it to you months ago.”