A doorway at the back of the room led into a small kitchen. It had been renovated and was übermodern, sleek white cabinets, white tile flooring, and a gray quartz countertop. A door off the kitchen led to a small downstairs bathroom.
Upstairs, I’d found a tidy guest bedroom and Mac’s master. It wasn’t massive, but it was cozy. There was an original fireplace that Mac clearly still used and a basket of firewood next to it. His bed took up most of the room to accommodate his size, and the frame was made of solid dark oak.
His bedding was a simple gray with a dark tartan blanket strewn across it. A small window looked down over Castle Street.
I could imagine his cottage with the fires on, how cozy a retreat it would be.
Instead of the dismal, cold trailer I was headed back to.
Realizing the trailer hadn’t bothered me until now, I decided it was because I was in a weird mood. Today was exhausting. First with Lachlan and then the emotional drain of the confrontation with Mac.
And now those, I thought, glancing quickly at the letters.
Driving through the park, I noted the warm yellow lights glowing from a few trailers. Scottish spring weather hadn’t chased people off.
Gordon’s trailer was situated at the farthest end of the park, a little away from its neighbors, with fantastic views of the water. That’s how I’d gotten through the last week—sitting at the dining table, watching the waves lap at the shore. Still, there was something depressing about approaching the dark trailer that night. Pulling the SUV up beside it, I decided to open the trailer door first and then come back for Mac’s large box.
The rain lashed angrily at me, and I could hear how rough the sea was, the sound of it rushing the beach, the waves crashing, the wind moaning like hovering ghosts. Shivering against the fierceness of it, I hurried up the little porch to the trailer and shoved my key in the lock—
I froze, instantly alert.
The door was already unlocked.
Maybe you left it unlocked.
No. I definitely hadn’t.
I glanced over my shoulder, peering into the dark of the park.
There was nothing but shadows and long grass dancing frantically against the weather.
For the first time since I’d arrived in Scotland, I wished I could carry a firearm. Mac told me all handguns, pump-action rifles, and semiautomatics were illegal. Even most police officers didn’t carry guns here. Mac and his team had special permits, but they didn’t carry daily.
Without a weapon, I’d have to rely on my body as one.
I weighed what to do next. If someone was in the trailer, I could be walking into a trap.
The rain battered my skin, and I trembled against the cold. My gaze moved to the kitchen window. I could barely make out anything. Stalking quietly along the porch, I looked into the main window of the trailer that overlooked the beach. Eyes adjusting to the shadows inside, I could just make out the mess.
Someone had trashed it.
Anger flooded me, and I marched in, hitting the light switch at the door. Ignoring the mess, I grabbed the large kitchen knife out of the block by the sink and moved through the small space. There were only two places someone could hide: in the minuscule bathroom or the micro bedroom.
Heart racing, I pushed open the bathroom’s rickety accordion door to find it empty. The bedroom was empty, too, except for my clothes dumped and scattered all over the bed. Just like Lachlan’s in the first incident.
Knife by my side, I charged into the main trailer. The few cabinets in the kitchen had been opened and emptied onto the floor. Cereal, bread, pasta, scattered everywhere.
All the evidence pinned to my corkboard had been ripped up and thrown around the sofa and dining table.
I neared the board propped against the back wall.
Written across it in big black marker was a threat:
Kiss what’s mine and I’ll kill what’s yours
The adrenaline that had spiked through my body as soon as I realized the trailer was unlocked peaked, and even as I moved out onto the porch to check the trailer perimeter, I shook.
Soaked for the second time that day, I was cautious as I approached the SUV to retrieve Mac’s box and my camera equipment. Once safely inside the trailer, I locked it and then rolled my suitcase out from where I’d stacked it in the tight bedroom wardrobe. I wedged it against the trailer door, along with the heavy plastic container I’d just collected from Mac’s.
With the lights blazing inside, I felt marginally better. Yet my hands still trembled as I snapped photos of the mess and the threatening message. I thanked God I’d kept my camera equipment in the car and not the trailer.
Then I cleaned it up.
Except the threat.
It wouldn’t come off.
I stared at it, thinking of Mac’s knife attack, unable to deny I was rattled.
If I told Mac about this new incident, it was more than likely my dad would ask me to return home for my own safety. If I told Lachlan, he’d tell Mac.
As much as I hated it, and as much as it wasn’t the smartest plan, my emotions won out.
I didn’t want to leave Mac. Not now.
So I’d keep this to myself for the moment, but I’d find a way to make sure security was still tight around my dad. The threat could be directed at him. The thought made me pause. To protect Mac, I would have to tell him and Lachlan about this.
Something else occurred to me. What if I told him, and Mac was angry at me for kissing his best friend and boss? What if it caused problems between him and Lachlan?
Shit.
I narrowed my eyes on the black marker threat. This was a breakthrough in the case, though.
The stalker saw Lachlan and me kissing outside his office. Anyone on the security team might have seen us on camera …
