“Of course he is. He’s mistaken. I could have said no. For that matter, I could have said no when he called me and told me how things had gone wrong in the Congo. I didn’t do it. I could have walked away. And I should have remembered that Felicity might be vulnerable. I keep thinking about her. Have you heard anything about the investigation?”

“No, but I’m sure MacDuff is questioning Nojer. We might know something soon.”

“Maybe. I made wrong choices. But I’m not the one who had to pay.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, you had to pay, too. You could have been killed.”

“But that was my choice. You can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. For the most part I enjoyed being sent to the Run to fetch and carry for you.”

“Even Kilgoray?”

“I admit Kilgoray was a challenge. But that was even rather interesting. And I liked doing the Fiona research. Though I preferred digging deep on Farrell MacClaren. I found I could identify with him.”

“Digging deep? How deep?”

“Ah, I knew I could intrigue you. I told you that I was almost there before we left Jamie’s house. But thanks to Maisie bouncing me on my noggin, I had a little more time to loll around and make more phone calls.”

“It was the sniper, not Maisie to blame,” she said absently. “Almost there? What about MacClaren?”

“What about him? Which would you prefer? Sit up there in the mountains feeling sorry for yourself, or have me tell you about MacClaren’s adventures in America?”

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself, I’m feeling sorry that I couldn’t—” She broke off. “What are you up to, Rodland?”

“Obeying instructions. Caleb doesn’t like the idea of you being depressed. I’m supposed to distract. I thought this might do the trick.” He paused. “He’s frowning at me again, but I told him that he was to leave me alone if I was going to do this. He didn’t like that.”

“But I’m certain you liked saying it to him.”

“You take pleasure where you find it. Do you want to hear about MacClaren or not?”

“You know I do.”

He nodded. “Because you’re curious. Farrell MacClaren grew up on the border. He was a town boy; his father was an alcoholic, and his mother died when he was ten. He was always a brilliant artist from the time his mother gave him a pad and pencil when he was a toddler. But he was a wild kid and he spent most of his time roaming the countryside drawing and selling his work wherever he could. That’s where he met Fiona. She was the daughter of gentry and four years younger than he was. But she was as wild as MacClaren, and they found something in each other that they evidently could find nowhere else. They became friends.