Scratched and bleeding, Gilmont darted across the lawn to escape his pursuers. All his carefully laid plans had crumbled due to inaccurately relayed information. Gilmont cut through a walled garden and let himself out the opposite side. In a half-bent position, he raced for his car.

Despite his inelegant departure, Gilmont had acquired the information he needed. Lady Elise was at the range. And he had a map . . . of sorts.

The wind kicked up, and dark clouds hovered over the low hills in the distance. Gilmont jogged along a path, his shoes kicking up gravel. He reached the car, jumped inside, and fired up the engine, then checked the rearview mirror to see if anyone had followed him. There in the distance, two men appeared.

Gilmont gunned the car and zoomed down the closest lane, following a stone wall that encompassed a series of formal gardens. When he passed the last enclosure, the lane turned into a dirt track. On his right stood a sign for the racing stables.

“That must be the back way in,” he muttered, pulling over to access the map and get his bearings.

The hand-drawn map of the estate was not to scale, nor was it exceptionally crafted. But it contained all the essentials. He made out the faint, penciled-in words shooting range and noted its location.

Backing up, he spun the car and headed toward his nemesis.

The hills on the opposite side of the glen stretched out before him, wild and empty of timber. Several deer lifted their heads as he drove past, then bounded off through the heather.

According to the map, if he turned left at the fork, the track followed the River Tweed toward a smallish loch and shooting range. This must be the correct route. The Corsa jounced over a pothole filled with water. The track needed a fortune in gravel to smooth the bumps and holes.

Gritting his teeth, he bounced along, fury boiling just under the surface. The wild moors stretched out before him when he came over a rise. Somewhere among that vast sea of gorse, bracken, and heather was his target.

Because of Agent Taylor, he had lost his family and his position as a university don. When he had been sentenced to prison, Sandra and the children had abandoned him altogether.

But he could win them back after he rebuilt their fortunes. He knew it.

Gilmont pulled to the side of the track and let himself out. Hunting Agent Taylor on an estate this size was an utter waste of valuable time. He couldn’t investigate every dirt lane on Roxbury’s land.

Inside the car’s boot, Gilmont removed a long silver case and set up the drone. This would make short work of finding the elusive agent.

“We’re going on an adventure,” Elise told Sammy before she slipped her mobile into her front pocket and gathered up their belongings.

“Are we taking Dad?”

“No. This is just our adventure.”