Chapters (43)
- Pronunciation
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Acknowledgments
At the same moment, Donna was propelled forward into the kitchen from behind. She took two or three forced steps before steadying herself, and a man appeared behind her. He was much younger than the man sitting at the table. Thick black hair gelled to a shine was scraped back across his head. He was dressed casually in a blue shirt and charcoal trousers beneath a long, brown, waxed raincoat. Incongruously, Fionnlagh noticed that his fine black Italian shoes were caked with mud. But it was with a sense of shock and disbelief that he saw what looked very much like a sawn-off shotgun half-raised in his right hand.
“What?” The word was out of his mouth before he realized how foolish it sounded. His first thought was that this had to be some kind of a joke, but there didn’t seem anything remotely funny about it. And it was real fear he saw in Donna’s face. He stood, his arms full of shopping, wind and rain blowing about his legs in the open doorway, and had no idea what to do.
The man sitting at the table was leaning back in his chair watching him speculatively. He pulled gently at the wet end of his cigar. “Where’s your grandfather?”
Fionnlagh turned consternation in his direction. “I have no idea.”
“I think you do. Your mother and her friend took him out of the care home first thing this morning. Where did they go?”
Fionnlagh felt his hackles rising now. “I don’t know.” He hoped to sound defiant.
“Don’t get cute with me, sonny.” The cigar smoker’s tone remained even, unruffled. His eyes slid towards Donna and the baby. “That your kid, is it? Old Tormod’s great granddaughter?”
Fear spiked through Fionnlagh. “You lay a fucking finger on them . . . !”
“And you’ll what? What’ll you do, sonny? Tell me.”
Fionnlagh glanced towards the man with the gun. His face was completely impassive. But something in his eyes counselled against foolishness.
“Just tell me where they took your grandfather. That’s all you have to do.”
“And if I don’t?”
There was an imperceptible shaking of the cigar smoker’s head before he drew another mouthful of smoke to let it escape with his smile. “You don’t even want to know what I’ll do to your girlfriend and your daughter.”