Deadly Intent (Linked Inc. Book 1) (2 page)

“Who are you talking to, luv?”

Quinn refrained from rolling her eyes as Menzie appeared on her right and McDougall on her left.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your play time. I just wanted to return your prize.” She quickened her step. For every two of hers, they took one.

A beefy hand clenched Quinn’s arm. The thick fingers dug into her poor delicate skin and she stopped on the spot, adjusting a shoe in each hand with the sharp, pointy heels to use as makeshift weapons. “Remove your hand, or I’m going to find out if you are actually wearing underwear under your skirt when I kick your balls.”

“McDougall, release her,” Menzie growled, and McDougall smirked. Wrong move. Men were all the same, no matter what country they were from. They’d test her resolve until she shoved it in their faces.

“No, I willnae until the wee lass tells me how she came to find the stone.”

“Suit yourself.” Quinn slammed both of her heels into his arm and spun, kicking beneath his skirt. Her foot came in contact with sweaty balls. Lucky for him, her newfound anger held her gag reflex at bay. Otherwise, he’d be covered in the same color as his enemy. Green split pea soup.

Mr. McNotSoStudlyNow fell instantly to the ground, cupping his crown jewels. She shrugged.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you. You should really think about wearing underwear. I’m not sure it’s sanitary for the horses.” Much less her foot. She chuckled and continued walking, leaving the Scottish douche on the ground, moaning like a big baby while she desperately tried to remember if she’d packed a bottle of disinfectant in her bag.

“You’re a feisty one.” Menzie chuckled. “But he deserved it.”

“And more. My momma always told me to act like a lady, unless some schmuck tried to treat me like a piece of meat.”

“Wise advice,” he said as they approached the car, where Angus was waiting with the door open. A smile split his lips, and his eyes twinkled in approval. 

“I would say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t. Good day, Laird Menzie. I hope you have a long life with your prize.”

“Who are you?”

She let out a resigned sigh. “Quinn Thatcher. You have your emerald, so my work here is done.” She patted the large muscles on his sweaty, bare, tanned chest. Yes, okay, she copped a feel. It was the least he could put up with to repay her for her hell of Mr. Grabby and the obnoxious ghost. “Have a nice life.”

“Wait.” He reached for her arm. She raised a brow in challenge, making him pause in midair before returning the currently uninjured hand to his side. She’d guessed wrong. This one did have brains. He smiled warmly down at her; his ruggedly handsome face made the butterflies in her stomach flutter to life. “Where did you find the emerald?”

“At the grave of Clarence McNolte in Florida.” Quinn slipped inside the car, and Angus shut the door before he could ask more questions she wouldn’t be able to answer. Menzie exchanging a few words with Angus before climbing in behind the wheel.

“I must say, lass. Only a strong woman would dare bring a McDougall to his knees.”

More like his ass, but she didn’t correct Angus. She met his aged eyes in the rearview mirror. “Low blood sugar makes me cranky, and his momma should have taught him better manners.”

“Where to?”

“The hotel so I can shower and change.” Before her foot turned green and fell off from some sexually transmitted disease, but she kept that comment to herself. When in Rome, it was probably better not to piss off all the natives. “Then I’m getting dinner and a beer at the pub. I won’t need the car again today.”

“Aye. Sounds like a fine plan.”

Fine was an understatement.  Quinn leaned back into the seat; the worn leather creaked in protest. Resting her hand over the flutters in her stomach, she pondered whether she’d done the right thing by taking this trip.

Chapter 3

Collin Menzie stared down the driveway and watched Angus drive the redhead away. The legend had been true. Criminy. He was sure that the legend had been a lie, perpetrated by whoever had stolen the stone. The cool breeze that he’d enjoyed earlier caressed his skin but didn’t stop the blood from boiling in his veins. Why had he been the one to be saddled with the legend and not an ancestor before?

“Looks like the emerald has returned, and under my watch.” McDougall chuckled as he slapped Collin’s back. “If the story stands true, the jewel shall finally find its final resting place among my colors
and
on her finger.”

With friends like Ian McDougall, a man didn’t need enemies. The old wives’ tale foretold that a member of the Menzie clan would wed with a part of the stone before handing it back to a McDougall. Not likely since it had been a peace offering from the McDougall clan to the Menzies, not to mention the thought of putting a ring on the American’s finger. His fate was his own, no matter what the gypsy had proclaimed. 

“Care to consult the paintings to get a fresh perspective of what to expect.”

The infamous paintings depicted a tale of what to expect in the coming days. The so called Savior was among them who’d be changing Collin’s life forever.

“Aye.” Collin spun to find the entire staff waiting. Each held a worried look in their eyes and rightly so. The legend coming to life, and the omen that followed wasn’t something any smart man would ignore. Disease, death, fire, and ruin were eminent if the old tales were to be believed.

“If I were you, I’d have Ramsey hide your gold and monitor the accounts.”

It had been years since Collin had studied the text and the paintings. He’d laughed it off as a cocky young lad, convinced no imaginary redhead from the curse would ever get the best of him. Had he been wrong all these years?

“Shows over.” Collin clapped his hands, dispersing the crowd to lead Ian inside the castle. The thud of the heavy doors reverberated through the hall as the doors shut behind them. Ian and Collin had been raised by their fathers to hate each other, but the opposite had happened when Ian returned Collin’s favorite horse, which had taken off from the first of many fires. He’d since been one of the few souls that Collin trusted, along with Ramsey, Collin’s accountant.

Collin had no more than cleared the door when Margarete came rushing forward. Her enthusiasm about furniture and décor wasn’t the only thing she wanted within these walls. Many a night Collin had brushed off her advances, but it appeared as though she had some crazy inner radar to know when he was home. “Collin. We must talk about the tapestries.”

Margarete was a beautiful woman in her own right. She was educated and held a regal air of title in the way she presented herself. She was slender with blonde hair and a stick-straight figure. Many a man would have been proud if she showed them attention. Collin wasn’t one of them. Her beauty did little to hide her pretentious attitude toward the staff. He’d hired her due to her eye for detail in interior decorating. He hadn’t been expecting her to turn her eyes to him. He should have known.

“No, wench, we have much more pressing matters to discuss,” Ian complained.

“What your brother meant to say was, can it wait?” Collin asked, trying hard to soften Ian’s words.

“Sure.” Her cheeks flushed pink, and she pasted a hardened smile on her face and lifted her chin. Whenever Ian visited, he managed to piss off everyone in his path, whether he intended to or not. He’d turned his brash attitude into a game of sport to flirt with the women he encountered. He had a way with words and with women. More than one of the maids had been found in a closet with her skirt up to her chest. Ian was truly gifted in the art of seduction.

Having Margarete beneath Collin’s roof seemed to only make things worse. It was as though her presence alone managed to set the staff’s nerves on edge with her constant demands, as if she were the lady of the castle. Hiring her had been a favor; keeping her content had been the challenge. She was here to do a job, one that Collin had no desire to perform, and Ian’s rudeness always seemed to aggravate her more. Restoring and redecorating the part of the castle that had succumbed to fire wasn’t Collin’s idea of a good time. Ever.

He led the way up the north tower where Gwinnie’s ghost was reportedly lingering. He didn’t believe in such nonsense. Her ghost had never appeared to him, and he was related by blood. She’d been a new daughter-in-law in the household all those years ago when the emerald had vanished. It was her mother-in-law, Lady Menzie, who had commissioned the gypsy to paint, based off what the crazy gypsy woman saw in her visions.
Not so crazy now
, Collin thought.

Using his shoulder, he shimmied open the jammed door to one of the few rooms in the castle that the staff avoided at all cost. The solid wood flew open, slamming into the wall as if an unseen restraint had been removed. Dust floated in the sunshine coming through the windows that surrounded the empty room. The paintings had hung in the ballroom as a constant reminder of things to come, until Margarete had started redecorating. She’d stored them in the tower where they were leaning against the wall and covered in old sheets. Ian and Collin removed all of the coverings before standing in complete silence, staring at the painting of a woman who looked like Quinn Thatcher. The resemblance was uncanny, down to the freckles he’d noticed on her neck.

Collin rubbed the stubble on his chin, trying to remember the story that accompanied the paintings. He shouldn’t have bothered. Ian knew the first few lines word for word.

“A woman with hair of fire, and eyes the color of the stolen stone, will descend from the sky.”

Collin’s lips twisted into a nervous smile. Her eyes were the first thing he’d noticed before his gaze lowered to the generous curves of her body and breasts. The mysterious woman was a beauty.

“Her word will carry a bite and sting worse than the fiercest beast.”

“Nailed that one,” Collin grumbled, much to his dismay. She wasn’t timid by any stretch of the imagination, if her actions portrayed her personality. She’d sauntered into the middle of a fight, commanded attention and had managed to bring Ian to his knees. Stronger men had tried and failed. 

“Making the lines of past and present blur,” Ian continued.

“What do you suppose that means?”

Ian shrugged. 

“What was the rest?”

“Disease will spread; death will follow; walls will crumble, and men will fall.”

“She’s already conquered taking down a man. I suggest you try not to manhandle her, like your other women, until we know what’s going on.” Collin ignored the need to lay a protective hand over his own balls, remembering Quinn’s determination. Pissing her off should be avoided at all cost. 

“Friend or foe, it is she who controls the Menzie destiny, and will bring down the deceit of once noble men, making them fall from grace into hell,” Ian said, repeating the last verse of the tale.

Collin ran his hand through his hair, ignoring the other paintings, and moved to the window to look out over the vast land. On most days, the view of heather-covered braes bathed in sunlight and the distant view of the ocean managed to bring peace to his soul. Today wasn’t one of those days. An unease he couldn’t explain settled into his bones. A warning of things yet to pass.

“Friend or foe, she controls your destiny. What are you going to do?” Ian asked as Collin rubbed at the stubble on his chin. That was the million-dollar question. What was he going to do? He could ignore her, and hope she went away, or press for answers in an attempt to resolve the legend once and for all.

“I guess I donae have a choice,” Collin answered, spinning around. “I’ll go find her and see what else she might know.”

“Are you sure the lass is still here?”

“Aye. Angus told me she’s staying until the morn.”

“Well, she’s got to eat, and we both know they donae serve food at the hotel. It should be easy enough for us to track her down.”

“Go get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you at the pub in an hour.”

A plan formed in Collin’s head, one that had Quinn Thatcher singing like a canary. Not many women could withstand his charm, but he had a feeling she might be the first. Leading the way out of the old room, Collin walked Ian out of the castle, not giving him any time to pick his next conquest. Stopping in the study, Collin grabbed his cell phone before returning to the north tower. He snapped a picture of the painting to compare face to face. The lass would need proof if she were to believe a word he said.

Chapter 4

After being dropped off, Quinn hit a small boutique filled with flannel and boots. Thirty minutes later, she walked out wearing a red plaid lumberjack-looking shirt and even thicker jacket. The added layers hid her soft curves but kept her warm. She sighed at the lengths she was willing to go to help Clarence resolve his issues.

The warmer clothes and shower did wonders for her mood as she sat patiently inside the pub next door waiting on her order of fish and chips to arrive. She sipped a pint of light colored beer. The bitter ale coated her tongue and slid down her throat with ease. The request for a Miller Lite had gone ignored. Pizza and burgers were not on the menu, sealing Quinn’s resolve to cross this vacation spot off her list. A noxious smell came from the kitchen that made her stomach roll, and she wondered if it was haggis, the main dish that Scotland was so famous for pushing on unsuspecting tourist. A prior internet search had saved her from her upchuck reflux.

A group of old timers surrounded a table, engaged in lively debate. A few patrons sat farther down the bar, and the atmosphere was friendly and ghost-free. She hadn’t known what to expect when she walked into the pub, but an impending unease left her gut churning. It could have easily been from her empty-stomach alcohol buzz.

Scotland was rumored to be overflowing with ancient ghosts. Either they were playing a good game of hide and seek, or they just disliked haunting the tourists. Quinn closed her eyes, thankful for the brief reprieve. The angry glare from the female ghost in the castle tower remained tattooed behind her lids, forever branded into Quinn’s mind like the look on her baby sister’s face when she caught Quinn trying to feed her goldfish to her pet parakeet.  

A man slid onto the bar stool to Quinn’s right and another one on her left. The two big bodies squished her arms into her sides. She dropped her head and gave an aggravating shake. Of all the stools, in all the pubs, these two just ended up next to her.

“A simple thank you would have sufficed.”

Karma was a funny bitch, and it appeared Quinn had a target stamped on her forehead in flashing neon green that read…Bring...It…On.

She opened her eyes and recognized the beefy fingers from earlier, only now they weren’t attached to her arm but holding out some bills toward the bartender.

“Sorry about earlier, lass,” McDougall grumbled as if the apology pained him. Inflicting more crossed her mind. 

Her hearing was perfect, and his apology was worse than a child’s with his momma pinching his ear and holding him in place, ready to whip his ass if he didn’t say the words with sincerity. Quinn smiled down into her beer. “Come again? I don’t think I heard you.”

“You heard me,” he barked.

“Touch me again like that and I can promise much worse.” Had Quinn’s father been here, they would have high-fived. Well, whatever it was that men with class did these days. Maybe raised a bourbon in salute. She wouldn’t know. The last time she’d spoken to him was to announce the formation of Linked Inc., the psychic business she’d started with her sisters. Now she just tried to stay away from her parents as much as possible. Not that she didn’t love them, but the backlash from forming the business had caused the family a bit of criticism.

“Forgive Ian. We were both shocked that you had solved a century-old puzzle,” Menzie said as the bartender placed darker beers in front of both of the guys. “We dinnae formally introduce ourselves. He’s Ian McDougall, and I’m Collin Menzie.”

“That’s great. Enjoy your evening.” Quinn slid off her stool, grabbed her oversized coat, and picked up her beer before motioning to the bartender she was moving to a table across the room. 

The two big oafs ignored the hint and followed. If she could figure out the come-hither vibes she didn’t realize she was sending, she’d bottle that shit up and sell it because she hadn’t extended invitations to either man. Each of them took a chair at her newly acquired table. “The missing gem is returned, and your family peace is restored. Why are you following me?”

“I thought Yanks were hospitable,” Ian grumbled over the rim of his pint.

“And I thought all things in Scotland were bigger than in America.” Quinn glanced down into Ian’s lap. “Clearly we’ve both been misled.” She lied. Ian had plenty of manhood to impress women. But one rude comment deserved another.
Why am I letting him get to me?

Ian slammed his fist against the table and rose to his full height. He glared at her with his hazel eyes while running a hand through his dirty blond hair.

“Relax, stud. I was teasing.”

“Collin, control your wench,” Ian said, returning to his seat.

Quinn snapped her gaze to the aggravating Highlander and clenched her fingers around her mug while she pondered if she had enough cash in her wallet to make bail. “Wench?”

“He calls every beautiful woman a wench,” Collin said, resting his palm on her arm. “Careful, Quinn. He likes challenge in his conquests, and you might be next on his list.”

“I knew I should have just mailed the damn thing. Is this part of the curse? You follow the do-gooder and harass her?” She was restless and irritable; her voice sounded hoarse with tired frustration.

“You know about the curse?” Collin’s eyes grew large as his lips turned down at the corners.

Ian spewed his beer and started in a coughing fit, making Quinn smile. She raised her beer. “If you can’t handle your booze, you shouldn’t drink, studly.”

Ian swiped the back of his hand against his mouth. “What do
you
know of the curse?”

“Enough to know there is one.” She took a sip of her beer, watching a range of emotions roll across Collin’s face. His brows dipped in concern as the blues in his eyes swirled and darkened to that of an impending thunderstorm. The bar grew silent as if the other occupants understood the nature of their conversation and were eavesdropping, waiting for answers. 

A genuine smile grew on Quinn’s face as she spotted the approaching bartender with her fish and chips.
Finally, sustenance
. The Miller Lite debacle was forgotten and forgiven like her nagging sister’s lecture about flying to Scotland. “You’re a God among men.”

Her words earned her a wink and a sexy smile. Men were so easy.  

The Highlanders at the table stayed pleasantly silent, so she let them stew and studied her food. What Scots called chips were what Americans called fries. The fried greasy goodness made her mouth salivate in anticipation. She popped one in her mouth and moaned in bliss.

“How did you find out about the curse?” Collin asked with quiet but resolute firmness. His playful features and handsome smile had turned into something more of a hardened man demanding answers. She wondered which of his expressions she’d see in bed.

His change of demeanor and tone left her curious. She had a hard time believing the big, bad Scot would believe in such things. Would they believe in the truth if she’d told them? There was only one way to find out.

“I’m a medium.” Quinn glanced between their confused faces and shrugged when they didn’t respond. Guess not. Maybe she should have started with that and she would have been left to eat in peace.

“Explain,” Ian demanded.

“You must have found your balls.” He needed another dose in manners, but she silently chastised herself for taunting him. Her mother would be appalled and have a mini stroke from the way Quinn had been acting.

“Normally I donae tolerate a smart mouth on my wench,” Ian exclaimed.

“Good thing I’m not your wench.”

“I think she needs to be spanked into submission,” Ian said.

Quinn’s smile faded as she picked up her silverware and turned toward Ian. “Kinky, but if you think you’re man enough, and willing to risk testing me to see what I can do with a knife, then bring it on.” She raised her brow, daring him to make a move.

“Ian. Be nice.” Collin’s smooth baritone voice did little to stifle the anger stirring in her belly. Quinn wasn’t normally the psychotic woman she was portraying. Not intentionally, although others might disagree. These men brought out the worst in her, specifically Ian.

“I apologize for Ian’s lack of manners, Ms. Thatcher. He’s just uptight about the curse, and we’d both like to know how you found out there was one, and how you found the emerald.”

They wanted to know how she knew. Heck, if she were in their shoes, she’d be curious too. Quinn let out a long sigh and plopped another fry into her mouth before waving them in closer, into a huddle. 

“I see dead people.” She said it loud enough for the entire bar to hear, hoping that once these two were gone, no others would try to replace them.

“I knew she was crazy. The lass is a witch, and it explains her need to use violence.”

“Surprisingly, you bring that out in me all by yourself. Now if you don’t mind.” Quinn gestured toward the door.

Neither one of them moved to stand. Ian’s lips twisted at the corners, as if he enjoyed pushing her buttons.
What’s wrong with me that I’m taking the bait? I’m smarter than that.
I have more class in my pinky than the Neanderthal does in his biceps.
She rolled her eyes and ate another fry, debating if it was the lack of food making her so bitchy.

Collin leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you see dead people, prove it.”

Quinn grabbed another fry and pointed it in his direction. “I’m not a performing monkey.”

“Then why should we believe you? Maybe your family stole the stone.”

Her family had been accused of worse. Her father was a shark in business; her mother was like the enforcer of her charity organization, and Quinn and her sisters… well they were psychic investigators that some skeptics referred to as Satan worshipers. She didn’t know why she’d thought these guys would understand. She sounded crazy, and she was okay with that. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. Quinn let out an exaggerated sigh and gave Collin a tired glance.

“You have a chick in a blue dress that likes to hang out in one of your towers.”

“Gwinnie.” Ian lifted his beer toward Collin before he sipped.

“That’s a legend, like the curse,” Collin said, as if unconvinced.

Quinn didn’t need to prove herself to these guys. What did they want from her? “Obviously, you’re a skeptic, and hey”—she lifted her hands in surrender—“that’s your prerogative. I’m not here to change your mind. I found your family heirloom and returned it out of the goodness of my heart. Can’t you just let it go?”

Collin slipped a phone out of his pocket. He scrolled in search of only God knew what. It didn’t matter. At least he wasn’t talking, and it was nice to know he wasn’t from the Stone Age, like the electrical plugs in the small bed and breakfast that called itself a hotel. A plug adapter should be a requirement for entering the country, much like a passport. 

“Do you know how much that emerald is worth?” Ian asked.

“Nope, and I don’t care.” Quinn smiled sweetly, shoving another fry in her mouth. She wasn’t about to let him bait her again. Southern charm might be more effective. If she acted nice, maybe they’d both get bored and leave her to eat in peace.

Creases formed around Collin’s eyes as a smile split his lip. He abandoned his phone and lifted the pint to his lips. The fabric of his sleeve pulled deliciously around his bulging biceps.
Focus
. He wasn’t a foreign booty call, and whatever Mr. Tall, Dark, and Orgasmic wore under
his
kilt would remain a mystery, although judging by the bulge behind the zipper of his jeans, she might be inclined to change her mind if he’d ask sweetly.  

“Did you know there was a reward? Is that why you came?” Collin asked.

Clarence shimmered into the room behind both men, making the air colder. She spotted goosebumps rising on Collin’s arms, yet everyone but her seemed oblivious to Clarence’s presence. Quinn narrowed her eyes at the ghost that had sent her into this mess. No good deed went unpunished.

“I don’t need your money, but I do know how you can repay me.”

“There it is.” McDougall lifted his pint in the air as if he’d won a prize. “I knew it. The lass is here for the money.”

“If I’d wanted money, I would have kept the almost flawless seventy-five carat emerald. It was perfect minus the tiny cut mark, jackass. Think about what you just said.”

“Ignore him, luv,” Collin said, drawing her attention back to him. A glint of humor returned to his face. “The Menzies are indebted to you. How may I offer my services?”

His naked body in a warm bed with a can of Cool Whip and chocolate sauce for starters. Her undersexed body parts tingled in awareness at his Scottish lilt when he called her luv. “What can you tell me about the McNoltes?”

Clarence frowned and disappeared. Score one for her, finally.

“The gypsy witch—” Ian started to say when Collin held up his hand.

“Gypsy witch.” Quinn’s lips twisted into a big smile. “You guys believe in curses and gypsies, but not in psychics? How is that possible?”

“Aye.” Collin picked up his phone again as she continued to eat her fries. “One foretold your arrival.”