Nevada Highlander 03 - Hunter's Point by Erin O'Quinn

Author:Erin O'Quinn [O'Quinn, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2015-06-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Tilting at Kilts

Tayside Station, George Street

Montrose, Angus, Scotland

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Rory knew he’d have a hard time charming Inspector Patricia Finley, especially wearing the wine hangover from hell. He steeled himself for the encounter even before she walked into the Tayside Station’s outer office and glared at him, jerking her head toward her glass-doored sanctum, summoning him inside.

He and Alex had talked about it on the way back from Perth to the castle, trying to devise a strategy to overcome her quite proper objections to his joining the investigation.

“I’m lucky she’s even asked me to be a part, Rory. And fuck, at least I have a rinky-dink badge. You have nothing but your good looks.”

“True, lad. But she knows my father. She shook our hands after the Moriarty Affair, even mustered a smile.”

“Yeah. For Kenneth Drummond. Not for his gay son.”

He’d grinned, glancing over at Alex as they turned into Ethie Wood. “There’s always the sex factor, Alejo. Always.”

“She probably doesn’t even screw her old man. Forget it.”

“I could be bi. She has no idea. And besides, I have my manners, quite apart from bedside. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to win her over.”

“If I was a betting man, Rory, you would lose your shirt.”

“Wait and see, lad.”

Those were the last words they spoke about Rory’s wanna-be role in the investigation before they’d pulled into the garage at home. Together, they’d fed and run Thistle. Then Alex had eased into the Jeep Wrangler … “In case we need to split up,” his partner had said. That, plus the foogin headache, rubbed him like a cocklebur. But Alex was right. If he wanted to play cop, he’d better start acting and thinking like a valuable member of the team.

They’d pulled up at the Tayside Station at the same time, five minutes after eight of the morning, joining a crowd of officers in the homely police headquarters, and he thought about his strategy now as he straddled a slat-backed chair in her drab office and waited for her to insult him.

Patricia Finley was not a beautiful woman. She was tall as a man, with square shoulders and lumps that might be breasts lying somewhere under her loose uniform jacket. Her face was angular as a domino, with a permanent crease between her eyes and limp dishwater-blonde hair that hung in an old-fashioned Prince Valiant style straight to her shoulders. He’d rarely seen her mouth break from a straight line into a smile, or any expression at all other than “noncommittal.” The woman was an enigma. And as such, she was absolutely intriguing to him.

“Inspector. ’Tis a pleasure to see you.”

“Hand me no horse plops, Drummond, and I’ll do the same for you. This investigation is the official business of Police Scotland. And you, sir, are a civilian. As a favor to your father, I ask you privately but adamantly to keep out of it.”

“Ah, but ’tis the business of the people. Someone has murdered one of our teachers. I am a concerned citizen.

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