Page 31 of Breaking the Code

“Carl! How are you? Would you like to come in?” she asks in a rush.

I nod, and she steps away, allowing me to enter. The house is tiny, like the one I rent next door. They’re nondescript cottages with ceilings so low, I cannae raise my hands over my head while standing. Most o’ the rooms arenae much wider than the span o’ my arms.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asks, stepping past me to where the kitchen should be.

“Nae, thank you. I cannae stay, but I have favor to ask o’ ye.”

She looks back over her shoulder as she continues on. “Well, a cup of tea goes well with favor requests.”

I huff a chuckle as I realize why Bridget has always seemed so familiar to me. She reminds me o’ my amma. My dad’s mum, Arabella Helvig, was a force to be reckoned with. She would have her way, nae matter what anyone else had to say on the matter.

I duck under the doorway into the kitchen as Bridget pours the water from the kettle into two cups. She waves me toward the table and I sit across from her. She nudges the tray with biscuits toward me and my stomach growls.

Her eyebrow flies up her forehead, and she makes her way back to the kitchen. She pulls things from the cupboards, placing them on a tray.

“It’s not much, but you need something more than cookies to quell that beast,” she explains when she places the tray on the table in between us.

I blush and begin putting together a couple o’ sandwiches. She waits patiently, sipping at her tea as I inhale first one, then another. I realize halfway through the first sandwich that I cannae remember the last time I had anything to eat.

It’s nae uncommon for me, at least nae, since the Order blew up. Usually, I take much better care o’ myself. I wipe my face and beard with the linen napkin and place it back on the table. After drinking the now tepid tea, I open my mouth only for Bridget to interrupt me.

“The favor?”

I nod. “I have something I need ye to hold on to for me. Something o’ great importance.”

She nods. “Well, it cannot be a child, because I’ve not seen any tikes running amok next door. So, out with it. What do you need me to keep for you?”

“Nae. No children. It’s a key and I would like you to hold it until I return for it. Or until my solicitor asks you for it.”

She looks at me. The skepticism is clear as the stream that runs through the land my mother’s family has lived on since Vikings first came to Scotland.

“What have you gotten yourself into, lad?”

I smile at the old woman. She’s sharp despite her age. “I cannae say. My solicitor is a man by the name o’ Douglas Morgan. If he should ask ye for the key, I want ye to give it to him.”

“Is he a large Viking looking Scot like yourself?”

I laugh. “Nae. He’s just a regular-looking Scot.”

She chuckles and holds out her hand. “Well, I see no reason not to do you this favor. I expect to see you again though, so make sure whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, you get yourself out of.”

“Dinnae fash yerself, Bridget. I’ll be fine.”

Standing, I take note o’ the house’s disrepair. I’ve nae seen a single person visit the woman in all the time I’ve lived next door. I look back through the house when I reach the front door. Bridget is turning the key over and over, her fingers making it dance across her knuckles as I’ve seen gamblers do with poker chips. I leave the house, pulling out my phone and dialing Douglas’ direct line.

“Draven! Where the hell are you?” he answers as I enter my house.

“I’m in the U.S. I need a couple o’ things handled. I’m hoping you can help.” I sit down at the desk in the sitting room and pull out an envelope and some paper.

After requesting he set up an account for Bridget and arrange for someone to come make the repairs to her home that need to be handled before they get worse, I explain the main reason for my call.

“Douglas, this may verra well be the last time we speak. Iffn that’s the case, Bridget is holding a key. I’ve instructed Bridget to give you the key if you ever ask for it. This is verra important. Only ask for the key if you receive word I’m dead. Nae before. If ye do, ye may well put me and someone I love dearly in grave danger.”

“Draven. What’s going on?”

“I cannae say. The key will open a safe deposit box. I’m mailing you the information about its location. Promise me, ye will nae act unless yer informed I’ve died.”

“Alright. I promise. Will you be able to reach out to me?”

---