Page 113 of Filthy Lovin Heroes

I shook my head; I’d had too much to drink tonight. There was no way Malcolm’s scar could be gone.

He returned his attention to the road. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Are you supposed to be a genius, Lass?”

He wasn’t Malcolm.

He was Ronan, Malcolm’s no longer presumed dead twin.

Fuuuuuuck.

“You’re Ronan?”

“The true Duke of Lachlan.”

What. The. Fuck.

It was official—my life had become a made for tv movie.

“Where have you been? Did…? Did you fake your death and hideout? Why the fuck would you do that?”

He was quiet a minute, frowning. “I was given some bad business advice. My investments didn’t work out.”

Rage bubbled through me. I thought of everything that Malcolm and his mother had been through thinking this man was dead.

“Dressing up your gambling debts in a Scottish accent doesn’t make you any less of a shit. Malcolm has been killing himself to save Lachlan.”

“He always wanted the title for himself.”

“His medical career was all for show then? I don’t think so. You can’t bullshit a New Yorker.” I said flatly. Besides, Malcolm wanted to be working as a physician in New York with me.

Ronan met my eyes in the review view mirror. “You have a sharp tongue on you, Lass. I’m not quite sure what my brother sees in you. Although having seen the two of you in the hall, I have a good idea.”

Disgust washed over me. “Fuck you.”

“Would you like that? See how I measure up to my brother?”

“Gross. Just drop me off, I’ll get a ride to the airport with someone who doesn’t have the last name Murdoch.” If I never heard another Scottish accent that would be fine with me. I was so over this whole damned crazy kilt wearing family.

“I can’t do that, Lass. Not when there’s a stalker after you.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. Ronan faking his own death was crazy but him knowing I had a stalker was creepy. “How do you know that?” My mind reeled. The pieces all falling into place. “It’s you? You’ve been stalking me.” I’d never seen the man who pushed me down, but I thought of the phone message and mail. “Why?”

“Because I knew stalking you would drive my brother mad with worry.”

Oh, of all the fucking lousy luck. I ran away from one pain in my ass Murdoch brother only to run right into another one. And this one had some serious sibling rivalry issues to work out. Too bad, I hadn’t studied psychiatry. Working in Metropolitan Hospital’s Emergency Department, I dealt with plenty of psych issues daily, but none quite like this.

I turned my head to look out the window. The dark snowy Scottish countryside stretched out before me. Here and there, we passed a cottage, but most were dark. It was midnight on Christmas Eve, most everyone was asleep.

Ronan probably wasn’t going to hurt me, but I feared he was going to hurt Malcolm. I thought hard. I worked in an emergency department and had seen just about every type of injury there was. No way was I going to jump out of a moving car.

“How did you know about Malcolm and me?”

“Research,” he said simply. “My brother isn’t the only one who can hire security.”

I sat back against the seat. My mind spun. Malcolm hired security while I was in New York? That couldn’t be.

My mind churned and finally landed on the memories of my new apartment, gifted to me from a grateful patient. Grateful patient my ass. That was Malcolm.

“Motherfucker.” I breathed. I was going to kill him. Who the fuck did he think he was to take over my life like that?

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