Page 71 of The Highland Heist
“Or a nightmare.” Tony took another sip of tea, his hand steadier.
“And they just … released you from the morgue?” Frederick couldn’t quite grasp the idea of it. “Shouldn’t they have sent you to a hospital?”
“They were going to,” Tony admitted. “But I escaped.”
“Escaped?” Grace repeated, her initial shock giving way to the unmistakable gleam of fascination.
Frederick could just imagine the images she was creating in her head.
His shoulders tightened. None of those imaginings could equal what it must have been like for Tony. Nightmare, indeed.
“I couldn’t stay. They wanted to call the police, get me to a hospital, but all I could think about was Lillias and the baby. How afraid she must be.” He raked a hand through his damp hair. “I’ve made mistakes—plenty of them—but I wasn’t about to let them think I was dead and unable to protect them.” His voice broke, and his head dropped back against the chair. “So I walked out when they weren’t looking. Found my way home.”
“You realize we have to alert the police,” Frederick said, breaking the silence. “They’re searching for your murderer.” He paused and reevaluated his sentence. “Your presumed murderer since you’re clearly alive.”
“Or mostly alive.” Grace added helpfully.
Both men turned to her.
“Well, look at him,” she said, waving toward him. “He’s far too pale to be fully alive. Tony, you need sustenance if you’re to make a proper recovery.”
Tony smirked faintly. “If it’s any comfort, Grace, Ifeelmostly alive.” He reached for a sandwich, though his hand still shook.
“Did you see who attacked you?” Frederick asked, steering them back to the matter at hand.
Tony pulled his attention from Grace back to Frederick. “I did. At least a blurry memory of him, but I’d met him before.”
“Mr. Clark?”
Tony froze mid-bite. “You know him?”
“There’s much to explain,” Frederick said carefully. “But first, how much didyouknow him? Do you have any idea why he’d target you?”
Tony took another bite, clearly savoring the food. Had it been almost three days since he’d had a proper meal? Not that Frederick would consider a sandwich a “proper” meal, but more than he imagined waited in a morgue.
“I met him just this week.” Tony squinted. “Is it still this week? My days are all muddled.” He shook his head, clearing it. “At first, he seemed pleasant enough—a bit too friendly, perhaps—but I’ve dealt with his type before at the Lucky Coin.” He looked between them. “I—I assume you know of my … difficulties there.”
Frederick nodded, silently urging Tony to continue.
“He was overly interested in Lillias. Even asked about you, Grace. That put me on edge. Then he kept trying to get me drunk, plying me with whisky. When I refused to talk, he grew agitated. I noticed his accent slip—Scottish—and called him out. I told him I’d go to the police in the morning to find out who he really was.” Tony set the cup down as if he’d used up too much energy holding it. “He threatened me. I threatened back.” His eyes withered closed. “I suppose he acted on his threats.”
Frederick met Grace’s gaze again. Unlike their previous mysteries, where the perpetrator’s identity was shrouded in secrecy, this one offered a peculiar twist. They knew the players and motives—but not the next move.
That was the real mystery.
An unsettling one.
“But … I’ve spent all this time explaining and haven’t seen Lillias.” Tony sat straighter in the chair with a sudden rush of energy. “Would you get her? Thomas too?”
The room fell silent. Grace looked at Frederick and, with a deep breath, leaned forward, touching Tony’s hand as if to brace him. “Tony, Lillias isn’t here.”
“Not here?” His expression tightened, and he looked from Grace to Frederick. “Where did she go?”
Frederick found himself preparing for impact. Grace took a deep breath, glancing at him briefly before pressing on.
“Actually, she’s gone to Scotland.”
“Scotland?” He shot upright, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Why? And with the baby?”
