Page 37 of Undercover Star
"A few more minutes until what?"
"Civilisation."
While Josh struggled over the slippery pebbles and craned his neck, sightseeing, Matisse ducked into the building, pushed open a door, and reappeared atop a quad bike. "Come on," he called again. "Hop on the back."
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, stop with the grousing. Get on, and let's get going."
Josh gave up. He was too fucking cold to do anything else. He swung a leg over the bike and wrapped his arms around Matisse's waist. And then he had to hold on, because Matisse gunned the bike and they raced up a narrow track to... well, seemingly the edge of nowhere.
Chapter Eleven
The bank of rain thathad soaked them out at sea had moved away to the north. The wind calmed to a breeze, and a pale blue sky and a smattering of white clouds made an appearance.. Only for the light around them to die in one of those long, drawn-out sunsets so typical of Scotland.
Purple and gold streaked the clearing sky.
The air, still moist from the rain, sparkled like chilled Prosecco on Josh's tongue. Had he been less cold he might have compared the way the last of the sunlight left golden streaks on the grey-green waters to paintings of the Aegean. Problem was, he was that cold. Coupled with too much caffeine and not enough sleep, his unexpected swim had chilled him so thoroughly he clung to Matisse's back, wondering how the slighter man could feel so warm to his touch.
Matisse didn't seem fazed by either the wet or the wind as he drove the quad bike up the path. "Almost there," he yelled over the sound of the engine as the bike topped a rise.
"Almost where?" Josh asked back, before he saw the lighthouse loom a quarter of a mile in front of them. Bright white and looking freshly washed, it rose from the very heart of the island, like a bastion against death and loss. At intervals, Josh caught a flash of light, a quick reminder that they weren't, perhaps, quite as alone or as remote as he'd thought.
Matisse brought the bike to a halt outside a squat, white building beside the lighthouse, and it took a few moments for Josh to register the silence. For the last twenty-four hours, noise had pervaded his world. First the Land Rover's diesel engine, then the more powerful diesel that propelled the boat, and finally the quad bike. All wrapped in the lash of rain and the scream of the wind. Now, the world was oddly silent. The breeze was a bare whisper on his chilled skin as he sat and gazed at green grass, sky, and sea from his vantage point at the base of the lighthouse all the way to the horizon.
"Welcome toComraich, my sanctuary." Matisse climbed off the bike, and his boots made scuffing sounds on the slick, worn cobblestones.
"What is this place?"
"Questions later. Come in and get warm first." Matisse led the way to the entrance. He entered a code on the keypad set into the wall beside the door, and then turned the handle. The door swung open, and Josh followed Matisse into darkness and warmth.
Matisse immediately bustled this way and that, pushing buttons and flicking switches until the house came to life around them with a low hum.
When the lights came on, Josh found himself in a whitewashed hallway. Flagstones shone dimly under his feet, and the furniture—a huge chest and a hallway tidy—was fashioned from rough, chunky oak stained almost black, as rustic in appearance as the wrought iron lights.
"Bathroom's through there." Matisse pointed. "You can shower. The tub's huge, so if you're really cold, climb in and soak. Wouldn't want you to catch a chill."
