Page 32 of Judgment Day

“Does Sadie know you know about this child?”

“Yes.”

“And she wants you to be a part of his life?”

I was the last person to answer for what Sadie wanted. I used to think I knew. Now I had no idea. She was messed up. Deep down, I knew some part of her would be. How could she not have been? But I never would have guessed the extent of it. The thought of it made me sick. I couldn’t help but feel responsible.

“I’m going to meet him tomorrow.” For the first time since as far back as I can remember, there was no confidence in my voice. There was only the quiet echo of fear.What if he refuses to see me? What if he sees me and rejects me after we meet?“I’m responsible for another life, a life I helped create, and I have no idea where to begin.”

She placed her palm over my chest, right where my heart should have been. “Here.” She smiled. “You begin right here.”

TWENTY

The forty-minute boatride from Mallaig gave me plenty of time to think. The water was calm. The cliffs and mountains framed the loch on both sides. Mrs. McTavish offered to come with me, but this was something I needed to do alone. I’d scripted my words and re-scripted them a dozen times by the time we pulled up to the pier. Knoydart was mostly woodland, mountains, and gorges except for a small, quaint village at the ferry landing. The peninsula sat between Loch Hourn and Loch Nevis. In Gaelic, Hourn meant Hell while Nevis meant Heaven. For twelve years, Winston had placed my son in purgatory on Earth. There was no cell phone reception here. No Wi-Fi. They generated their own electricity and brewed their own beer. It was a world separate from our world.

A single row of white buildings lined the rocky edge, near the water. There was a paved road through the middle of the village that came to a fork on the outskirts. One direction led to a vast estate, much like mine back on the mainland. The other led to country houses scattered throughout the woods. Streams tumbled down the hillsides. The trees were lush and full. Red deer walked out in the open, afraid of nothing. Birds called out to each other from branch to branch. Old men sat out on a green lawn in front of the white buildings, drinking and laughing without a care in the world. People rode bicycles down the narrow road. There was no traffic, no busy sidewalks, no skyscrapers. This was the kind of place you came to for peace.Or to hide.

There were cars here, mostly Land Rovers, for the local roads. Other than that, there was nothing modern. I hired one of those old men sitting on the lawn to drive me to the white church with the red roof. It was easier to lie about seeking forgiveness than to tell the truth about my sins. When we pulled up to the building, I realized why he’d looked at me so strangely. The once-white stone surface was blemished with dark streaks where pouring rain had left its fingerprints. The grass was unkempt, overgrown with tall weeds and dead bramble bushes. The withered tree branches mourned the loss of whatever life this building once held. No one had been here in years.

I walked the rest of the narrow road until I found the fence with three wooden rails and a gravel drive. I jumped the metal gate and walked another half-mile to the small cottage with cedar siding and A-framed roof. A row of tall windows overlooked the hills behind it. On one side there was a stone-walled garden with a small table and chairs. On the other side, there was the river.

Every crunch of the gravel underneath my feet sounded like an avalanche of dirt and rocks. The air was electric on my skin. I felt every-fucking-thing in hyperawareness. My throat was tight.

My hand felt heavy as I lifted it to knock on the double glass-paned doors. My heart stopped when one of them flew open.

This was it.

A tiny woman with strawberry-blonde hair pulled into a braid hurried outside, closing the door behind her. “Can I help you, sir?” Her accent was heavy, like Mrs. McTavish’s. She wore a light yellow dress that dropped below her knees.

She was younger than I imagined, late thirties, maybe early forties, and about a foot shorter than me. A simple kind of pretty. No wonder Winston hadn’t killed her yet. He probably planned on fucking her, if he hadn’t already.

“I’m looking for a boy. About twelve years old with striking blue eyes, if I’ve been told correctly.”

Her body went rigid. “I’m afraid you have the wrong place.”

I gave a rueful grin. “I assure you, I don’t.”

“You need to leave.”

“Listen very carefully to what I’m about to say.” I stepped closer to her, backing her against the door. “I’m looking for my son. I was told this is where to find him.” I glanced over her shoulder and through the glass doors, then back to her eyes. “Now, either Winston lied to me or you’re lying to me.” My voice was calm, but my expression let her know this was a warning. “I don’t like liars.”

Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, but she stood her ground. I liked that. I liked that the person watching over my son had enough balls to stand up to me in order to keep him safe.

“The king—”

“You no longer work for the king.”

The door opened behind her, making her stagger backward. A young boy stepped in the opening, and I was overcome. For a single, tested moment I was afraid. I’d never been afraid of anything like I feared failing him. My throat tightened at the sight of him. My heart slammed against my rib cage. With my lips parted and mouth dry, I took him in—tan skin, full lips, ice-blue eyes and strong cheekbones.

“Ma’am, is everything okay?” he asked, and at that moment I was proud.

So fucking proud of this boy, who at twelve years old, had the instinct to protect the woman who cared for him.

She turned to him and smiled. “Yes, Ciaran. Everything is fine.”

I was proud of that, too, how she showed no fear.

“Ciaran,” I repeated slowly, appreciating the way it sounded.Keer-in.Strong. Noble.

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