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He considered what she said, frowning, and changed the subject. "You studied art?"

"When do I get to ask you a question? Like where the hell are we?" she yelled.

"You don't, and you're walking on thin ice. Answer the question."

"You already know the answer. Yes, I studied art. You apparently know a lot about me. Fuck."

He made it to her in two strides, pulling her up and grabbing her by the shoulders. Her pulse quickened, the sound beating in her ears. She felt her core tighten as they stared at each other. His eyes looked troubled and undecided. He brushed his thumb over her lips, leaning in—a knock on the door interrupted him. "Bloody hell." He pulled his hand back as if burned. The tension radiated off him as he put his weapons back in his holster and pulled his sweater back on, fastening his belt around his waist. The knocking became louder. "Shite."

She stepped back, her body reeling from his touch. He pushed her into the bedroom.

"Hello," a voice shouted through the door.

"Coming," he yelled back. "Don't get any ideas or I'll slit your throat. Understand?"

Tears sprung to her eyes. The reminder he was a murderer, catching her off guard. She nodded. He shut the door and locked it. Charlie put her ear against the door to listen.

"Hello, the house," the voice said again, and she heard the door open.

"Jock," he said, sounding surprised.

"Aye, I saw ye from my boat. It's been a while." It was the man from the sailboat.

"I've been occupied in Edinburgh. But you know that. Come in. You'll be needing a dram."

"Dinnae bother yerself, Sinclair."

"It's no bother."

He had a name. Sinclair. At least she knew he had a name. She listened as a cupboard opened and the sound of glasses clinked on the counter, followed by the scrape of chairs on the floor as they sat. Both men said, "Slange."

"I've kept my eye on your place as promised."

"Did you tell Alex you saw me?" Sinclair asked.

"Nae, I took my boat back up to my place and walked straight doon. The storms fit to be a bad one. I wanted to make sure ye didn't need anything."

If the boat was anchored up the shore, she could get to it. This was her chance to escape. Her first sign of hope since this nightmare began.

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