When he walked back into the office, Gladstone was on the phone trying to find Nessie. He thought she might know where Isabel was. He tried her cell phone first, but it immediately went to voicemail. He called her home phone next. Her husband, William, told him that Nessie had planned to stop at the local bakery to pick up some sweet cakes. Gladstone caught her there just as she was leaving.
Nessie was rattled. “Did something happen? Did I forget to do something? Do you need me to come back in? What’s wrong?”
When Gladstone could get a word in, he said, “We can’t find Isabel.”
“What? What did you do with her?”
“No, no, we can’t find her,” he repeated. “We hoped she might be with you.”
“No,” Nessie answered. She sounded calmer now. “Isabel helped me carry some boxes to my car, and she stood outside the door as I drove off. I waved to her.” She added the insignificant fact before continuing. “I did notice a car parked on the side of the building when I made a U-turn to get out of the lot. I don’t know who the car belonged to.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“A sedan, a dark blue sedan. I don’t know the make.”
Michael had already called Isabel’s cell phone. No answer, but it didn’t immediately go to voicemail. He called Inspector Sinclair next for help. The second he answered, Michael asked, “Did
you arrest Graeme Gibson? Do you have him in custody?”
Sinclair could hear the urgency in Michael’s voice and knew something was wrong. “No,” he answered. “I’ve got officers out looking for him. One of his neighbors said she saw him throw a bag in his SUV and take off. She said he was in quite a hurry. I think he must have heard we were coming for him.”
Graeme Gibson was Clive Harcus’s partner in crime. Michael remembered what Gibson had shouted at Isabel: “I’m going to make sure you can’t cause trouble.”
“Isabel is missing,” Michael said. “I think Gibson has her.”
Saying the words out loud sent a chill down his back. The hatred Michael had seen in the man’s eyes should have been warning enough that he would do something.
Where would he take her? It would have to be someplace private where no one would see or hear. The Highlands were perfect for him, with the mountains and the rugged, unexplored terrain.
There were a hundred places he could hide her and not be seen.
Sinclair pulled him back from his dark thoughts. “Meet me at the Rosemore Police Station. We’ll hear calls coming in. I’m going to put a bulletin out on Isabel right now. And Michael . . .”
“Yes?”
“We’re going to find her.”
THIRTY-FIVE
FREYA STARTED SCREAMING BEFORE THEY HAD DRIVEN OUT OF THE VILLAGE.
“Turn left down that road between the trees. I said left. Not now!” she screamed. “Wait until that truck gets out of the way.”
The truck driver was honking and shouting at Isabel. Even though the window was closed and Freya was yelling at her, Isabel could still hear the truck driver. She thought he was telling her to move over. The way he was wildly waving his arms suggested that’s what he was saying.
With all the chaos—Freya screaming and cars honking—it was difficult for Isabel to concentrate on driving. She kept forgetting that they drove on the left side of the road in Scotland. She swerved to get over and narrowly missed hitting another car. The owner of that vehicle was now honking at her.
She must have been driving too fast because she made the turn on two wheels.
She knew that by now Michael would have noticed she was missing and called the police, and they would be looking for her. She still had hope. But once she turned onto the isolated dirt road, hope vanished. The area was desolate and wooded, and she didn’t think they would ever find her here. The only building she passed was an old, burned-out shell of either a cottage or a barn.
They bounced along the broken dirt road, twisting and turning with the curves. God, she was scared. She gripped the steering wheel with all her might. The gun was pointed at her, and every now and then Freya would jam it into her ribs. Isabel couldn’t tell if the gun’s safety was on or not. If it went off . . .
She was so afraid she could barely think. Horrifying images of the gun going off flashed through her brain, but she squelched them. She couldn’t let fear control her. She needed to figure out a way to escape even though the gun in her side was running the show now. If she could get it away from Freya . . . but how?