“Three people with gunshot wounds. We got an officer down. She’s been shot multiple times. I need ambulances to 302B Lexington Street.”

The pain in my chest seemed to spread through my whole body as I felt pressure on my wounds. “Shit, Robyn, shit,” Autry murmured in my ear. “Why, why?”

I understood what he asked.

I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t make my lips move, and there was something wrong with my vision. Black shadows crept around the edges, growing thicker and faster.

“Stay with me, Robbie. Stay with me.”

I wanted to.

I did.

I wanted to reach out and grip tight to him and not let go.

But my body and mind felt disconnected, my mind pulling me farther and farther away …

1

Robyn

Present day

Ardnoch, Sutherland,

Scotland

For once, I wasn’t thinking about my camera or the scenery or the perfect shot. Amazing, really, when I was in one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been in my life.

Yet, it was difficult to see it right now when I was minutes away from meeting my father.

A man I hadn’t seen since I was fourteen years old.

People called the nervous flutters in their stomach butterflies. Butterflies didn’t cut it. Surely butterflies were when you were excited-nervous? What was happening in my gut right now made me feel physically ill. Even my knees shook.

And I hated that my birth father, Mac Galbraith, had that power over me.

I got out of my rental and forced my shoulders back, taking a deep breath as I strode down the gravel driveway toward the enormous security gates built into brick pillars. Those pillars flowed into a tall wall. On the other side of the gate, the drive continued, fading into the darkness of the woodland that shadowed its edges.

As I grew closer, I searched for a call button or cameras. Nothing. Stopping at the gate, I gave them a shake, but they were made of solid iron and immovable. Eyes narrowing, I searched beyond into the trees, trying to listen past the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

A slight whirring to my left drew my attention, and I caught the light glancing off the movement of a lens. Ducking my head to look closer, I saw the security camera camouflaged in a tree.

I saluted the camera with two fingers off my forehead to let whoever was behind it know I’d seen them.

Now all I could do was wait.

Just what my nerves needed.

I turned, leaned against the gate, and crossed my arms and legs in a deliberate pose that said, “I’m not going anywhere until someone comes out here.”

Not even a few minutes later, I heard an engine and the kick of gravel. Pushing off the gate, I turned and watched the black Range Rover with its tinted windows approach from the other side.

My nerves rose to the fore with a vengeance.

Why oh why did my father have to be head of security at one of the most prestigious members-only clubs in the world?

Oh right.

Because of Lachlan Adair.

Jealousy and resentment that I hated I felt burned in the back of my throat. Ignoring the sensation, I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to look nonchalant as the Range Rover stopped. The driver door opened, and a man wearing black pants, a black shirt, and a leather jacket approached the gate.

I noted the little wire in his ear.

He was security.

But he was not my father.

“Madam, this is private property,” the guy said in a Scottish brogue much like Mac’s.

“I know.” I stared him down through the gate bars. “I’m here to see my father.”

“I’m afraid only members and staff are allowed entrance onto the estate. I’ll have to ask you to return to your vehicle and leave.”

Like I could give a rat’s ass that Ardnoch Castle and Estate was home to actors and movie and TV industry types who paid a fortune in annual fees just to say they were a member. “My name is Robyn Penhaligon. My father is Mac Galbraith. Could you let him know I’m here?”

The security guard was good—he didn’t betray his reaction to this news. “Do you have identification?”

Knowing they’d ask for it, I’d stuck my driver’s license in the ass pocket of my jeans. I whipped it out and handed it over.

“One second, please.” The guy returned to the vehicle and opened the driver’s door. He got in without closing it, and I heard him murmuring.

While his conversation with whoever went on, I returned to my car to get the sweater I’d thrown in the back seat. I’d been too hot with nerves when I’d left the hotel, but the chilled spring air now made me shiver.

A few minutes later, the guy returned to the gate. “Ms. Penhaligon, I must ask you to hand over any recording devices you have on your person, including any smartphones.”