To Catch a Thief. Christina Skye

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СКАЧАТЬ great gray cat pressed at his boots, tail raised, eyes alert. The viscount bent low, smoothing the warm fur. “So here ends both the tale and the curse, my friend. The art is gone, and though I should feel fury, I do not. I am…relieved. Let another poor fool carry the curse’s weight. The Mona Lisa’s smile is too cold and enigmatic for my taste.”

      The cat meowed, brushing against the viscount’s boot. “I almost wish they had taken the notebook, too. In truth, I care not for this curse it carries.”

      The cat’s eyes moved, keen in the spring night. Slowly Adrian turned, facing the open window that marked the thief’s retreat.

      Drops of blood stained the broken sill.

      Maledetto.

      “No matter,” the viscount muttered, trying to believe his words. “The curse cannot hold power here. Not after so many years. It is done. Over.”

      Adrian Draycott prayed it was so. But the cold wind through the tall windows and the prickle at his neck argued otherwise.

      CHAPTER ONE

      The Isle of Skye

      Scotland

      SHE WAS COLD and tired and hungry. Her blistered feet ached and right now all Nell MacInnes wanted was a hot bath and a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea, followed by a warm bed to rest her weary body.

      She closed her eyes, listening to the buzz of quiet pub conversation around her. The little inn nestled up against a pristine loch with towering mountains on three sides. The locals were far too polite to intrude on Nell’s reverie, and when she dumped her mountain gear and backpack on the floor, sinking into a worn wooden chair, no one raised an eyebrow.

      It was heaven to be warm and dry after six days of climbing the nearby peaks, battling rain and wind on every ascent. If not for her climbing partner, Nell might have curtailed the trip three days sooner, but Eric’s enthusiasm was hard to resist. No doubt he would appear from his room upstairs within the hour, after taping his badly sprained ankle.

      Warmth began to seep into her bones, as gentle as the low burr of the Scottish voices around her. Scotland was truly heaven, she thought.

      “And I’m telling you it was no such thing as my imagination, Angus McCrae. A grand fish it was—bigger than two arm spans, I’ll tell you this.”

      Over the muted, good-natured argument about a lost fish, Nell heard the pub’s front door open. Cold wind snapped through the room as two men entered, scraping booted feet. “Where is the American man, Angus? We need the climber called MacInnes.”

      Nell stiffened at the flawed description. Who wanted her now, when all she craved was one precious night’s rest? No one from San Francisco even knew she was in Scotland.

      The man at the door wore a muddy parka and broken-in boots. A satphone was gripped at his chest. “We’ve bad weather up on the hill and I need the American—assuming the man’s as good as I’m told.”

      Nell took a short, wistful look at her half-eaten shepherd’s pie and the cup of tea, but a request for aid was never refused.

      She gulped the rest of her tea and stood up. “I’m the American named MacInnes.”

      “You—a woman?” The man looked startled.

      Nell nodded, used to the surprised glances after twelve years of climbing on four continents. “How can I help you?”

      “A team of young climbers has gone missing on Blaven, and there’s bad weather already, with more due through the night.”

      Blaven.

      Nell recognized the name of the dark peaks that girded the valley on three sides. “They’re on the peak now?”

      “Aye. They were expected down three hours ago and no sign of them yet. We have just now received word that they’re stranded.” He raised the satphone, his eyes grim. “A German climber saw them scattered out over the south slope like lost sheep. They did not answer his hails, and at least two had the look of being hurt.” His voice fell. “Badly hurt.”

      Nell thrust her arms into her waterproof jacket, already making mental notes. “How many are in the group and what level of climbing experience? I’ll need to know the exact coordinates where they were last seen, too.” Even in a blizzard, the GPS would help Nell track those missing.

      “I’m assembling that information now.”

      Nell unzipped her pack, assessing her resources. “I’ll need drinking water and dried high-energy food, along with a more extensive first-aid kit.”

      “I will have it prepared for you, Ms. MacInnes, and our thanks to you for your help. My SAR team is understaffed, all but myself sent over to assist in the recovery of plane crash victims on Uist. A terrible thing, that. I only wish I had two more people and I’d climb up myself.”

      “No, you’re right to stay here. Someone experienced needs to be available to coordinate resources and guide the authorities. Besides, I’m familiar with Blaven.” She smiled crookedly. “I worked SAR here myself nine years ago during my summer vacation.”

      The man looked pleasantly surprised—and a little relieved. “So you know the Cuillin, do you now? I’m glad to hear it. There are those who take our Cuillin lightly. Some of them do not live to learn their error, I’m afraid.”

      “I won’t make that mistake, rest assured.” Nell’s voice was firm. She had seen enough dazed climbers and shattered bodies during her rescue summer to know just how fast conditions could change up on the nearby peaks. Within minutes an exhilarating climb could turn into a zero-visibility nightmare. “What’s the weather prediction up there?”

      “Northerly gale force eight. Snow already falling on the summit. Temperatures dropping to minus nine Celsius.”

      Nell made the conversion to Fahrenheit quickly, taking the bottles of water and zippered food bags that the local SAR coordinator handed her. “One more thing.” Ruefully, she looked down at her feet. “I’m afraid I’ll need dry socks. These are fairly well soaked after walking down through the rain all day.”

      Without a word, every man in the now silent pub bent down and began to unlace shoes or unzip boots, hearing her quiet words.

      In seconds hand-knit socks appeared on every table.

      Nell smiled at this instant generosity.

      She cleared her throat. “I appreciate your help. What I meant is, I have special climbing socks up in my room. I’ll do better with my own gear, you understand.”

      “Of course.” The local SAR man said a few words of explanation in Gaelic. The men around Nell nodded. The socks vanished back on hidden feet.

      She started toward the stairs to her room, calculating exactly how much she could cram into her pack and what injuries the lost climbers might have incurred. There was only so much possibility for medical intervention on the top of a mountain with limited supplies.

      “One word, miss. Your partner—he will be going with you, will he?”

      Nell СКАЧАТЬ