Countdown - Iris Johansen [45]
“I’m not going to pen him up like an animal. He’s a twenty-year-old boy.”
“Who nearly killed one of my security guards because he thought he was a threat to you.”
“He startled Jock. He shouldn’t have been in the stable. I told you that was the only place in the castle that was off-limits to you.”
“You didn’t tell me you were keeping a pet tiger there. He had a garrote around James’s neck in two seconds, and if you hadn’t interfered, he’d have been dead in another three.”
“It didn’t happen.”
“And it’s not going to happen to Jane MacGuire. She has damn good instincts. If she asked about him, she must have sensed something wrong.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do. Or I will.” He hung up.
Dammit to hell.
MacDuff stuffed his phone into his pocket and turned and strode through the stable to the potting shed Jock had created in one of the back stalls. “I told you to stay away from her, Jock.”
Jock looked up, startled, from the gardenia he was transplanting into a terra-cotta pot. “Cira?”
“She’s not Cira. Jane MacGuire. I told you that I wasn’t upset with her. Did you try to go to see her last night?”
He shook his head.
“Then how did she see you?”
“They gave her the room you usually use. I could see her standing at the window.” He frowned. “They shouldn’t have done that. It’s your room.”
“It’s fine with me. I don’t care where I sleep.”
“But you’re the laird.”
“Listen to me, Jock. I don’t care.”
“I care.” He looked down at his gardenia. “This is a special gardenia from Australia. In the catalog it said it’s supposed to be able to stand very harsh winds and still live. Do you think that’s true?”
He felt his throat tighten as he looked at the boy. “It could be true. I’ve seen creatures go through unbelievable hardship and cruelty and still survive.”
Jock gently touched the creamy white petal. “But this is a flower.”
“Then we’ll have to see, won’t we?” He paused. “Your mother called me again. She wants to see you.”
“No.”
“You’re hurting her, Jock.”
He shook his head. “I’m not her son anymore. I don’t want to see her cry.” His gaze shifted to MacDuff’s face. “Unless you tell me I have to do it.”
MacDuff wearily shook his head. “No, I’m not going to tell you that.” He added, “But I’m going to tell you not to go near Jane MacGuire. Promise me, Jock.”
He didn’t answer for a moment. “When she was standing at the window, I could only see a kind of . . . silhouette. She stood very straight, with her head high. It reminded me of an iris or a daffodil. . . . It made me sad to think of breaking—”
“You don’t have to break anything or anyone, Jock. Don’t go near her. Promise me.”
“Not if you don’t want me to.” He nodded. “I won’t go near her.” He looked back at his gardenia. “I hope it lives. If it does, maybe next spring you could give it to my mother?”
Christ, sometimes life could be pure shit. “Maybe I could.” He turned away. “I think she’d like that.”
She saw the statue the moment she entered Mario’s study after she’d knocked.
The bust was on a pedestal by the window, and the brilliant sunlight touched it, surrounding it with radiance.
“Magnificent, isn’t she?” Mario got up from his desk and came toward her. “Come closer. She’s quite perfect.” He took her hand and led her toward the statue. “But perhaps you know that. Have you seen the statue before?”
“No, I’ve seen pictures of it but I’ve never seen the real thing.”
“I’m surprised Trevor didn’t show you. You’ve known him for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Sort of. But the time was never right,” she said absently, her gaze on Cira’s face. Even she could see the resemblance, but she was too caught up in the idea that this artist had actually seen Cira. Perhaps she’d even posed for him two thousand years ago. Yet the statue didn’t look old, and Cira’s expression was as modern as a photo in People magazine. She looked boldly out at the world, alert, intelligent, with a hint of humor in the curve of her lips that made her come vividly alive. “You’re right, it’s magnificent. I’ve been told there were many statues created