TWENTY-SEVEN
Michael was feeling guilty because he knew he had hurt Isabel’s feelings. He probably shouldn’t have been so blunt, but he had told her the truth. He did want to get her safely back to Boston, and he did need to get on with his life. He was expected at Quantico the end of August, where he would begin training to become an FBI agent. Once he achieved that goal, he planned to work his way into the department he was most qualified for and go after homegrown terrorists and power-hungry deviants, put them away before they could come up with bigger and better ways to blow up the world.
It was all mapped out, but he couldn’t go anywhere until he was certain Isabel was safe and those who wanted to hurt her were behind bars. Only then could he move on.
But a future without Isabel at his side driving him crazy? He couldn’t imagine anything more depressing.
Isabel watched Michael remove the map from the glove compartment and study it for a minute. Then he folded it, put it away, and started driving again. She didn’t ask any questions. She was too angry and frustrated to talk to him now. She needed to get her temper under control before she said something she would regret. She was a lady, she reminded herself, and wouldn’t use any of the foul words racing through her mind.
Michael really was a bonehead. Did he have any idea what he was giving up when he moved on with his life? She was all a man could ever want, damn it. Why couldn’t he see that?
She reasoned it through. Michael wasn’t only a bonehead. He was also dense, which in her opinion was just another word for stupid. With all his degrees and awards and only God knew what else, when it came to relationships Michael was almost as dense as she was. She had no business falling for such a stupid man. Someone should have warned her. She thought about it a minute and then decided she needed to write a song about it.
Michael was just about to apologize for hurting her feelings, but then he glanced at her. She looked serene and happy. What was that about? He told her he was going to get on with his life and she’s happy? He expected a little pushback at the very least.
Then she smiled at him. He couldn’t explain why that made him mad.
Isabel was much calmer now and enjoying coming up with lyrics she thought were funny but true about men in general and Michael in particular. Unfortunately, they were too inappropriate to sing. She even had a couple of titles in mind. “Men Are Jerks” was one. “Michael Buchanan Is a Colossal, Insensitive, Obtuse Jerk” was another. That was way too long for a title, of course. She’d have to shorten it to “Colossal Jerk.” Yes, that would work.
She knew she would never write the song or sing it, but it made her feel better to think about it.
She continued to ignore Michael as they drove through the countryside. It had been another rainy day and the dark sky cast a gray shadow on the land, but when they reached the top of a particularly steep hill, the sun suddenly broke through the clouds and a golden orange light billowed out over the valley below. Michael parked between two Scots pines to face the view. Then he turned the motor off and sat back.
“Do you know where we are?” he asked.
“Glen MacKenna,” she guessed.
“Yes.”
“Is it safe to be here?”
“I took back roads. There was very little traffic, and I made sure no one was following us, so yeah, we’re safe for now. What do you think of your glen?”
She was in awe. She had a panoramic view, and it was perfect.
“Isabel?” He said her name after a minute when she hadn’t answered him.
“It’s beautiful... pristine.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. The view was spectacular. There were gently rolling hills in the distance and black-faced sheep in the meadow, grazing on grass so green it looked like velvet. More sheep dotted the hills beyond. A clear wide stream flowed down from the highest hill and curled like a ribbon across the valley floor. Squinting against the sun she thought she caught a glimpse of a waterfall near the peak of that same hill. She was probably wrong, but it was a fanciful hope all the same. There were some stone cottages as well, but only a few dotting the hills.
The longer Isabel studied the landscape, the stronger her determination grew to keep it out of Patterson’s hands. She wasn’t going to let anyone destroy this magnificent land. She was going to sell it to someone ethical who would value it. Finding the right buyer would be difficult but not impossible. She would put stipulations in the sale to make sure they would protect the land and keep it as beautiful and unspoiled as it was now.
“It’s almost too perfect to be real,” she remarked. “Like paradise.”
“Almost?”
“There’s a serpent living in one of those cottages.”
“Ah... Harcus.”
As they sat quietly gazing over the beautiful scene, Isabel began to daydream. What would it be like to live here? she wondered. She could go hiking up the hills, she supposed. She had never hiked before, but there was always a first time for a new adventure. And fishing. She could go fishing, too. Though she’d never attempted it, she was sure she would enjoy it.
Michael’s cell phone rang, pulling her back to reality.
He looked at caller ID and said, “Inspector Sinclair.”
The conversation was quick, and when Michael ended the call, he told Isabel, “The inspector wants us to meet him at Rosemore Police Station.”