HEN THEY WERE TEN MILES AWAY from where their deaths should have occurred, Shaw slowed the Mini, rolled his window down, and took a long breath. Even for him that had been close.

For the first time Katie noticed the red patch near his shoulder. “You’ve been shot!”

He glanced at the wound with little interest, his mind racing through what had just happened. “Just a nick, bullet didn’t go in.”

“Look if you let me go I promise I won’t say anything.”

“You watch too many movies.”

“You mean you’re really just going to let me go?”

“Well, I sure as hell don’t want to hang around with you.”

“Who were the men all dressed in black doing the shooting?”

“I gave you a lift, I’m not delivering testimony.”

She looked at him curiously. “You’re not a drug dealer, are you?”

“Met many, have you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I have.”

“What were you doing back there anyway?” His features turned grim as he suddenly recognized her. “I bumped into you at the Balmoral. And you were at the yacht. You’ve been following me!” He grabbed her by the shoulder. “Why? Who put you up to it?”

She gripped his hand. “You’re hurting me. Please.”

With one final squeeze he finally let go. “What were you doing back there?”

“It was an accident.”

“Lying makes me very unhappy.”

“Okay, okay, you were acting suspiciously and I followed you.”

“Why? Are you a cop?”

“No. I’m a... I’m a reporter.”

“A reporter? Investigating drug dealers in Scotland?”

“No, I...”

“Tell me the truth or I might change my mind about letting you go.”

“I was in Scotland doing a special obit piece on the death of Andrew MacDougal,” she said in a rush.

“Which paper?”

“The New York Tribune.”

He paused and then said, “You’re Katie James?”

“How did you know that?”

“I read the obit piece on MacDougal. It had your byline on it. But MacDougal died in Glasgow. What are you doing in Edinburgh?”

“On vacation. Reporters do get those from time to time.”

“Snooping around in stuff that doesn’t concern you part of your vacation plans?”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

“Guess you screwed up somehow to get stuck on the obit page before you turned seventy.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’ve actually been to hell. It’s just as bad as people think it is.”

He said this so matter-of-factly that even the seasoned journalist could only stare at him before stammering, “What do you mean by that?”

“If you have to ask, then you wouldn’t understand the answer.”

Actually, Katie thought she knew exactly what he meant, yet she chose to say nothing. They drove on in silence. Thirty minutes later the Cooper pulled up next to the Balmoral.

Shaw turned to Katie. “Okay, now get out of town as fast as you can.”

“How about you? They were shooting at you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

She reached over and grabbed his hand as he started to climb out. “What’s your name?”

“I’ve followed your work over the years, so I know you’re not that dumb.”

“Can you at least tell me what happened back there?”

He hesitated.

“I’m not going to write the story, if that’s what you think. I don’t know enough to write it anyway.”

“If you do write the story, you’ll ruin a lot of hard work and help the bad guys.”

“I’ve never been into helping the bad guys.”

He paused, studying her closely. “It was a drug transaction. We’re trying to keep cash out of the hands of terrorists. There, now you know all.”

“Good guys don’t open fire like that.”

“I know,” Shaw admitted. “I don’t know why they started shooting.”

His candor seemed to melt away most of Katie’s doubts. She added in a cautious tone, “But then why were your own people shooting at you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to find out.” He leveled his gaze directly at her. “And get out of Edinburgh. You survived tonight. It’d be a shame to waste it.”

In a few seconds he’d disappeared.

Katie sat back into the leather of the Mini. She’d seen much death in her career, heartbreaking stuff that you never really got over. But there had been something about tonight... And she had never met anyone quite like this guy.

Had everything he’d told her been a complete lie? As a veteran journalist she often found that to be the case. But he had let her go. And he had saved her life. She realized a little guiltily that she hadn’t even thanked him for that. If not for him she would’ve been bits of flesh scattered across Scotland.

Katie snagged her bag from the backseat and drew out a notepad and a pen. Before she’d switched to journalism, she’d been an art major. She flipped open the pad and quickly sketched a drawing of Shaw. She also jotted down notes.

She talked to herself as she wrote. “Dark hair, about six foot five, two-forty. Shoulders the size of Nebraska. Amazing blue eyes.” She put down her pen. Amazing blue eyes? Where did that come from?

It didn’t matter. The odds of her ever seeing him again...

She climbed over into the driver’s side, drove down an alley, left the car, and ducked back in the Balmoral through the delivery entrance.