“Looking for you,” Derek said, coming closer and brushing my hair away from my face. “You don’t look happy, darling. Ghost tour too much for you?”

“You’re kidding,” I said, staring at him in disbelief.

“I never kid,” he said soberly.

“How did you find me?” I whispered.

He might’ve answered. It didn’t matter. I was so relieved to see him, I launched myself into his arms.

“That’s more like it,” Derek said as he caught me, then had to struggle to keep his balance on the treacherously steep stairs. “Hell, woman.”

It took him a moment to realize I was sobbing.

“There, now,” he soothed as he moved to lean against the wall. We clutched each other tightly for a moment before I was able to speak.

“It’s Kyle,” I said, and my eyes overflowed with tears again.

“What’s Kyle?”

“He… he’s dead. I know it. There… there’s a lot of blood.” I pointed to the door. “In there.”

“Wait.” He pulled back. “What’re you saying? There’s a dead body in there?”

I nodded.

“Christ,” he muttered as he pulled out his cell phone to call the police.

I listened as he greeted the person who answered the phone as if they were old friends. I supposed criminal investigator types stuck together. I still didn’t know what Derek was doing here in Scotland, skulking around in Mary King’s Close, but this wasn’t the time to ask. Instead, I rubbed my arms and stared at the open doorway that led into that stifling servants’ quarters.

Derek finished the phone call and put his arm around me. “Tell me again who this person was.”

“An old friend,” I said. “I just saw him earlier today. We went to the pub and… and…”

“A friend?” Derek repeated, pulling me closer.

“Yes,” I muttered, sniffling into his worn leather bomber jacket. I hated feeling safe in his arms, knowing he was a scoundrel and a cheat. I should’ve pushed him away, but damn it, did he always have to smell so good?

It didn’t matter how wonderful he smelled or felt, or how perfect his timing might be. He was involved with someone else, someone with a baby who looked just like him. He had a family. So what the hell was I doing clinging to him like a lovelorn leech?

I pulled back finally, desperate to catch my breath, stop crying and shape up. And focus. Someone had killed Kyle McVee, and other than the killer, I might’ve been the last person to talk to him. I needed to figure out my next move.

“Thank you for the use of your jacket,” I said, self-consciously wiping teardrops off the smooth leather.

“Always a pleasure,” he said. “You’re not going to pass out, are you?”

“No,” I said irritably, knowing I’d come close to it. “How did you find me?”

“The hotel concierge was quite helpful. He made your reservations.”

“Oh, good.” I frowned. “But what are you doing in Scotland?”

“Can I get some help here?” Liam called.

“Helen!” I cried, as Liam and another man struggled to keep a sobbing Helen standing upright.

Derek moved forward and grabbed one of Helen’s arms and helped her up a few steps, then got her to sit down on the cold stone stairs. I sat next to her and put my arm around her. She burst into loud tears and threw herself against me.

Derek, meanwhile, corralled everyone in the tour group and warned them to stay close by until the police arrived. Most sat on the stairs of the close, but some stood leaning against either side of the tenement walls. No one questioned Derek’s authority. He sounded very much like the British Royal Navy commander I knew he used to be.

He took Liam aside and assigned him the job of watching the group to make sure nobody left the area. Liam nodded briskly, exceedingly flattered to be of service. Derek took the young man’s flashlight and disappeared back inside the building.

Sirens filled the night air. I continued to try to comfort Helen, but she wouldn’t be calmed down. She was bent over, her head practically in my lap. Every few seconds she moaned and her body shook in agony. All I could do was rub her back and feel helpless.

“Helen, the police are going to be here in a minute,” I said. “You should try to sit up.”

She groaned but managed to pull herself into a sitting position, then leaned heavily against me and rocked.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Oh, God.”

Kyle was my old beau and I’d loved him once upon a time. I still did, I guess, and I’d like to think he loved me, too, in his own way. We’d spent a warm, comfortable hour that afternoon talking and reminiscing. He’d shared his troubles and asked for my help and I’d agreed without question or condition.

But there was no way I could’ve reacted to his death with the same intensity of emotion that Helen was showing. Did that make me a cold person? Had the two previous murder victims I’d seen up close inured me to violent death?

I didn’t think so. Something else was going on here.

“Helen, were you close to Kyle?” I asked quietly.

She sniffled and rubbed her nose, then whispered, “I can’t tell you.”

I stared at her. What the hell?

The sirens were close enough that I put my hands over my ears to block the noise. The police cars stopped at the top of the stairway leading to Mary King’s Close. Car doors slammed and boots thudded downstairs, just as Derek reappeared and stepped outside.

“Commander,” a deep voice shouted out.

“Hello, Angus,” Derek called. “Down here.”

I watched the two men shake hands and slap each other’s backs. Old friends and possibly colleagues, it seemed. Then Derek turned and said to the group scattered up and down the close, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Detective Inspector Angus MacLeod. He’ll be in charge of the investigation. Please give him your attention.”

“Aye, the commander has the right of it,” the detective inspector said, taking over. “Now, you’ll be wanting to line up along the stairway wall to give my unit as wide a pathway up and down as possible. Each of you’ll speak to one of my men stationed at the top of the close.”

Several of the group jumped into line and made their way up the stairs to get the procedure moving.

MacLeod continued. “We’ll need to see some identification, so if you’ve left your hotel or home without it, we’ll be accompanying you back there to get it.”

“Can’t we bring it by the station in the morning?” Liam asked.

“No,” MacLeod said in a cheery voice.

“Will this take long?” one of the men asked, his voice bordering on petulant. Not a good sign.

MacLeod smiled. “Ah, well, we’re not after keeping you all night, but there are questions that must be asked when foul play is suspected, and these things can’t be rushed. I thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

All I could think was, Angus MacLeod was a hunk. Literally. Big and burly, at least six feet, four inches tall, with boyish, sandy blond hair, the man had muscles on his muscles. I could picture him strutting about in a kilt, brandishing a claymore and looking for trouble.

Derek Stone met my gaze and grinned as if he knew what I was thinking. The man had friends in the strangest places. He and MacLeod began to talk in hushed tones as they stepped inside the building together.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Helen whispered.

“I can help you,” I said, clutching her hand.

“Not yet,” she said. “I… I don’t think I can move yet.”

“That’s okay. There’s no hurry.”

“Oh, God, he’s just lying there in that horrible place, cold and alone.” She buried her face in her hands and wept silently.

“Helen,” I said gently. “You know Kyle and I were old friends, right? We talked this afternoon. I don’t think you’d be betraying any secrets if you wanted to tell me why you’re so upset.”

She blinked away tears to look at me. “He told me he ran into an old friend, and that’s why he was running late.” She sniffled. “It was you?”

“Yes,” I said. “We ran into each other up by the castle, so we stopped at a pub and had a beer together.”