Page 1 of Farlan (Immortal Highlander Clan McKeran #3)

Chapter One

O utside attorney William Carter’s office, Grace Johansen watched lunch hour traffic pour through the streets of downtown Monterey, California.

Although the clear skies and cool air of late spring made everything seem bright and crisp, impatient drivers had to dodge jay-walking tourists and clusters of soldiers on liberty.

Frequently hitting their horns to express their displeasure, the drivers mostly scowled.

More of that was to come with summer rapidly approaching, which drew a hefty influx of vacationers hoping to bask in the sun while enjoying the peninsula’s chilly breezes.

For them, the novelty of wearing a jacket in July never palled.

Maybe that was why Grace had shivered through her mother’s funeral; she’d forgotten to bring a sweater to the cemetery.

While signing the last of the paperwork, she thought of New York City, where she had lived and worked since she had dropped out of high school.

It seemed more like a thousand years since she had left the seaside beauty of Monterey behind to go to the east coast. She’d been seventeen when her mother had signed her first agency contract.

Back then Tonje Johansen had told her not to worry about finishing her education.

Grace’s sole purpose was to earn as much money as she could and send it home.

Everyone says you’re just like those supermodels on TV, her mother had said. All you have to do is dress up, stand there and smile, so it won’t even be hard work.

“I wish I had better news for you, Ms. Johansen,” Carter said, his gaze lowering as if in regret.

A spindly-limbed man with obvious hair plugs, he had an unconscious, reptilian habit of running his tongue over his thin lips.

“Unfortunately, your mother’s lifestyle proved quite expensive in her last years.

I’m afraid what was left of her money went toward paying the final expenses. ”

“My money,” Grace said as she handed him the file of signed documents.

The lawyer’s muddy hazel eyes went from discreetly admiring her breasts to stare at her face. “I beg your pardon?”

“All the money she spent came from me.” She placed the pen back on his blotter and sat back in her chair. “My mother didn’t work and had no income. I paid for everything.”

“I see.” He licked his lips twice as he watched her watch him.

Carter seemed to be waiting for her to justify why she’d done that, but she had no interest in confiding in him.

She’d also learned that silence often intimidated more than words, and supposedly gave her a mysterious aura, at least according to the fashion magazines that talked endlessly about her.

All she cared about was keeping people out of her life.

He’ll probably offer to take me out to dinner in hopes of talking me into retaining him or getting me drunk enough to go home with him.

“Mrs. Johansen never mentioned that you were supporting her. I assumed that she had received… Well, I was mistaken.” He cleared his throat and tried to sound more sympathetic as he added, “You can probably sell most of her things at a high-end consignment shop, if you’d like me to recommend–”

“Are we finished now?” When he nodded she rose and tucked her clutch under her arm. “Thank you. Good-bye. ”

Carter surged to his feet. “If you don’t have any plans for dinner, perhaps I could–”

Before he finished she walked out of his office, ignoring the wide-eyed secretary who stuttered something about a nice day.

Outside, the slant of the sun in the damp, nippy afternoon air made Grace take a head-clearing breath and review her immediate situation.

She had another two days before she’d have to check out of the motel; her compact rental car was paid for only through the end of the week.

To purchase all that and her plane ticket she’d had to empty her checking account.

How much cash did she have in her wallet? Grace checked. Sixty-one dollars, enough to buy a week of fast food meals, or a month’s worth of ramen, yogurt and juice. She knew because occasionally she’d had to live on even less between gigs.

She should have been worried about her lack of funds, but the reason she needed money was gone.

Although her agent had threatened to kill her if she quit, she had no intention of returning to New York City and continuing her career.

None of that concerned her; the only thing that mattered was getting some long-awaited answers, and then. ..

I’m done. Finished. The yawning darkness of the future held nothing in it anymore.

Grace put on her sunglasses and walked to her rental car.

With the sun pouring over her everyone she passed stared.

They would have done the same if it had been midnight.

Men generally liked to gawk at her perfectly proportioned body and long legs while women eyed her face, hair, purse and shoes as if they were checking the mirrors in their car.

No one smiled at her, however. Seeing the most beautiful person they’d probably ever encounter only reminded them of what they’d never have.

Grace would have gladly traded her looks for someone who genuinely cared about her, even just a little, but that was never going to happen.

Since puberty she had been tall and slender with long, wavy fair hair, big brown eyes, and absolutely symmetrical features.

Even during the worst of puberty she hadn’t suffered with blemishes, and had no scars, birthmarks or anything else to mar her skin.

Her ivory linen suit, one of many sample ensembles given to her by grateful designers, made her smooth tan appear a light golden brown in contrast. The latter had come from an airbrushed application of sunless tanner that her last magazine job had required, which was only just now beginning to fade.

A designer had once called her the most perfect woman he’d ever met. The men she’d dated had been less complimentary.

“Look, I don’t need you to make conversation,” one marketing director had told her when she agreed to go as his plus one at a product launch party.

“These are important people, and you could say something that will make me look bad. Just stick by me and look beautiful. That’s all you’re really good for anyway. ”

A wolf whistle came from the corner ahead of her, where two men in Army uniforms had stopped in their tracks and were staring at her.

Grace didn’t bother to show them her brick wall face; she liked soldiers. Only they understood what it was like to have a regimented life governed by an unwavering, demanding duty.

Only mine is finally over. “Thank you for your service,” she said as she walked past them.

“Thank you for being the most gorgeous blonde I’ve ever seen in my freaking life ,” one of them called after her.

He meant that as a compliment, but appearing flawless and stunning had been a job requirement.

Because Grace had been a public figure she could never go outside unless she looked as good as she did walking a runway or posing for a shoot.

Everyone thought nothing of snapping pictures of her without asking permission.

It bemused her to think that if she didn’t go back to modeling she wouldn’t have to spend two hours in the morning doing her hair and makeup anymore.

Never again would she have to wear uncomfortable clothes to represent a label that had paid her to be their walking mannequin, either.

She could go bare-faced and shop at thrift stores.

She could even live in her old flannel pajamas if she wanted to.

No one will ever again tell me how I should look.

Driving to her mother’s house took a little more weight off Grace’s shoulders.

Once the thrift truck arrived and removed Tonje’s wardrobe and personal belongings, she could turn over the keys for the mini mansion to the realtor.

In two weeks the new owners, a dermatologist and his husband, would be moving in.

They had liked the maximalist furnishings and endless mountains of knick-knacks in the over-decorated house so much they’d agreed to buy everything.

Their combined offer had paid off Tonje’s funeral and mortgage.

Grace had given her mother all the funds she’d needed to pay cash for the place five years ago; the big house had cost every penny she’d earned from a global perfume campaign contract.

Her mother had never once mentioned taking out a home loan.

I need you to send me more money so I can pay some overdue bills, Tonje had demanded only last month. Take extra jobs if you have to. The prices are going up like crazy here.

Grace parked the rental in the garage and braced herself before she walked inside the upscale nightmare.

Since she’d left home her mother had evidently been like a magpie on amphetamines when it came to buying and hoarding pricey, kitschy things.

Every room contained dozens of furnishings stacked with countless objects in every shade, as if someone had projectile vomited a rainbow around the place for hours.

A minimalist by necessity, walking through the place was what Grace imagined a first-time acid trip would be like.

Tonje’s overdue bills had evidently been from endless shopping sprees.

Her mother’s compulsive buying showed in the confusing clutter in every room.

Animal pattern prints and hand-painted porcelain knickknacks vied with Turkish wall tapestries and embroidered silk window treatments for attention; creating such visual chaos it became instantly exhausting to stand and look in any direction.

Dated and signed pieces enclosed in plexiglass cases lined walls and shelves for visitors to admire but not to touch.

Crystal sun catchers added to the dizzying spectrum by casting a cascade of prismatic light into every room.