Page 4 of Rekindled (The MacTavish Heirs #5)

In which we learn why Lucas is known as the best tracker in the MacTavish Mafia.

Lucas…

“Sir, is there anything I can get you?”

The young blonde flight attendant is hovering over me nervously. I’ve refused everything offered, including the contents of Maksim Morozov’s very expensive liquor cabinet.

“Nothing, thank ye.” I turn my head and look out the window as she shifts from foot to foot, finally giving up and retreating to the galley.

Checking my watch; three hours left to Edinburgh.

One of the Morozov Bratva jets had been parked at a private airfield near Vladivostok and Maksim took my call immediately.

“Pakhan, I’m sorry to disturb ye. I have a favor to ask.”

His English is excellent, since he and his wife Ella spend most of their time in New York City. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

“My- Catriona MacTavish, my former asset, has been kidnapped. The Chieftain just called me.” I’m not used to asking for favors, my throat is tight.

“I understand,” he says gravely. “I just hung up with Cormac. I release you from your duties with my Bratva. You’ll take my jet back to Scotland. The pilot is fueling it now.”

“Pakhan, that’s very…”

“Go.” Maksim Morozov is a leader who can make a grown man wet themselves in fear, but here, his voice is kind. “Bring her home safely.”

Letting my thoughts wander is a foolish thing.

I canna help her if I’m imagining the worst. Catriona MacTavish is a fierce wee thing, but she’s more fragile than she lets on.

Is this a standard kidnapping? Or are they torturing her to send a message to the MacTavish Clan?

The image of her beautiful face, bloodied and bruised sends fury surging through me.

Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes, resting my head against the supple leather chair.

Dinnae ye dare spiral. I think. Ye dinnae have the luxury. This is about Cat.

The top floor of the MacTavish International office building in downtown Edinburgh looks a bit like NORAD gearing up for nuclear war.

Dozens of monitors line the conference room and I see the clan’s hackers, Georges and Xenia frantically scrolling through their laptops as their assistants string more cable and wires.

Someone - likely Georges - has pulled up satellite images from Europe, South America, the U.S.

, and the assistants are meticulously sorting through the data.

Straightening my suit jacket, I knock on the Chieftain’s office door just as his son Michael opens it. His eyes are jade green, just like Cat’s and they’re narrowed.

“Why are ye here?” he snarls.

“Your father called me.” I meet his hostile stare straight on. He dinnae rank in the top fifty things that concern me right now but he’s the next in line as Chieftain of the clan, so I canna punch him in the fecking mouth.

“Lucas? Come in, please.” Cormac gives his son a stern eye.

The Chieftain is a big man, strong, broad-shouldered and he can pass for fifteen years younger than sixty-one.

But right now, he looks every day of it.

There are many more streaks of silver in his dark hair and his face is gaunt.

Sitting behind his enormous mahogany desk, he looks… diminished.

He gestures toward one of the chairs close to him. Besides Michael, Catriona’s other brothers Duncan and Jack are there, along with her uncles Cameron and Dougal, grouped around the conference table.

“Good to see you, lad.” Dougal reaches over to shake my hand, smiling warmly. I’d heard he hadn’t agreed with Cormac’s decision to exile me. “We can use your tracking skills.”

“What do ye know thus far?” I ask.

“She was taken from one of the new MacTavish fitness clubs, downtown in Glasgow around 5pm. Ten men surrounded her, threw her in a van, and murdered her bodyguard.”

“Boyd Lennox?” I frown. “He’s- was- a good man. They must be slick if they got the jump on him. You’ve already combed through the traffic cameras?”

“Aye,” Michael says, rubbing his eyes. “They created a blackout within a one-and-a-half-kilometer radius around the club. By the time the power was back up, there was no sign. We linked into cameras on every road leading out of town, nothing that matched the van’s description. They must have changed cars.”

“The private airfields? The marinas?” I tighten my fists. I want to throw something through that enormous window that runs along Cormac’s back wall, looking down over downtown Edinburgh.

“Xenia hacked into every flight plan of anything airborne within the next three hours after the abduction,” Michael says. “We’ve been questioning the harbormasters, but…”

“A boat getaway is unlikely,” I agree. “The next obvious question, who does the clan have a pagger with right now?”

“Take your pick,” Cameron jumps in, “the Irish, we canna kill those Doherty bastards fast enough. There’s a Brazilian cartel that’s not fond of us after Lachlan blew up their airfield.”

“Along with six of their planes loaded with high-grade cocaine sittin’ on the tarmac,” Dougal sighs.

“I canna blame him for that one,” Michael admits.

“Aye, they were mighty arseholes,” Cameron adds.

“The point is,” Cormac cuts in, “is that kidnapping my daughter dinnae match with the modus operandi of any of the groups we’re dealing with. Trying to slaughter all our men, aye. But kidnapping a MacTavish female, even one as accomplished as my Catriona, it dinnae fit.”

“No demand for ransom?” I already know the answer as everyone’s shoulders slump. “Who’s been through her phone, her computer in the lab?”

“We’re trying to match up any competitors based on her current research,” Cormac says. “Her lab assistant and Georges are going through it now.”

“I’m guessing they took her cell when they grabbed her,” I say, “but I know how good the MacTavish security protocol is with personal data. Can I start with her download history?”

“Aye, a’course,” Cormac nods. “Michael here took a cursory look, but let’s see what ye can find.”

Michael stands up and jerks his head toward the door. Aye, he still hates me. I give the Chieftain a respectful nod before following him.

“I canna believe Da called ye in,” Michael says, ushering me into a smaller office. “But if ye can find Catriona, anything ye want… I’ll get it for ye, guaranteed.” He chokes a bit, turning away.

“Pull up her phone records, please.” My voice isn’t too steady either. “Social media, emails.” I flip open the laptop, waiting for him to hit the security code.

It’s killing him, I know it, allowing me a look into his sister’s personal life. I’ve never hated him, even though Michael was very firmly in favor of killing me. He looks too much like Cat, the dark hair, and fierce jade-colored eyes, they even smile and laugh the same .

I settle in front of the desk, my fingers lingering on the keyboard. “I’ll leave ye to it, then.” He turns to leave.

“Michael?”

“Aye?”

“There’s nothing I want from your family. But I’ll find her.”

Focusing on the screen, I dinnae hear him leave.

***

Pakhan - The head of a Russian Bratva

Have a pagger - Scottish slang for having a fight, or a beef with someone