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    North by Northeast: The MacGrough Clan, #3
    North by Northeast: The MacGrough Clan, #3
    North by Northeast: The MacGrough Clan, #3
    Ebook236 pages4 hours

    North by Northeast: The MacGrough Clan, #3

    By Cherime MacFarlane

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    About this ebook

    Why has he taken her if not for ransom? Lori fears the answer.

    5 star "This is drama/suspense/mystery at its utmost finest. It doesn't get any better than indie author Cherime MacFarlane.".

    5 Star "This is a fabulous, well written tale, filled with action and adventure, where the unscrupulous meet the underestimated. Great characters, great plot and fabulous detail make for a realistic and enjoyable story."

    Hamish warned her enough. With an idea for a new series of paintings buzzing in her head after a successful show, Lori opens the door without checking. A bag drops over her head and she realizes what a mistake that was. Hamish is several thousand miles away in Scotland and can't help her now. Lori must use her wits to survive.

    The damnable second sight tells him something is wrong. With his mother gone, Lori is all Hamish has. He'll move heaven and earth to get her back.

    Bushmaster reforms to help one of their own accomplish what the police can't seem to do, get his wife back. An adventure story filled with love, loyalty and determination.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPaper Gold Publishing OLD
    Release dateJun 1, 2017
    ISBN9781386355717
    North by Northeast: The MacGrough Clan, #3
    Author

    Cherime MacFarlane

    Meet Award-Winning, Best-Selling Author Cherime MacFarlane. A prolific multi-genre author, she has a broad range of interests that reflect her been there-done that life. Romance, Historical Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, all sorts of characters and plots evolve from a vivid imagination. As a reporter for the Copper Valley Views, Cherime MacFarlane received a letter of commendation from the Copper River Native Association for fair and balanced reporting. She was part of the Amazon Best Selling in Anthologies and Holidays, and Fantasy Anthologies and Short Stories. The Other Side of Dusk was a finalist in the McGrath house award of 2017.

    Read more from Cherime Mac Farlane

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      Book preview

      North by Northeast - Cherime MacFarlane

      Chapter One

      Seattle, Washington 1991

      Lori MacGrough? The knocking on the door sounded again drawing her out of the Walkman into reality.

      I didn’t order anything! She mumbled while draping the headphones around her neck. The sketchpad slapped down on the coffee table as Lori unfolded her legs from under her. She opened the door to get rid of the unwanted interruption.

      Yes? She turned the handle and looked past the crack to the hallway. Everything went black as a cloth covered her head.

      Hamish! Lori cried out for her husband as something sharp, a needle, pricked her arm. Blackness replaced consciousness. A drawing pencil fell from her fingers to roll under the couch.

      Two men stuffed the now unconscious woman into a large garment bag. The first man opened the door. He checked the corridor quickly, not expecting to see anyone. At close to 3:00 a.m., the possibility of encountering another individual was small. The plan had unfolded as expected.

      One man carried her down the stairs and tossed the unconscious woman into the interior of a van. Then he got inside with the drugged woman and slammed the sliding door shut. The other man opened the driver’s door, got in, started the van and drove away.

      No one in the Seattle hotel saw anything. Lori MacGrough disappeared into the dark, rain-soaked Seattle night.

      The rocking motion she woke to caused nausea to engulf her. Lori sat up and the throbbing in her head intensified. When she rolled her tongue around in her mouth, the taste reminded her of the morning after a Glasgow pub crawl. Between the horrid taste in her mouth and nausea, Lori was sure it would be a long time before anything stayed in her stomach.

      The morning sickness might be manageable if she stood on solid ground. The random rocking motion made matters worse. Her entire body rebelled when a particularly violent roll bounced her around.

      As Lori tried to move, she felt a weight around her right wrist. Turning on her side, Lori encountered a chain draped over the inside of her arm. A hard metal ring on her wrist told her something bad had happened.

      Damn it, Lori moaned.

      She had been too stupid for words. Hamish warned her to be careful. Her husband tried to explain she had become a celebrity on two counts. First, in her own right as a popular artist and second as his wife.

      Too busy with planning this new show and finishing up a commission, she’d ignored what he was saying. In their own little world in the glen, she didn’t see the need. He’d made her promise to be careful. Opening her hotel door to strangers at 3:00 a.m. could hardly be seen as taking care.

      She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Lori encountered something hard at the edge of the mattress. Her fingers told her it was part of the frame. Lori sat quietly and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She must assess her situation while still alone.

      There was hardly any light, but she could make out the metal which encircled her wrist. Only one part of the handcuffs rode on her arm. The other cuff went through a link in a piece of chain. Above her head, a large ring held the other end of the chain. The bolt portion of the ring appeared to go through the wall.

      When the floor beneath her feet suddenly listed heavily, she sucked in a breath. A sharp jolt at the end of the sickening roll slammed the thing that contained her against something on the other side of the wall. Her stomach roiled and Lori involuntarily spewed vomit. At the last second she turned her head, so the puke landed elsewhere. If she fouled the bed she sat on, it would be far worse to deal with.

      A door opened at the foot of the bed and light filled the opening. A young man stared at her for a moment. Jesus H. Christ! What tha fuck? I’m out of here!

      Lori wondered why he’d opened the door. His face looked pale in the half-light, and fear twisted his features. She wondered what he was afraid of. Again, a roll followed by a jerk threw her to the side.

      She had to be on a boat. That answered one question. She was on a ship moored somewhere. The motion as it rolled against the pier got worse with no pattern to it. The vessel lay in a marina and when other boats went by, the one she sat in made a sickening jerk and rolled. With every random motion, she heaved up her guts.

      With a moan, Lori looked around. On a table with a ledge around it to keep things from slipping off sat a carafe and glass. Lori hoped the metal container held water. She had to put something in her stomach to have something to vomit. Dry heaves might harm the child she knew she carried.

      She hoped whoever her kidnappers might be, they would make the ransom demand soon. She wanted to go home to Hamish. He didn’t know she was pregnant. A thought slipped into her mind: perhaps his ignorance was for the best. What if they took the money and killed her? It would devastate Hamish if he found out he lost her and the baby.

      Oh God! Please, get me out of this! she prayed.

      With both hands, she poured a small amount of water into the glass. Lori got a sip down before she retched once again. She didn’t dare tell her captors of her condition. It might make everything worse and give them another way to torment her. She would let them think she got violently seasick.

      Lori took a few small sips of water then lay back down on the bed. If she kept on vomiting, it might cause a miscarriage. Never in her life had she been so sick.

      ***

      Elden ran up the dock. He wanted to get as far away from the Sunny Day as possible. The big schooner lay moored at the end of the last dock. Its draft was too deep to allow it to tie up in a slip. Day didn't care about the extra charge for the large berth. The bastard had enough money for the additional fees.

      The creep didn't give a damn about much. He wanted to be at the end of the dock; it was the best place in the marina to be if you kidnapped people for fun. The far end was away from the other boats, and unless you had business on the schooner, you didn't have a reason to walk to the end of the pier.

      The ship avoided unwanted attention there. Not to mention, being on the end of the dock afforded a quick getaway. Cast the lines off, and the Sunny Day slipped away into the ocean.

      Slippery from the last two days of rain, Elden stumbled on the steep surface. When the tide went out the floating dock became more treacherous than usual. At the head of the ramp, he righted himself by pushing against a small skiff which leaned on a storage shed. After taking a deep breath, Elden tugged his jacket up to shield his head from the pouring rain. He pushed through the wire security gate to the level above. Up in the parking lot, the young man looked around.

      A taxi sat at one end of the empty parking area. Elden stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled. The driver saw him and put the cab into gear, swinging around to pick up his fare. Bile boiled in Eldon’s stomach. He burped as he struggled to keep everything down. He couldn’t puke in the taxi.

      Elden hopped into the front seat as he hurriedly rattled off the address to the driver. Elden had no place to go other than his mother's apartment in White Center. He realized he couldn’t stay long, one night should be okay. Nor could he tell his mother where he planned to go from there. Jerry Day would be after him once his defection became apparent.

      Where to go after leaving his mother's small apartment? The problem rattled around in his brain. He had to have a minute to think. Something would come to him. It had to. If he didn't find a bolt-hole quickly, Day would make sure he didn't get an opportunity to escape. His boss would have him killed. Elden hoped his mother would be okay once he left.

      He tried to recall exactly what he entered on the employment application. Back then, he and the old lady were fighting. He stifled a groan. The fight started over his taking what she thought to be a job with no future. A vague memory of putting his girlfriend's address down flitted across his mind. They split up shortly after he got hired, and they both relocated. She should be in the clear. Now, how to figure a way out of the hell he’d landed in? If he didn’t find a hiding place, Day would put him in a shallow grave on the Baha Peninsula.

      ***

      The old man under the boat woke immediately when the skiff wobbled, threatening to overturn on him. Someone had bumped into it hard. He lay curled up under the shelter of the boat with a tarp wrapped around him. Lousy Seattle weather. The whistle almost made him jump out of his skin. Someone close by burped. It almost sounded as if they were about to vomit. A drunk maybe. Then, a car came to a stop and picked up the person who’d come so close to ruining his night.

      It seemed the individual was a relatively young man from his voice. Real late for hustling up a taxi. Then he remembered a young driver who hung out in the far corner of the lot studying. The kid must have picked up the whistler. The old man listened to the address and sighed. He recalled the place. It was an old apartment building in White Center. Years ago, a guy he knew, a fisherman lived there. He had enough money to have a dry place to sleep back then. The old man wiggled in the sleeping bag and tried to get comfortable again. He needed to catch a couple more hours before the marina came to life. At least the skiff hadn’t fallen on him.

      Things got quiet again. He heard another vehicle earlier. There were maybe two or three men. Their footsteps on the ramp thumped. He figured they were carrying something heavy. Were they taking another drunk back to a boat?

      A couple of yachts hung out in the big slips. A large sailing yacht regularly tied up at the far end of the last dock. Its keel too deep for the slips inside, he’d watched it come into the harbor a few days earlier.

      Beautiful ship, the owner wasn’t anyone he wanted to tangle with. A certified fucker, the man had almost run him over in the parking lot. It didn’t take a genius to understand the SOB would call security on him in a heartbeat if he found out he was sneaking in the marina and sleeping under the skiff. He’d been using the shower facilities for marina patrons who didn’t have running water on their boats. He intended to steer clear of the jerk.

      The air mattress, a cheap blow up number designed for kids to use in a pool, squeaked when he moved. Tired, the old man got as comfortable as he could and went back to sleep.

      Chapter Two

      The MacGrough Glen, Scotland 1991

      Hamish hated missing Lori's phone call. When he played the recording back, she sounded happy, upbeat, riding the euphoria of a successful show. Nothing pleased his wife more than seeing her work find good homes.

      Again, Hamish wished he had gone with her. With headphones on, he was busy laying down a bass track and missed her call when it came in. The music in the headphones kept him from hearing the phone ring. Nor had he noticed the light blinking.

      Keeping watch for the red light in the office while concentrating, constituted a chore. If the piece Hamish was working on was not cooperating, he often failed to hear the glaikit thing ringing. The flashing red light had been installed to alert him to an incoming call.

      Maybe I need a big bleeding gong! He thought. Hamish didn't dare install a dinner plate-sized flashing light. Lori would have his hide each time the thing went off. Most of the time sharing a studio with her went smoothly. He enjoyed being in the same room with his wife.

      But two drawbacks had emerged; her dislike of large flashing lights, accompanied by Klaxon horns to alert him to incoming calls was one. The other was her insistence that he answer the phone.

      She said the majority of the calls were for him, and she didn't want to be disturbed. He would let the bloody thing go to the recorder, but the light and noise distracted her. To continue to be allowed to share studio space with Lori, he would answer the fecking thing.

      As things appeared to be going well in Seattle, his wife would be a happy woman when she returned. Hamish missed her terribly and wanted her home. A glance at the clock on the wall and a quick calculation had him shaking his head. With eight hours difference between the MacGrough Glen and Seattle, she should be sleeping. He didn't want to wake her.

      Turning from the phone, he decided to leave the message on the recorder for the moment. Leaving the office and combination control booth to walk back into the studio, Hamish thought about Lori. After walking past the keyboard where he had been working, he went to stand in front of the piano.

      He hated it when Lori went off alone, but she would be home in a few more days. A song by Bill Withers, Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone, slipped into his thoughts.

      It expressed his feelings about Lori. Everything in his world would brighten when he picked her up at the airport. Hamish planned to take her out for dinner before he brought her home.

      Lori would probably be wired and exhausted all at the same time. A nasty combination, and one he understood all too well. The only good thing about it would be the sex, it would be grand and last for a while. It was the only way either of them knew to take the edge off.

      Thinking about making love with Lori always produced the same result, his groin filled with heat. But since she wasn't available to take the brunt of it, it wasn't a good idea to allow it free rein.

      Ah, well, nae help for it. With a laugh at himself, H.M., Heavy Metal MacGrough, former keyboard player for the band Bushmaster, ran the fingers of his right hand over the keys of his old upright. In no mood for the piano, he looked around his portion of the studio.

      A glance over his shoulder brought the electric keyboard into view. It drew Hamish toward it. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, Hamish seated himself. The mixing project he had been engrossed in no longer appealed. Now he wanted to play. He switched on the board, adjusted the volume, and selected a sound.

      For some reason, he found himself playing the keyboard in bagpipe mode. The skirl, the reverberation, pulled him into the sound. In his mind, Hamish saw the glen as it had been hundreds of years ago when the bagpipes called his kin to battle.

      The rush of adrenaline, combined with the hope and fear his ancestors must have experienced took hold of Hamish. The pipes called to his blood in a way he had no explanation for. Then the tune changed.

      Bloody hell! Hamish pulled his slim fingers away from the keys abruptly. That damn fecking lament again!

      The black hair on the back of his neck rose. Goose flesh skittered across his forearms. His mother had called it the sight. When it came to Hamish, there was no sight to it, it was all feel. A wicked something had caught his scent. The certainty of it churned in his stomach. His gut burned with anxiety.

      Aw, God preserve us! Hamish stood with a rush which nearly knocked the keyboard over. The synthesizer and its stand rocked slightly as he backed away from it. With a muttered curse, Hamish rushed into the office and jerked up the phone's handset. Regardless of the time, 3:00 a.m. in Seattle or not, he needed to hear her voice. He had to call Lori.

      The front desk of the hotel put his call through. The ringing on the other end went on and on. Hamish gently set the receiver down.

      Either she had the tape player and headphones on and was drawing, or she was asleep. Later, he would try again.

      When she did not answer his second call at 8:00 a.m. or the one placed at 1:00 p.m. Seattle time, Hamish vacillated between two alternatives.

      He wanted to charter a jet for a mad dash to Seattle. While pacing the floor, Hamish cursed. If he did as his gut told him to and everything was as it should be, Lori would come undone all over him. She hated it when he got too protective. The goose skin again crawled along his forearms.

      Shite! Fecking bloody hell! I'm gontae explode here! Sweet Jaysus, Mary, an Joseph! Answer the feckin bloody phone, woman!

      As he ranted, Hamish paced around the office. He stayed well away from the keyboard in the studio. It wasn't logical or reasonable. Why did he always let the sight shite unnerve him? Unable to answer the question, he had to acknowledge something inside screamed a warning.

      Mayhap I'm just losing me bloody wits, the Scotsman muttered as he paced behind the large soundboard. The keyboard drew his glance again. He refused to

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