In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) (13 page)

He laughed. “Just what I was thinking. You’re what always gets me in trouble. I like trouble.”
 

“I’m not trouble,” I said, feeling a blush sizzle my cheeks.
 

“Trust me. You are.” He whipped a piece of paper out of his back pocket and unfolded it. His cologne mixed with a musky athletic smell wafted over me. “I have a map. Where’s your room?”
 

“South Tower on the fourth floor. Where’s yours?”

Wait. What did I just do?

Oliver tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Out in the carriage house. Why?”
 

I don’t know. Quick. Change the subject.

“Do you have a bathroom?” I asked. God help me. I don’t know why.
 

“Yes.”

“With a toilet?”

Now Oliver was just confused. So was I. Where was I going with this? I know. Straight to hell.
 

“Yes, my bathroom has a toilet.” He frowned. “Are you…sick?”
 

Oh my god! He thinks I’ve got…diarrhea.
 

“No, no,” I said quickly. “Not sick. Totally fine. I just wanted to make sure you had a bathroom. It’s a nurse thing. I’m a nurse.”
 

“Why does it matter?” he asked.
 

“You have a lot of boys out there and they might get sick.”
 

“We have plenty of bathrooms.” He grinned at me. “You’re welcome to come down and see my place.”
 

“Okay.”
 

What the hell? I’m not seeing his anything.

“Great. I look forward to it,” said Oliver. “What about tonight? Nine?”
 

No, thank you.
 

“Sure,” I said.
 

Dammit, Mercy, you idiot. What about Chuck? You love him, sort of.

Oliver pointed to the carriage house on the map. “I’ll be there. Waiting.”

“Great.” I yanked on Pick’s leash. “Gotta go get lost again.”
 

“You’re not going to get lost.”
 

 
“Want to bet? I go south and upstairs, but I keep ending up down here in the kitchen.”
 

“Maybe somebody’s trying to tell you something.” He asked me for a pen and drew a line through a maze of passages to the tower.
 

“The castle’s trying to tell me something?” I asked with a smile.
 

Oliver shrugged. “When I get lost, I end up in the wine cellar.”
 

“Seriously?”
 

“Happens all the time.”
 

“Maybe it’s one of those subconscious drive things,” I said.
 

“Except I don’t like wine. It was only liquor and drugs.”
 

“The castle is confused.”
 

“I think
the castle
knows exactly what it’s doing. How long were you lost?” he asked.

“Over an hour.”
 

Oliver gave me the map. “Consider yourself lucky. We’ve had people wander around for over six, only to find them asleep in the armory.”
 

“There’s an armory?” I couldn’t find it on the map.
 

“Oh, yeah and people are attracted to it. Big time.” He turned the map for me. “Follow my directions and you’ll get there.”
 

“Thank you.” I squinted at the tower. What the heck? “Why is the tower called the South Tower if it isn’t in the South?”
 

“Miranda South was the architect.”
 

“Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you were using common sense. That doesn’t help in Cairngorms Castle.”
 

Oliver said goodbye and I tugged on Pick’s leash. No reaction. The poodle had gone to sleep on the cold stone floor with his jaws clamped on my ankle and wasn’t inclined to wake up.

I nudged him with my foot. “You’re useless. Now I have a date and it’s not with your master. You could’ve at least peed on my foot or bit him. What’s Chuck going to think of you sleeping through that debacle?”

Nothing. Not even an eyelash flicker.

“Come on, you crazy mutt. We have a map.”
 

Nothing.
 

“Sausage.”
 

Pick’s eyes popped open and he was on his feet in a flash.
 

“Sucker. There’s no sausage. You get lettuce, just like me.”

Pick yawned, showing some very impressive teeth that he only used for gnawing on my leg. Nothing useful like biting handsome ball players or preventing dating disasters.
 

“I bet they have a dog spa here,” I said. “You could get that lovely show cut you love so much.”
 

Another yawn. Pick could be calm about it, but I had a feeling in the next four days we were both going to have some stuff done to us that wasn’t going to look good.

With the help of Oliver’s map, Pick and I made it to our room in ten minutes. No kitchens or dead ends. We climbed the spiral stone staircase and found two curved oak doors on the small circular landing. There weren’t any numbers or letters. For a second, I wasn’t sure what door was mine until I noticed the door on the right had a crystal identical to one on my key, dangling from the heavy brass door knob.
 

I unlocked the lock and swiped my keycard.
 

“Welcome, Mercy Watts,” said the door. “Your itinerary is on your bed. Enjoy your stay.”
 

Pick scratched at the door and whined. I opened it and found the cell Dad chose for me was better than I imagined, right out of a storybook. Or rather it was straight out of Chenonceau, Diane de Poitier’s graceful chateau in the Loire Valley in France or Catherine de Medici’s chateau, if you prefer. I thought of it as Diane’s. She had it first and now I had Diane’s bedroom, at least for four days.
 

The room was a half-moon shape, taking up half the tower. Other than the shape, I had everything Diane had, the blue canopy bed, the Flemish tapestries, and the huge stone fireplace with the gold initials of Diane and Henry II, her lover. The fireplace reached all the way to the inlaid wood ceiling. There was only one thing that I had that Diane didn’t have and that was two dudes sitting in her embossed leather chairs in front of the fireplace.
 

“Hey, Mercy,” said Tiny.
 

“You hungry?” asked Aaron.
 

“Oh my god. What are you two doing here?” I asked.
 

“Waiting for you,” said Tiny.
 

“How’d you get in?”

“What do you mean?”
 

I held up my keycard and big key. “I have to use these to get here.”
 

“We have whatever you have.” Tiny tried to heave himself out of his chair and failed. The arms of the chair were not letting go.
 

“You hungry?” asked Aaron again.
 

“No, I’m not hungry,” I said. “So you have access to my room?”
 

“Of course,” said Tiny.
 

“Why of course?”
 

He stood up and the chair stuck to his butt for crying out loud. I dropped Pick’s leash and pried it off. Aaron didn’t move, not that I expected him to. I recognized the look. He was plotting food.
 

“We got to be able to get in here and help you if something happens,” said Tiny.
 

“You’re going to save me from a contract killer if he or she makes it onto the grounds through the castle to break into my room.”
 

“That’s the plan.”
 

I’d never heard of a worse plan. I knew Aaron. He could stab somebody with a fork if they positioned the fork and ran into it. As for Tiny, he was a powerful guy, but I doubted the Costillas would send somebody that couldn’t outrun my four-hundred-pound keeper.
 

Tiny must’ve read my mind. “I got skills,” he said.
 

“I’m sure you do.”
 

“Why you say it like that?”

Tiny had worked airport security so he had to be weapons qualified, but that wasn’t going to help if he didn’t have a gun. And what made Dad think Tiny was prepared to shoot someone? Firing at a range was different than real life. I should know.

“They used bomb sniffing equipment on the limo and x-rayed our luggage for weapons. What are you going to do? Smack the guy to death?”
 

Tiny cracked his knuckles in a way that made me think that was a possibility. Then he lifted his shirt and revealed a .22 stuck in his waistband under a roll of skin. “I’m packing.”
 

“How come you get a gun? Where’s my gun?” I asked.
 

“You don’t need no gun. You got me takin’ care of you. You’re a bridesmaid, remember?”
 

“I’d rather have a gun.”

“You get pedicures.”
 

“That sucks. People are trying to kill me, not you.”
 

“Yeah, well. Your dad said it ain’t safe for you to have a gun on this trip,” said Tiny.
 

My hands went automatically to my hips. “And why is that?”
 

“He thinks ya might shoot your cousins.”
 

I can see that.
 

“I wouldn’t shoot them dead. I’d wing them.”
 

“So ya can see why I got the gun.”
 

I climbed on the bed and sank into the velvety softness. Sweet. Just what I needed.
 

Tiny stuck the dreaded itinerary in my face. “You got a list of stuff.”
 

“I’m sleeping. You’re welcome to watch, but I warn you it’s not exciting.”
 

Tiny crossed the room and wedged his butt right back in the chair. I couldn’t believe it. They were going to watch me sleep. How freaking weird is that?
 

“Fine,” I said. “I don’t care. I’m sleeping. I was meant to sleep.” I burrowed under the covers and closed my eyes. Maybe I could sleep for the whole four days. I was pretty tired and the cousins didn’t have a map to my room, I hoped. I could just sleep and sleep and…

Knock. Knock.
 

No! No! No!

Knock. Knock.
 

This is not happening. I refuse to believe it.
 

“Mercy! It’s Bridget. Time for our pedicures. Are you in there?”
 

I sat up. “Don’t answer that.”
 

Too late. Aaron opened the door and stepped back to let the Troublesome Trio in. I never hated them more, not even when they duct taped me and put me in Grandpa’s taxidermy shed on
my
birthday.
 

“Are you ready?” asked Sorcha, eyeing Tiny.
 

“For what?”
 

“Our pedicures. It’s hot stone and totally lux.”
 

I will harm you.
 

I took a calming breath and said, “Don’t you want to nap first. We were up at O dark thirty as my dad would say.”
 

Jilly ran her long fingers through her silky smooth bob. “We already took naps. What were you doing?”
 

“Not sleeping.”
 

“Great,” said Bridget. “So you’re ready.”
 

Groan.
 

Tiny stood up and once again the chair stuck to his rump. My cousins stared at him but didn’t make a move to help as he struggled. I slid out of bed and popped the chair off.
 

Tiny straightened up with considerable dignity. “I’m ready.”