The staff hallway was a world away from the glittering fair. Fluorescent lights flickered above, casting harsh shadows on bare concrete walls. The air hung heavy with the stale scent of cleaning supplies and a thrum of nervous energy. Every creak, every distant voice, set my nerves on edge. Alone, I felt utterly exposed, a pawn without her protector.
Minutes stretched into eternity. My mind conjured up worst-case scenarios. What had Finn seen? Were we being followed? The tabloids painted me as a victim, but right now, I felt like prey.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed down the hallway, rapid and purposeful. Relief washed over me, swiftly overtaken by a flare of irritation. Why did Finn always have to vanish into the heart of danger?
He emerged from the shadows, his usually stoic face drawn tight. "Isla, we need to move. Now."
He didn't wait for a response, his strong grip on my wrist pulling me forward. We moved as silently as possible, weaving through a maze of storage rooms and back exits, the echo of the commotion at the main entrance fading with every step.
Finally, we burst out a rear door into the crisp night air. A nondescript van idled at the curb, its engine rumbling. A figure sat hunched in the driver's seat, face obscured by the dimness.
"Get in," Finn ordered, practically shoving me into the backseat. He slid in beside me, slamming the door shut.
"Hey!" The driver, a rough-looking woman with a buzzcut and a scowl, startled me. "No warnings about extra passengers, yeah?"
"New plan," Finn clipped. "Lose anyone who might be following us and head back to the safe house."
The van lurched into motion, plunging us into the maze of Edinburgh's streets. I pressed back against the seat, trying to parse the adrenaline-fueled blur of events.
"Finn, what happened?" I finally choked out. "Who were those people?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted, his voice grim. "But they weren't art enthusiasts."
The woman driving wove through traffic with reckless precision, cursing under her breath in a thick Scottish brogue. Each abrupt lane change made my stomach lurch.
"So much for keeping a low profile," I muttered, a weak attempt at humor to counter the knot of fear in my gut.
Finn finally turned towards me, his features etched with a mix of tension and something else...regret? "Isla, I need to tell you something. About why this might be happening. About my father…"
And as the van careened through the night, Finn began to unravel a tale of shadowy deals, dangerous debts, and a past far more treacherous than I could have imagined. The safe, predictable world I thought I knew dissolved like smoke, revealing a far more perilous game where my own life was just another piece on the board.
Finn's voice was low, a stark contrast to the screech of tires and the blare of car horns as our driver expertly navigated the Edinburgh streets.
"My father wasn't just a businessman," he began, his eyes fixed on some invisible point in the darkness. "He had…side deals. Investments, he called them. Shady, dangerous ones."
"Like what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The image of the confident, capable bodyguard was shattering, revealing a vulnerability that was both unsettling and oddly compelling.
He hesitated, then continued, his words heavy. "Money laundering, arms deals...things that got him in way over his head. He borrowed from people you don't want to owe a penny to, let alone millions."
My mind raced, the safe confines of my gallery and quiet life seeming impossibly distant. Finn's past, a story I barely knew the outline of, was now colliding violently with my present.
"When they threatened him, threatened us…" Finn's voice cracked, the only sign of his inner turmoil. "We had to disappear. We couldn't tell anyone, not even you."
I felt a pang of guilt mixing with a flare of long-buried resentment. All these years, I'd blamed him for leaving without a word, for abandoning me when I needed him the most. Now, his silence seemed less like betrayal and more like a desperate attempt to protect me.
"The Van Gogh," I said slowly, the pieces falling sickeningly into place. "They're using it to draw you out, aren't they?"
He nodded grimly. "They know I'm back. They want to use you to get to me."
Our driver snorted. "Hate to interrupt this touching reunion, but we've got company."
I followed her gaze to the rearview mirror. Two cars were tailing us, far enough back to avoid immediate suspicion, but persistent.
"They found us," Finn muttered, his jaw clenching.
Fear surged through me, but so did a strange surge of defiant determination. I wouldn't crumble, not now.
"Isla, listen carefully," Finn said, his voice urgent. "I need you to trust me completely. Whatever happens, whatever I say, you do it. Do you understand?"
I squared my shoulders, searching his eyes for reassurance I knew I wouldn't find.
"Yes," I said. My voice was stronger than I felt. Because deep down, I did trust him. Finn MacGregor might be a mystery wrapped in an enigma, but he was the only shield I had against the unknown forces closing in.
The van swerved into a narrow alleyway, the driver expertly maneuvering the bulky vehicle through the tight space. "Hold on!" she barked, throwing the van into a spin that slammed me painfully against the door.
Finn braced himself beside me, his eyes darting from the rearview mirror to the shadows ahead. Our pursuers, momentarily disoriented, were gaining ground fast.
"They're going to box us in," Finn said, his voice tense. "Isla, I need you to move when I tell you. And don't look back."
The alleyway opened into a dimly lit parking garage. Our driver gunned the engine, barreling towards the spiral ramp. The pursuing cars hesitated, the headlights throwing elongated, monstrous shadows that danced across the concrete.
"Now!" Finn shouted.
I didn't question him, flinging open the van door and leaping out. The impact with the ground sent a jolt of pain shooting through my ankle, but I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the sting. Finn was right beside me, his grip on my arm firm as he propelled me towards a darkened stairwell.
"Up, go!" His voice was a harsh whisper, spurring me on.
We stumbled up the stairs, the echo of our footsteps swallowed by the cavernous garage. Tires screeched below, followed by the sound of car doors slamming, angry shouts cutting through the air. We'd reached the third level, and I gasped for breath, my lungs burning.
"Through there!" Finn pointed towards a fire exit. He pulled a small, battered phone from his pocket and typed furiously, his brow furrowed in concentration.
We burst through the door, emerging onto the rooftop. The cold night air hit me like a slap, clearing my head. Below, figures spilled from the pursuers' cars, flashlights cutting through the darkness.
"How are we…" I began, my voice trailing off as my gaze fell upon the sheer drop to the street below. Panic flared hot and white in my chest.
Finn had already located a drainpipe, its rusty metal glinting in the faint moonlight. "Climb." His order was sharp, leaving no room for argument.
He boosted me up, his hands gripping my waist with surprising strength. My palms scraped against the rough, cold metal, my pulse pounding in time with the shouts from below that were growing closer. Fear and adrenaline warred within me as I started to pull myself up, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of terror and desperate determination.
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My fingers ached, my breaths came in ragged gasps. The drainpipe creaked ominously with each upward pull. Every glance down made the street below shrink sickeningly, turning the pursuing figures into ant-like shapes with malevolent intent.
Finn scaled the pipe below me, his movements swift and economical, a stark contrast to my terrified fumbling. "Keep climbing, Isla. Don't look back!"
His voice was a lifeline through the haze of panic. Blindly trusting his strength, his plan, was the only way to overcome the terror that threatened to send me plummeting to the concrete below.
Finally, my hands found purchase on the roof's edge. With a final grunt of exertion, I hauled myself over the lip, collapsing onto the rough surface. Before I could catch my breath, Finn was beside me, his grip pulling me away from the ledge.
"Not safe here," he panted, scanning the expanse of the rooftop. Moonlight painted the scene in stark blacks and silver, throwing long, shifting shadows from air vents and rooftop machinery.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of movement. Three bulky figures burst onto the roof from the stairwell, their flashlights swinging wildly.
"Run!" Finn roared, taking my hand.
We dashed across the rooftop, the uneven surface treacherous beneath our feet. My twisted ankle throbbed, but the surge of adrenaline masked the worst of the pain. Finn guided me towards an illuminated access hatch near the far end of the roof, the shouts of our pursuers growing louder.
He yanked the hatch open. "Down you go!"
It was a sheer drop into darkness. Another leap of faith. Taking a fortifying breath, I lowered myself into the opening, scrabbling blindly for a foothold on the metal ladder. Finn followed, slamming the hatch shut above us.
We descended in suffocating darkness, the clang of metal echoing around us. I lost track of time, my focus narrowed to the rung beneath my hand, the next shaky step down. It was the most dangerous climb of my life, yet somehow worse than the drainpipe; I could no longer see the threat, could only hear it drawing closer. Shouts echoed from above, the thud of boots on the rooftop reverberating through the shaft.
Finally, my foot touched solid ground. Finn landed beside me with a soft grunt. His hand found mine in the darkness, leading me forward. My breath came in ragged gasps as we stumbled blindly through the unseen space, the fear of capture a relentless drumbeat in my skull.