Page 11

“Well, if it’s not that, what is it?”

Johnny stops walking and turns to face me, his blue eyes troubled. “It’s serious, Robbie. I don’t know all the details, but . . .” He pauses, searching my face. “I hope it’s not true.” He looks even harder into my eyes. “No, I know it’s not true.”

Before I can ask what the hell he’s talking about, Johnny steps forwards and pulls me into a tight hug. As a matter of principle, I never let other guys hug me, but my wee brother? That’s the one exception.

I awkwardly pat his back. “Relax! Whatever it is, I’ll sort it. I always do.” Pulling away, I clap him on the shoulder.

“Hmm.” Johnny doesn’t look convinced. “I hope so.”

We enter the main building through the staff entrance, the cool air a blessed relief after the scorching heat outside. The corridor to my da’s office feels longer than usual, each step bringing me closer to whatever storm is brewing.

Da has been the general manager of the Glen Garve Resort for as long as I can remember, and he’s always been more devoted to this place than to his family. While other fathers were teaching their sons to fish or taking them to football matches, mine was here, making sure the resort ran like clockwork. Not that I’m bitter or anything.

When we reach Da’s office door, Johnny takes a deep breath. “Just . . . stay calm, all right? Because losing your cool isn’t going to make things any better.”

“You worry too much. I’ll be fine.”

Johnny isn’t reassured, but he nods and leaves me standing there, the weight of his concern settling on my shoulders like a physical thing.

I knock twice then enter without waiting for a response, a small act of defiance I can’t seem to shake, even after all these years. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Take a seat.”

Like Johnny, Da wears a serious expression, though in his case it’s his default setting, so nothing new there. At fifty-eight, his hair is more grey than black now, but his jawline is still sharp, his posture impeccable. He has the same piercing blue eyes he passed down to both his sons, although the years of responsibility have etched permanent lines around them, and there’s a rigid set to his shoulders that comes from decades of maintaining standards at a five-star resort. Even his tie sits perfectly centred, so neat I wouldn’t be surprised if he measures it with a ruler every morning.

Da does know how to laugh and smile. He does it when he’s schmoozing with rich guests. It’s just not a side of him I often get to see.

I lower myself into the chair opposite him, a familiar tension settling between us. His office, as always, is spotless: polished mahogany desk, awards and certificates displayed on the walls, not a paper out of place. Everything about the room screams control, just like the man himself.

“Well.” Da folds his hands on the desk. “Let’s get to it, then.” He pauses for a few moments, studying me. “You’ll remember that ten days ago Mr Ashford reported a watch missing.”

Of course I remember—the damn thing was supposedly worth twenty-five grand. Not exactly pocket change. An older gent from London, Mr Ashford believed he locked it in his room safe but admitted he wasn’t entirely certain. After tearing apart his luggage and scouring the room, he reported it missing to the front desk the next day. We were all told to keep an eye out for it, but there’s been no sign of it.

“Did someone find it?”

Da shakes his head. “But three days ago there was . . . another incident.”

I arch a brow, my curiosity piqued. This is news to me.

“A Ms Laurent in room 207 reported a pair of diamond stud earrings missing, and she was adamant she put them in her safe. Their value is, apparently, around ten thousand pounds.”

I blow out a breath. “Jesus.”

This kind of thing doesn’t happen here. The Glen Garve Resort prides itself on its security and discretion, especially given the calibre of guests we host. In all my years working here, I’ve never heard of anything like this. And it’s not exactly easy for some random chancer to waltz into a guest’s room, let alone crack their safe.

“As you’re aware,” Da continues, his voice taking on the rehearsed quality he uses when addressing staff meetings, “the resort’s reputation is paramount. If word gets out that guests’ valuables are . . . disappearing, it could devastate business. I managed—just barely—to dissuade Ms Laurent from contacting the police immediately. I offered her compensation and promised an internal investigation. But she made it very clear: if nothing comes of my investigation, she’ll be calling the police.”

There’s tension in his shoulders as he speaks, a stiffness that reminds me how much he thrives on control, and how much he hates even the slightest hint of disorder.

“As it turns out, she won’t need to make that call—because this morning there was a third incident.” He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. “A Mr Harrington in room 203 reported a signet ring and two thousand pounds in cash missing from his safe.”

My stomach tightens. Three incidents? What the hell is going on?

Da watches me closely, like he’s studying my every twitch and breath.

“Well, shit,” I say, because what else is there to say?

Da nods grimly. “It’s clear I have no choice now but to involve the police and hand over my findings. But first I wanted to have a quick chat with you.”