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The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine. This cell is bad enough, but at least it’s temporary. A real prison cell? Months behind bars, counting the days until it’s my turn in the dock? And if I’m found guilty? Years. For something I didn’t even do.

Fuck me.

My thoughts drift to Cat. The way she yelled out that I was innocent when I was led to the police car. The fire in her eyes as she stood up for me. I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye to her.

Did she sleep well last night? Somehow I don’t think so. It’s oddly comforting to know she cares, even though I hate the idea of her worrying on my account.

The sound of footsteps approaching pulls me from my thoughts. Keys jangle, then the cell door swings open to reveal PC Muir.

“MacDonald,” she says, all business. “The surety’s been paid. You’re being released on bail.”

I stare at her for a moment while my brain catches up. Then, “Who paid it?”

“Your father.”

Of course.

“Right.” I nod, relief mixing with a twisting in my gut at the thought of being in my da’s debt. Again.

Muir gestures for me to follow her out into the corridor, and I stand, my legs stiff as fence posts. She leads me to a desk littered with forms and plastic trays, where she runs through my bail conditions. “You’re to report to the station every Monday at ten a.m. Your second hearing is set for next Tuesday at nine. Make sure you show up or you’ll be back here before you know it.”

I nod, trying to fix it all in memory despite my brain feeling like porridge.

“One more thing,” she adds. “You’re not allowed near the Glen Garve Resort, and you’re to stay away from this Samantha Drummond. Don’t interfere with our investigation. Understood?”

“Crystal clear,” I mutter. Though that’s going to make proving my innocence bloody difficult.

She slides over my property bag—the essentials of my life whittled down to wallet, keys, phone—and hands me a pen for some paperwork. I scribble my signature where she points.

She then walks me through to the reception area, where my da is waiting. He stands with his back straight and arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. His hair is neatly combed, his clothes pressed and proper as always. The general manager of the Glen Garve Resort, every inch of him.

Muir confirms with him that he understands the terms of the surety—essentially that he’s on the hook if I skip bail—then leaves us to it. Da doesn’t say a word, just turns and strides towards the exit. I follow him out into the bright morning light, squinting against the sudden glare.

A few locals are milling about outside the station. They stop their conversations to stare, so I scowl back at them, which probably doesn’t help my case, but fuck it. I’m not in the mood to play nice.

Da walks briskly towards his car. “Get in,” he says without looking at me.

“I’ll make my own way home. Besides, I parked my bike on Main Street.”

“I didn’t just put up several thousand pounds to bail you out so you could wander off and get yourself into more trouble. Get in the car. We need to talk.”

“I didn’t ask you to bail me out,” I reply coldly.

“No, you didn’t. But who else was going to do it?”

I glare at him but say nothing. After a tense standoff, I relent and get into the passenger seat. Da starts the engine and pulls away from the police station, the air between us thick with unspoken words.

We drive in silence for several minutes, leaving Bannock behind and heading out into the countryside. The familiar landscape rolls past: green hills, patches of forest, the occasional farmhouse.

“Are you taking me somewhere specific or are we just here to talk?” I say finally. “Because, if we’re just here to talk, you might want to, you know, talk.”

Da keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Do you have any idea what this is doing to the resort’s reputation?”

Of course that’s his first concern. Not how I’m doing after a night in a cell. Not whether I’m guilty or innocent. Just the fucking resort.

“I didn’t steal anything,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Hmm.” The scepticism in that sound makes my blood boil.