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“Samantha Drummond, Drew Miller, you are under arrest on suspicion of theft and attempting to pervert the course of justice,” Sinclair says. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

As the cuffs click around their wrists, Robbie remains positioned protectively in front of me, his broad shoulders creating a barrier. I peer around him, watching as Samantha turns on Drew, her face contorted with fury.

“This is all your fault!” she hisses. “If you’d just been satisfied with the watch, we wouldn’t be here. But no, you had to get greedy!”

“Me? You’re the one who came up with the whole plan in the first place!” Drew retorts, blood still trickling from his nose.

They’re led away, bickering and blaming each other.

Sinclair pauses at the door. “Robbie, your bail conditions are lifted. We’ll need to take a statement from you—for the record—but we’ll get these two to the station first.” He hesitates then adds gruffly, “I owe you an apology. We were wrong about you.”

Sinclair closes the door behind him, leaving just Johnny, Craig, Robbie, and me in the suddenly quiet office.

Robbie turns to me with a look of disbelief. “You did it.”

Before I can reply, Johnny bounds over and pulls Robbie into a tight hug. “I knew you’d clear your name!” He hugs me next. “Thank you for helping my brother when I couldn’t.”

Craig rounds his desk and comes over too. “Yes, thank you, Catriona.” He glances between Robbie and me. “You said something about being Robbie’s . . . girlfriend?”

“Aye, that’s right.” I squeeze Robbie’s hand.

Craig nods. “We’ll need to talk more later, then. But first, Robbie, you and I need to talk, man to man. Johnny, Catriona, could I ask you to step outside for a few minutes?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

ROBBIE

The door clicks shut behind Cat and Johnny, leaving me alone with my da in his office. Silence stretches between us like a physical thing. Not the usual tense quiet we’ve perfected over the years, but something different. Uncertain.

Da settles into the seat behind his desk and gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit down, Robbie.”

I lower myself into it, half expecting him to launch into a lecture about the impact this whole mess has had on the resort’s reputation. But he just sits there, hands folded on the desk, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“It seems I owe you an apology,” he says finally. “I was too quick to believe you were responsible for the thefts.”

I shift in my chair, unsure how to respond. Da isn’t a man who apologises easily—or at all, really.

“Aye, well, you stumped up for my bail, at least.”

“I did, but that’s not enough.” His eyes drop to his hands before meeting mine again. “Robbie, the relationship we have . . . it isn’t as strong as I’d like. It never has been.”

Something tugs at my heart, a feeling I immediately try to push down. I’ve spent too many years building walls around myself to let them crumble at the first sign of fatherly concern.

“I’d like to work on that,” he continues, each word sounding like it costs him something. “For you and I to become closer. First off, of course, I’d like to offer you your job back at the resort.”

I consider it. The Glen Garve Resort is the only place I’ve ever worked for any length of time. But these past two weeks, being my own boss, using skills I rarely got to practise at the resort . . . there’s been something freeing about it. Something that’s felt . . . right.

“I’m going to have to turn down that offer, Da.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I appreciate it,” I add. “I mean it. But . . . now that I’ve set up as self-employed, I want to try to see that through. See if I can’t build a successful business of my own.”

Da nods. “I can understand that.” His lips lift in what might almost be a smile. “Just know that if ever you change your mind, there will always be a place for you here.”

“Thanks, Da. Anyway, if that’s everything . . .”

“No.” He gestures for me to stay. “There’s more. I think . . . I’ve never truly understood you, Robbie. And that’s my failing.” He runs a hand over his face, suddenly looking every one of his fifty-eight years. “Your maw . . . well, I think we can both agree she wasn’t the best mother to you. Far from it. But . . . I could have been a better father.”