Lie To Me - 17
AO3 :: Previously
“You must stay close, Fraser.” John Grey’s tone is stern, clipped and anxious.
“I didna intend to let her out of my sight.” Jamie breaks away from the phone for a moment to shove his head through a shirt neckline, and checks his mobile for the hundredth time.
It has been a tense two weeks, while the SCD gets their paperwork and warrants in order. There cannot be any mistakes, or the MacKenzies and their company will get away scot-free, no pun intended. Jamie had returned to the office with little fanfare, but was well aware that he was being watched again. His decision to send Claire away had been a good one.
There had been certain buzz about the upcoming event, but Jamie hadn’t received an invitation himself—for obvious reasons, he thought. He had appraised Murtagh of the fundraiser so he could contact Grey, but no one knew anything; purposefully orchestrated, but no specific details beyond that. Wheedling Louise to add his name to the list to no avail, he’d had to come up with an alternative plan to be close to Claire and protect her as he’d promised.
Grey prattles on in Jamie’s ear, and he looks at the screen once more. No new messages from Claire; the last had been an hour ago, a racy selfie of Claire in her barely-there underwear as she dressed for the fundraiser. Suddenly, a certain word brings him crashing back to Earth.
“What? Ye can’t!”
“Of course I can’t, Fraser,” Grey says irritably. “I only said I wished I could arm you. But you’re a civilian, so that’s a no-go. I’ll have a detail there to help out.”
“I wouldna ken what to do with a gun even if ye did.” Jamie swallows hard, fear in his throat. “Ye dinna think it will come to that?”
“I’m hoping it won’t be. Keep your eyes open and stay alert, Fraser. If you see anything untoward, anything suspicious, call Murtagh.” It would be a very public takedown, and Jamie is equally excited and apprehensive. The videos SCD had discovered apparently show Bonnet’s face clearly, exculpating Jamie from Alexander McGregor’s death.
With a final warning to be careful, Grey ends the call. Almost immediately after, Jamie’s phone beeps with a new text. It’s Claire, in a beautiful yellow gown, blowing a kiss to the camera. Jamie’s confidence is renewed and his spirits lift, to see his Sassenach so beautiful, so brave, so irrevocably his.
X-x-X
The venue is sumptuously decorated, as befits Glasgow’s Gallery of Modern Art. Claire grips her coat as she hands her invitation to the guard at the door and is admitted. Geillis walks beside her, already looking for the servers with drink trays.
“Here ye go, get ye properly soused.” G hands her a flute of champagne. Claire sips slowly, looking around for a tall head of red hair. It’s not noticeable, and she doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that her Viking Scot is well-concealed; she desperately wishes Jamie could be at her side. Claire watches as her co-workers mingle and laugh, eating and drinking. She chats with a few of her colleagues, and while talking to Joe Abernathy, she spots a bright mop of curls skulking behind a set of cubicles acting as the servers’ station. Excusing herself to the loos, she sidles close to the station and faces the room, grabbing another glass flute as she senses Jamie at her back.
“Mo nighean donn, ye look beautiful,” he breathes on her neck, leaning in as close as he dares. He has spent his time hiding out behind the flimsy cubicle walls. Blending in with the servers, he’d made his way through the back-entrance gangway, pretending to be working with them tonight. No one had batted an eye or asked him anything. Donning a white jacket a bit too tight across the shoulders and at least three inches too small at the wrists, he pretended to sort through the champagne glasses and handed full trays out for servers to parade around the museum.
A sudden commotion near the entrance has her craning her neck to see Colum MacKenzie arrive maneuvering in an electric wheelchair, followed closely by Dougal. Claire sees Tom Christie, the hospital director, rush over to greet and flatter them. She can feel Jamie tense behind her.
“Claire, the MacKenzie…”
“I see them, Jamie. Don’t worry.” His hand slips into hers for a moment, warm and strong. She doesn’t dare turn to look at him. His mere presence at her back bolsters her courage, as she downs the rest of the champagne and prepares to walk back into the fray, with Jamie’s parting words in her ears and heart:
Ye need not be scairt, so long as I’m wi’ ye.
They resonate in her mind, steadying her. Claire finds Geillis and they nurse another glass of champagne. Geillis senses her nerves and Claire steers her far away from the gaggle of chiefs and important hospital administrators fawning over the fundraiser sponsors.
“Hey, there you are, ladies!” Joe saunters up to them, clinking glasses together. “What do you think of all this? Pretty swanky, huh?”
“Only the best for Queen Elizabeth’s,” Claire smiles, smoothing a hand down her dress. Her heels are starting to pinch her feet, and she fidgets, wishing she could be in her pajamas cuddled up to her big red Scot. She folds her coat and lays it on the table along with her gold clutch; no chairs have been provided, apparently to force people to stand around and mingle.
“Gowan wanted to see you, Geillis. He wants the donors from Nexus—you know, the hospital beds—to meet you. Can I steal her away from you a bit, Beauchamp?” Joe smiles easily and guides G with a hand at the small of her back. She looks back helplessly at Claire as she’s swallowed up by the crowd.
Claire is trying to find a glimpse of Jamie again at the servers’ station when she feels a strong, callused hand grasp her arm at the elbow. She tenses, fear skittering up her spine—this hand is unfamiliar, rough, and definitely not Jamie’s. She whirls to find Dougal’s grizzled face leering at her, teeth bared into a grin that resembles a snarl.
“Miss Beauchamp—we meet at last.”
Claire tries to wrench free, but that only makes Dougal tighten his grip. She wants to scream, but her throat is dry and she finds they are surrounded by two burly men who block the rest of the attendees from seeing what is going on.
“Let me go.” Her voice aims for strength but there is a tremor of fear.
“I dinna think so, sassenach.” The word takes on its intended meaning, an insult, a slur of sorts. Dougal begins walking her away from the table. “Jamie will heed us, one way or another.”
“Jamie is a good man,” Claire hisses, “not that you know anything about that.” She tries to cast about for Jamie, but they’re heading in the opposite direction from the servers’ station; Dougal yanks her arm again to make her keep up, causing her to stumble. Too late, she realizes she left her clutch—and her mobile—on the table.
“He overplayed his hand. Do ye think we dinna ken about his relationship wi’ ye, what he’s been tryin’ to do these past few months? He broke faith wi’ us, and his wife. Our contract, we willna honor it either.”
“Honor? What do you know about the word?” Claire spits out with as much venom as she can muster
“Honor or no, I ken I always win, lass.” With that, Dougal releases her, but Claire feels another hand descend, this time on her shoulder, gripping, and a small but insistent push at her back. She’s never felt anything like it, but immediately realizes what it is: a gun. Quietly, she is steered away from the crowd, into the exhibits. After hours, there is only emergency lighting barely bright enough to see.
The last thing she hears from Dougal before being swallowed up by the dark is, “I’ll wait in the car.”
X-x-X
Jamie can’t find Claire. He’d spotted her bright gold purse laying on the table where he last saw Claire, and he rips it open; her mobile is in it, and his wame sinks. He has no way of contacting her now, and he fears the worst.
He spots Geillis flirting with an older man, tipping her head back and shaking out her long red hair.
He hurries to her and with a curt, “Excuse us,” takes Geillis’s arm and leads her off to a corner away from the noise.
“What is it, Jamie?”
“Have ye seen Claire? I left for a minute to go to the loo and now she’s gone.”
“I saw her the last time ye did. Do ye think she might have left?”
Jamie’s heart pounds double-time. “Not on her own. I specifically told her not to, not tonight.” He holds up the purse. “She wouldna have left this behind.”
Geillis pales. “I can head home, see if she’s there anyway, or wait for her.”
“Yes, please, do that.” Jamie pulls out his phone, and dials Murtagh. “Uncle?”
“Lad, ye ken ‘tis not safe for ye to—”
“Claire’s gone. They’ve taken Claire.” He knows this with a certainty that shocks him. A series of expletives on the other end before he continues. “Call Grey, tell him to move in now. We canna afford to wait.” Jamie ends the call; he’s on the move now, headed towards the main entrance so he can call a car.
Briefly, he glimpses a broad muscular man in the distance. There is a large black sedan blocking one of the nearby side streets. There is a sense of déjà-vu when he hears a muffled yell, and then he’s racing towards the sound, racing towards his life.