And apparently, she thought the curse would be handed down to her, to Kira. And if that was the case, Kira thought, she really needed to know exactly what it meant. Was every MacLellan woman who married, destined to die by her husband's hand? Could it be true?
Scooping all the letters into a pile, she dumped them back into the shoebox, shoved on the cover, and stuffed it back into the closet. Then she went to the telephone like she should have done in the first place, called her boss, and asked him for the name and phone number of his lawyer.
Chapter 2
Three days later, Kira stepped out of the airport in Edinburgh and into overcast weather. There was a heavy mist in the air. It hovered and hung, wet and clingy, like a living fog that attached itself to your face and hair and clothes as if trying to claim you for its own.
Silly thought.
Hairy Tony's legal eagle had been able to verify that Ian Stewart was indeed an attorney in Scotland , and that Iris MacLellan had indeed died. That was enough for her. She'd phoned the man back, and he'd taken care of all the arrangements for her. He'd booked her flight—the tickets had been waiting at the airport as promised. He'd said a car would be waiting to take her to her accommodations. And the entire time his voice had stroked her senses like a lover's caress. It gave her chills, his voice. And she didn't know why.
She peered through the wet air. It was evening, just past sunset, and everything was swathed in shades of gray. But there was a small, boxy black car sitting at the curb, and even as she started toward it, a man got out, and came closer.
"Kira?" he asked.
She nodded, getting a better look at him as he drew nearer, but knowing already who he was. She recognized that voice. It had appealed to her on many levels, from the first time she'd heard it, from its resonance and tone, to its friendly, honest nature, to the accent that so reminded her of her mother, to the feeling it gave her that he was always teasing, just a little.