Free Hostile Desires by Melissa Schroeder Page B

would rather forget. His ears were still buzzing from the explosion. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to erase the memories of the dream.
    Then he realized his phone was still ringing. He glanced at the clock and saw it was just after five in the morning. Before he could reach for his mobile, Dumfries jumped onto the bed and started to lick his face. The scent of his dog’s breath wafted over him. Oh, fucking hell, something had crawled into his dog’s mouth and died. Graeme pushed him out of his face. His mobile continued ringing, so he grabbed it. It was his mother’s ring.
    “Something wrong?”
    “Does there have to be something wrong for me to call my baby boy?”
    He’d trained and fought for his country, killed men, and now hunted down criminals. No matter what, Francie McGregor would still see him as her baby boy.
    “No. It’s just early.”
    “Oh, bother.” She paused, and he knew she was calculating the time between Scotland and Hawaii.
    “No worries, as they say here, Ma. What’s up?”
    “Nothing. Just the normal thing. Oh, Sandra is pregnant again.”
    He smiled. “Another niece or nephew to add to my list for Christmas this year, smashing.”
    “Yes, yes, it’s all brilliant. Still, you should be shopping for your own children, Graeme. Are you seeing anyone?”
    The one thing that could be said about his mother was that she was never subtle. Not with him or his father. She said being subtle with a McGregor man never worked out. And she wanted him married. For his mother, he was wasting away in a morass of loneliness because he wasn’t serious about anyone in particular. The moment he thought that, the image he had of Elle as a child appeared in his mind. He blinked it away. Things were complicated enough without thinking about things like that.
    “I’m not even thirty.”
    His mother sighed. “Your father had two children by the time he was thirty.”
    “And seeing the way Abigail and Sinead turned out, do you think that was such a good idea?”
    She snorted. “Stop that. You adore your sisters.”
    “I’m still suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.”
    “You were not a hostage.”
    “It felt like it, being outnumbered by females in that household.”
    She chuckled, and he could picture her. She was probably sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of her, and the crossword puzzle sitting next to the cup on the table.
    “When am I going to see your beautiful face?” she asked.
    She tried to sound nonchalant about it, but he knew better. She wanted him married, but she would rather he be living in Scotland away from danger. She just didn’t understand his love of Hawaii, or his need to do the work he loved. There was no doubt about her support though. His mother was always there to lend an ear or cheer her children on. She just wished he would find his happiness closer to home.
    “I’m thinking maybe sometime this summer.”
    “That would be smashing.” He heard the smile in her voice, and it made him feel better.
    “Are you keeping busy?”
    “Of course I am. Working a cold case right now.”
    “They give you an old case? Are you not important enough for new cases?”
    The righteous indignation he heard from his mother made him smile. “No. This is important. Someone killed a thirteen-year-old girl almost thirty years ago. Left her by the side of the road. We picked up a new lead.”
    “Oh, that is important. Poor girl.”
    “I have to talk to her parents this morning.”
    “I cannot even begin to think about the kind of pain they are going to go through again.”
    “Yes. They’ve never forgotten. They put an ad in the paper on the anniversary of her death every year.”
    “I would do the same for any of my babies. Of course, once I knew who it was, I would hunt down the bastard and kill him.”
    He chuckled. “Now I know where I get my bloodthirsty nature from. How’s Da?”
    “He’s fine. You know him. Always busy at the restaurant.”
    His father