Page 10 of Dark Rebel's Fortune

The mention of her brother's laugh hit Fenella unexpectedly hard. Walter had been just a teenager when she'd left—gangly, full of mischief, with dreams of becoming a footballer. Now, he was an old man, while she remained exactly as she'd been the day she walked away.

"What about his children?" she asked.

"All grown with families of their own. The eldest, Michael, moved to New York some years back. Works in finance, according to your brother. The other two are still in Scotland."

"Are they safe?"

"According to Walter, they are," he assured her. "I've had a couple of my friends check on the two that stayed in Scotland, and they reported nothing out of the ordinary. I doubt anyone went looking for Michael in New York."

Relief washed over her. At least, that was one less thing to worry about. "Thank you. How did you even find all this out?"

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. "I used my municipal inspector disguise," Din said. "Clipboard, official-looking badge, high-visibilityvest—works every time. Told him I was checking the water lines in the neighborhood. Walter invited me in for tea and started chatting away. He's a friendly sort, your brother."

"That's very ingenious," Fenella said.

Din hadn't impressed her as being particularly cunning or resourceful during their brief acquaintance fifty years ago. Clearly, there was more to him than she'd realized.

"Long life gives you plenty of time to perfect your cons," he said. "I've got a few different identities I can slip into when needed."

"Sounds like you are leading an interesting life."

"I have my moments," Din admitted. "Though I suspect mine is not as colorful as yours, from what Max has hinted at."

"Ah, so he's been telling tales, has he?" Fenella rolled her eyes, though Din couldn't see it. "Don't believe half of what that pain in the arse says."

Din laughed, the sound rich and unexpectedly affecting. "I've known Max long enough to separate fact from his particular brand of fiction."

There was a brief pause, filled with unspoken questions and five decades of distance, and Fenella found herself uncharacteristically uncertain about what to say next.

Din broke the silence first. "I'd love to talk more, but I need to finish packing. My flight leaves in three hours, and I still need to get to the airport."

"I'm surprised, I have to admit. I mean, are you flying over just because of me?"

"I blew my chance once. I'm not going to blow it again."

The directness of his statement left her momentarily speechless. In her experience, men were rarely so forthright about their feelings—especially not Scottish men, who tended to guard their emotions as fiercely as their whiskey.

"Safe travels, then," she managed finally. "I'm looking forward to seeing you again." She snorted. "Not that either of us have changed much since we last saw each other. Not physically, anyway."

He was quiet for a moment. "I'll see you soon, Fenella." The promise in his voice sent another flutter through her chest. "Take care of yourself."

"I always do," she replied automatically.

After he ended the call, she stood staring at the phone for a long moment, trying to process the conversation and the unexpected emotions it had stirred in her.

"So?" Jasmine prompted. "How did it go?"

Fenella handed the phone back, struggling to regain her composure. "Fine," she said. "My brother's well. No sign of trouble there."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, not buying the casual act. "How is Din?"

"Still interested."

Jasmine grinned. "That's so romantic."

Fenella shrugged. "I barely know the man. Weexchanged no more than twenty words fifty years ago."

"But he's harbored these feelings for you through all this time," Jasmine insisted. "That's incredibly romantic."

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