Page 1 of Berserkr
1
Laurel
Would slapping my boss get me fired? Very likely. Nonetheless, I was tempted.
Unaware of the slapping danger she was in, Nicole grinned at me. She thought she was doing me a favour.
“I’m not doing it,” I said forcefully, glaring at the blonde bombshell in charge of Exposure Magazine’s investigative department. “Find someone else.”
“You’re the only woman who’s both single and capable. I wouldn’t trust this to Jenna.”
“Jenna will be fine.”
“She’s an intern. Can you imagine the insurance issues if she gets into trouble?”
“So you admit this assignment will end in trouble?”
“Not for you. I trust you, Laurel. After your success with the oil spill exposé, this will be a walk in the park.”
“A dark, creepy park in the middle of the night,” I muttered. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“Because unlike you, I’m married. If their claims are true and they actually find your soul mate, what would I do then? What happens if my wife isn’t my actual soulmate? No, this is a job for a singleton.”
Like you, I heard her say, even though Nicole’s lips didn’t move. I opened the file again, leafing through the pages our intern had prepared. I had to admit that it was an intriguing case. Women were going missing from across Scotland. At first, there seemed to be no connection between them, until our talented intern had realised all the women were single and registered with a dating agency. Hot Tatties. Their logo, a chubby cupid wearing a kilt, leered at me from the page. Ugly bastard.
“You’ll wear a tracker at all times,” Nicole continued while I scanned the file. “If it gets too hot, we’ll get you out. Which pseudonym do you want to use this time?”
“Why can’t the police do it?” I complained.
“Because this might be the biggest scoop of the year. A dating agency as a front for human trafficking? I want it in Exposure Magazine. This could be your big break. If this is what I think it is, it’ll be a prize-worthy story. Every journo in the country will be jealous of you. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.”
Because I didn’t like that I was chosen only due to my relationship status. I was single, so what. Anyone could pretend to be. I was in the middle of researching a highly complicated story about industrial espionage, and Nicole wanted me to register with a dating agency? Despite the suspicions, this felt like a fluff story that wouldn’t make the front page if it didn’t turn out to be human trafficking. But if she was right…
"What if they actually find me a match?" I asked my boss. "It's kind of heartless to drive up his hopes only to crush them once he finds out I'm not real."
"Scoop of the century, Laurel. That's all I'll say. Besides, I bet most guys are only looking for a one-night-stand anyway."
I supposed she was right. My own recent dating experience had been disappointing. No matter how often I swiped right, the people I matched with were never what I was really looking for. Even with the most promising dates, something was missing. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but the men I'd met just weren'tenough. Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe I was searching for a unicorn in a herd of donkeys.
I looked at the dating agency's brochure again. The guys on there were so hot they were clearly photoshopped. There might be one or two hotties like that in real life, but not dozens. All of them wore kilts and along with their ginger hair, they couldn't have looked any more Scottish.
Nicole grinned at me, knowing she'd won. "I'll book you a train to Glasgow."
* * *
I stepped into the rain,not surprised at all at the weather. This was stereotypically Scottish, just like the sound of bagpipes from somewhere outside the train station. I scanned the crowd for any hot guys in kilts. No such luck.
This was only my second time in Scotland. My first had been a school trip many, many years ago. They'd taken us to a whisky distillery in the Highlands, but of course we'd not been allowed to drink any. The disappointment of it all - along with a week of rain - was so ingrained in my memory that I hadn't returned since. It was only five hours from London, so if I ended up getting a match from the dating agency, I could almost turn it into a weekend relationship. Not that I was in it for love. I wanted the truth about the disappearances, that was all.
My wig itched and I cursed the decision to dye my hair blue last week. My original walnut brown was forgettable and perfect for undercover operations, but blue was too memorable. So now I wore the wig Nicole had given me, turning me into an icy blonde. It didn't suit me, but my boss thought otherwise. She and the intern had ganged up on me, transforming me into a blonde bimbo with way too much makeup, heels unsuited for the Scottish hills, and a suitcase full of clothes that didn't belong to me. I regretted agreeing to this.
Scoop of the century, I repeated to myself. It was all that kept me from stepping back onto the train back to London.
I hailed a cab and spent the short drive familiarising myself with the dating agency's owners. Pamela Chester and Steffanie Clynder, two local women. Steffanie had only recently been made one of the co-owners. She was who I was going to target. There had to be a reason for that promotion. Pamela wasn't old enough to think of retirement. She'd been the solo owner for a decade, so why the sudden change in organisational structure? Another big flag was how heavily the two women were recruiting. They'd hired several assistants and opened two smaller offices in Edinburgh and Aberdeen. They got regular payments from offshore accounts that explained how they could afford their expansion. In times of dating apps, how was this agency growing this fast?
I didn't know anyone my age who'd used an agency to find love. Why pay lots of money if you could swipe on your phone? Besides, there was something embarrassing about admitting to strangers that you'd been unlucky in finding a partner. I was the only one in my circle of friends who was still single. I'd always blamed it on focusing on my career, but I had friends who were successful in their jobs. One was an A&E doctor. If anyone lacked the time to date, it was her, but she'd been with her boyfriend for five years.
"We're here," the cabbie announced, smirking at the huge kilt-wearing cupid painted on the otherwise drab stone building. "Good luck, lass."
