Page 60 of Blood Stone
“You trust your lawyer enough to give him a key to your trailer?” Sebastian asked.
“I gave you a key, didn’t I?” Garrett returned.
“He’s yourlawyer. That’s a business relationship.”
“I trust him well enough for a human,” Garret replied.
Sebastian stared him down.
Garrett curled his lip. “John McDonald has been my corporate lawyer for nearly twenty years. Do I trust him? No! I don’t trust lawyers as far as I can throw ‘em. But I do trust him to do his job. I trust him enough that he’s become a millionaire working for me. That buys a lot of loyalty.”
Sebastian looked unhappy.
“Besides, the insurance company and site security and safety insist a key be kept with the accounting office of the site, in the admin trailer.”
“So basically, anyone could have got in,” Patrick said.
Nial shrugged. “The locks on these trailers are ten seconds jobs, even without a key. A credit card is enough.”
Patrick’s mouth opened. “That’s not just the movies?”
“It’s really not,” Nial assured him.
“My locks are custom fitted,” Garrett pointed out.
Sebastian glided over to the door and opened it. “Forty-five seconds with a lock pick,” he announced, moving back to the seats.
“Bollocks,” Garrett declared.
“Want a demonstration?” Sebastian asked him. “I’m a bit rusty, so I gave myself a ten second margin, but I bet I could shave some time off.”
“The point is, your trailer is wide open and anyone could have taken the bottle,” Nial said, his voice a little louder. “We’re not going to be able to figure out why until we know who, so the question gets shelved for now.”
“Or it’s still under the sofa where it rolled,” Sebastian added. “Let me look.” He climbed into the trailer and silence settled on the small group for the forty-five seconds he was gone. He leaned out of the door, holding up a nearly-empty bottle. “I dibs-out from telling Winter.”
Nial sighed. “That leaves me. Coward.” He looked at Garrett. “I’m more interested in knowing why you wasted a bottle of 40 year old Fettercairn single malt in the first place.”
“How did you know—” He made himself stop. “My local distillery. Of course you’d guess.”
Nial raised a brow. “How long have you had the bottle with you?”
“It was a gift from a business associate. Years ago. He knew my ‘family’ were from Kincardineshire, descendants of the Bruces.”
“Did the bottle get him the deal?”
“No, but it got him some favours, later on.” Garrett managed a smile despite the pounding in his head. “It was a step beyond the usual Glenfiddich piss.”
“Spoken like a true Scottish clansman,” Sebastian said. “I still want to know why, Garrett. You scared the crap out of Patrick and you’ve inconvenienced everyone with this stunt. You’d better have a rock solid reason.”
Garrett sighed. “I don’t.” He found he couldn’t quite look anyone in the eye.
The silence, this time, was thick.
“We’ll take any reason at all,” Nial said, finally.
Garrett brought both hands up to his temples. His head felt like the skull was trying to contract and squeeze his brains into paste. He felt wretched and wondered if Winter had left the headache in place deliberately.
“Garrett…” Sebastian said, his tone both warning and coaxing.
