Chapter 22
“Hey, sis,” Paul Stark strode into the Inverlochy Castle Hotel’s kitchen, still ticked at the British agent who’d frisked him at the entry and then double-checked his ID. “Where’s the coffee?”
Kate used a frying pan she’d just pulled down from an iron hook to point at a large brass teapot. It was mostly hidden by an ornately knit tea cozy done in cables like some fisherman’s sweater.
“You gotta be kidding me? Tea? Where the hell are we, England?” He found a mug with a thistle on the side and poured some anyway.
“Scotland, you doofus,” Rikka shot back with a more asperity than usual. Someone had put a bug up her behind this morning. Something gone wrong with Sam?
He hadn’t realized they had a thing for each other, not until he’d been caught on the wrong side of a Secret Serv
