Blood and Money by Rachel McLean, book 1 in the McBride & Tanner series - Chapter 1

Phineas Montague, Silicon Valley’s newest internet billionaire, stood with his hands on his hips and gazed out across the loch. He liked to do this walk every night: two miles along its bank, to the spot where his house disappeared from view, then back again via a circuitous route that took him through woods and across moorland.

He turned to check on his house, a low, modern structure nestled in amongst trees a couple of hundred yards back from the water. It was ideally placed: the perfect view combined with the ultimate in privacy. Here on the eastern side of Loch Lomond there was little passing traffic to disturb his concentration. The lights of the main living room shone out towards the loch, awaiting his return.

He leaned back, stretching each vertebra in his spine one by one, and drew in the deepest breath he’d taken all day. If he could live here 365 days a year, he’d be a happy man. But Phineas was on his annual ‘deep thought’ week, during which he could escape the rigours of running the world’s most exciting internet startup and hide out in the beauty of the Scottish countryside.

The house didn’t have WiFi. There wasn’t even a road this far up; he had to come in by helicopter. Here, he could breathe. He could stare at the sky, its inky blackness hardly tainted by even the faintest of light pollution, and imagine himself hurtling through space on the rock that was Planet Earth.

He relaxed his back and shook himself out, preparing his muscles for the walk back home.

He heard a sound behind him and turned. In the distance, possibly half a mile away, there was movement. The sun was setting behind him, and he could see the shapes of the trees against the golden light. He knew why people came here: taking photographs, painting, absorbing the scenery. He hated it when they tramped past his house, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, what with Scotland’s irritating insistence on the right to roam.

Phineas squinted, trying to see what it was that had moved, and then it reared its head. A deer, nostrils flaring, breathing in the smells of the forest. Phineas grabbed his camera from the pocket of his hiking trousers.

He took a few steps towards it, swallowed immediately by the trees, where the creature wouldn’t see him. He leaned against the trunk of a huge larch to steady himself, and brought his phone up.

He zoomed in. He had the latest optical lens, of course; this camera wasn’t even on the market yet. He could see the deer clearly on the screen.

He stared at it, wondering what was going through its mind. Had it not noticed him? Did it care that he was trespassing on its land? He cast around, wondering which way the wind was blowing. Could the creature smell him?

Suddenly, onscreen, the creature’s head shot up. Phineas frowned.

He’d heard something, too. Not just the movement of the animal. Something sharper.

The deer jerked into life and ran off. Phineas looked up from his phone as it disappeared into the trees.

Was that a gunshot he’d heard?

His breathing picked up as he turned and scanned the shore opposite. Dim lights shone through the trees; the A82 snaking its way up the western shore.

To the south was the town of Balloch, beyond it the filthy hulk of Glasgow. Those poor bastards who had to live in the city.

It had been: the crack of a bullet. Hunting season wouldn’t start for months. And besides, he was too far south.

“Some bastard after that deer?” Phineas muttered under his breath.

He stopped and waited. The deer was gone, hopefully uninjured. Swallowing, he turned back to look at his house. Still shining into the dark, still serene in its modernity.

It’s nothing. He was being paranoid.

He raised his arms above his head and prepared to start moving again. The next section was marshy in places, especially when it had been raining, which it had for ten days straight before finally drying up today. If he fell and sprained an ankle out here, he might not be missed for a couple of hours, and the air was starting to turn chilly.

He took in a breath, swung his arms, and prepared to move.

He was about to turn when he heard another crack, and felt a sharp pain in his leg.

He cried out.

He looked down. In the dim evening light he could see darkness spreading across his leg. He gasped and swayed, suddenly dizzy.

He closed his eyes.

You’ll be fine, it’s just your leg. He blinked and turned back towards the house. He could get back quicker that way. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

He couldn’t see the house. He’d gone further into the woods than he thought. Still, he could see the water, and the banks opposite. He could navigate that way.

He felt a wave of nausea roll through him. He put out a hand and stumbled, then crashed to the ground.

Shit, it hurts.

He hit the ground, his head slamming into a tree.

The pain in his leg seemed to have grown tentacles, reaching up through his entire body. The world darkening around him, he slumped to the ground, motionless.