Read Shrike (Book 2): Rampant for Free Online Page A

linen tablecloth, I am still hungry. 
    Magda brushes a crumb from her portfolio cover and closes it. She tucks it into her briefcase, smoothing the flap and buckling it. I can almost see the thoughts in her mind, glowing and optimistic. Her cheeks have a healthy blush; the china blue of her eyes is painted with dancing sparkle. She is what I wish I could be. 
    "Have you thought of a name for your line yet?" I ask her.
    She shakes her head, frowning. "Most designers use their names, but mine is hard to pronounce."
    "What, Kapuscinska?" I wink at her. 
    "You should hear people try." Magda gives me a wry smile. 
    "What if you translated it? Does it have a translation?"
    Her smile grows even more dry. "The root word is kapusta ."
    "And?"
    "It means cabbage."
    "Oh." Aye, maybe not the best name for high fashion.
    Magda gets up a moment later to go to the loo, leaving me to polish off the plate of samosas. I check my phone. After the referendum and Granger's escape from custody, I set up news alerts. I've got three local news stories lighting up my notifications. I can't ignore them.
    The first is about that poor student's murder. Seth's parents are asking for donations to be made to the Edinburgh International Science Festival as well as the University of Edinburgh for improvements to their labs.
    I set a reminder on my mobile to donate when I get home. The image of Seth Jones's body still comes all too easily to my mind.
    The second news article is a piece on the string of murders and a profile of Rosamund Granger. For as much as her face has been splashed around the news, she's managing to lay low enough to escape notice. No one has sighted her.
    The third news article makes my stomach churn around the samosas.
    Ross's face takes up the first third.
    Shite, bollocks, bugger.
    Heart pounding, I skim the article. It's in the Daily-bloody-Mail, and it's written like a scoop. Edinburgh constables refused comment, blah, blah, blah, secret arrest in the Edinburgh bombing case, Hammerton, Inc. loses high-profile clients in wake of scandal.
    My throat feels dry like mud that's cracked from soaking up sun. 
    Magda plunks back down next to me just as the server arrives with our entrees. "What's wrong?" 
    I hand her my mobile. She's met Ross. He came to our flat a couple times back before any of this started. More recently, he visited the hospital on referendum day, as did David. David and I wheeled Taog into Magda's room to watch the news coverage that night, and Ross kept shooting sidelong glances at David over the top of Taog's head as we all ate deep fried haggis and chips until the nurses complained about the smell of vinegar in the room. Every time Ross looked away, David would check him out right back.
    Bugger. David. I want to kick myself for not thinking of him sooner. He and Ross have gone out a few times since the vote.
    Magda makes a sad exclamation next to me and hands my mobile back, thanking the server for our food and mechanically ordering another plate of naan. She knows me well enough to reckon I'll eat it. 
    I send David a text. You okay?
    Then one to McLean. Read the Daily Mail.
    We're at my favourite Indian restaurant, but I almost can't taste the food. I shovel it into my mouth. If one day could go by without bringing terrible news, I'd be right chuffed. 
    "I did not know Ross got arrested," Magda says.
    "I was going to tell you. Trevor said they were keeping it quiet, but it looks like mum's not so much the word anymore."
    "They think he helped set the bomb?"
    I look around the restaurant. The music and bustle is loud enough; I pitch my voice low. "They found his fingerprints on the bomb."
    Magda's blue eyes bug out, and she looks around wildly. Her left hand twitches around her fork handle, and she almost drops the utensil into her pasanda. In that instant, the glowing, happy halo around her shatters. I see the tightening in her jaw, the way her shoulders draw together, the convulsive movement of her