by Amy Vansant
“Oh I hope so.”
The pleas and giggles grew louder. Catriona grabbed Broch’s wrist.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
She pulled him forward, holding out her opposite arm to act as a pry bar, wedging them through the crowd.
“Are you wearing underwear under there?”
“Let’s find out.”
Broch made a strange whooping noise and Catriona glanced back in time to see a woman’s hand sliding up his thigh. She slapped the woman’s arm and received a scowl that could melt steel.
Broch looked at Catriona, his eyes wild. “Their hands are cold.”
She’d seen Broch wrestle with armed men and never once did he look scared.
The ladies clearly terrified him.
The doors to outside opened and another group of women streamed into the hotel. Catriona saw a bus outside, ladies filing off it like ants on their way to a picnic.
Their progress toward escape slowed as more HAC members spotted Broch and orbited around him, as if he were a plaid sun and they, googly-eyed planets.
After a short argument with a woman who had shoved her aside, Catriona realized she’d lost Broch’s hand. She spotted him, his head above the fray, floating away from her like a volleyball bobbing on the sea.
Soon, she could only hear his voice.
“Wummin’! Yer hands!”
The doors to a conference room opened on the far side of the lobby. Standing on her toes, Catriona spotted Broch, already on the stage in that room, defending the stairs to keep his admirers from climbing. The women filed out of the lobby and lined up in front of the stage, facing forward, as if awaiting Broch’s command performance.
“Wummin’, while ah appreciate yer attention, ye cannae be reachin’ for my nether parts.”
Giggles rippled through the room.
Then where are we supposed to put the dollar bills? called a voice from the back.
A group of women in the corner, not a single one a day younger than sixty, began chanting.
Take it off! Take it off!
Broch held up his hands. “Ah hae tae leave noo!”
“No!” screamed the women in unison.
Catriona pushed into the crowd.
“Ohmygawd listen to that accent,” said a woman to her right.
“He might be better-looking than Jamie,” said another.
“You shut your mouth with that blasphemy, or I will shut it for you,” responded a third.
Catriona slipped away from the crowd and found her way into the room adjacent to the one in which Broch was still cornered. The door closed behind her and she leaned her back against it, taking a moment to appreciate the large, empty space. After all, it wasn’t like Broch’s life was in danger.
Probably.
The wall that separated her room from Broch’s had a door. She opened it and found herself staring at a darkened backstage. On the opposite side of a large red curtain, she could hear Broch pleading with the ladies to allow him safe passage to the exit.
Catriona scurried to the curtain and pulled it far enough aside to peek onto the stage.
“Psst! Kilty!”
Broch’s head whipped around as if he feared a rear attack. His shoulders visibly relaxed upon seeing her.
“Git me oot o’ here.”
He bolted forward and she grabbed his hand to lead him through the darkened backstage. Feeling her way to the door, they escaped into the adjoining room. Behind them, jeers rose from the crowd.
Broch chuckled, seemingly giddy from the experience. “That was mad. Ah dinnae ken—”
Catriona stopped short and Broch bumped into the back of her. A woman stood between them and their escape route. From her frail frame, wrinkles and snowy white hair, Catriona guessed the lone-wolf to be at least eighty years-old. She wore a bright yellow sweatshirt with a picture of a shirtless Highlander and the phrase Kilty Pleasures scrawled beneath him in flamboyant script.
Catriona looked at Broch, who stared at the image on the sweatshirt, seemingly fascinated.
“Friend of yours?” she asked.
He looked at her, clearly confused.
“I just want to see the tummy,” said the old woman.
Catriona’s brow knit. “What?”
The woman nodded toward Broch. “I just want to see his tummy.”
Catriona rubbed her eye with the palm of her hand. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Whit does she want?” asked Broch.
“Lift your t-shirt and let’s get out of here,” muttered Catriona.
“Huh?”
“Just lift your tee. Let her see your six pack before the others figure out where we are, the way she did.”
“Mah six pack?”
“Your stomach.”
Still appearing unsure, Broch pulled up his t-shirt.
The little old woman’s eyes lit as if someone had found her on switch. She sucked in a breath as her hands fluttered to her mouth.
“Can I touch it?” she peeped.
“Oh come on,” said Catriona.
“I’ll scream,” said the woman.
Catriona gaped. “You’ll scream? You’re the one trying to molest him.”
The woman’s jaw set. “I’ll scream and let them all know he’s in here.”
“Look, lady—”
Broch touched Catriona’s arm and took a step toward the woman.
The woman smiled. Lifting a shaking hand, she grazed his stomach with her fingertips before jerking back, giggling.
She stared up at him, beaming. “Thank you, young man.”
“Yer fàilte,” said Broch.
She chuckled. “Wait until I tell Betty. She is going to die.” The woman pivoted and tottered toward the door.
“Dirty old lady,” muttered Catriona.
Broch grinned. “Och. She’s sweet. Ah think she fancied me.”
Catriona sighed. “Let’s go.”
After employing some avoidance tactics that included wrapping Broch in a table cloth to hide his plaid, they escaped the hotel through the back entrance.
“That was insane,” said Catriona when they were safe on the street.
“The more ah tried tae talk sense tae them, the more they ask me tae take aff mah clothes. Were they mad?”
“Something like that. But one thing is clear.”
“Whit?”
“You can’t stay in that hotel.”
Finding no available cabs at the back exit and not daring to move to the front, Catriona retrieved her phone to call a car. As she worked her way through the taxi app, a nondescript black sedan pulled to the curb beside them. A familiar man stepped out, wincing as he did.
Catriona gasped.
“Sean, what are you doing here?” She rushed to her adopted father and helped him from the car. As expected, he waved her away and she had to wrestle him to assist.
“At least let me help you,” she said, grunting.
“I’m fine.”
She relented and took a step back, hands on her hips. “You should be in the hospital.”
“I’m fine. They let me go,” muttered Sean.
“Did they?”
“Yes.”
“So if I call them, they won’t tell me you went missing on them?”
Sean grimaced. “Uh—”
“That’s what I thought.”
Sean pointed to the hotel. “Go get your stuff. We’re going home. I got ahold of Lulu and she diverted her plane from New York to here. Our ride arrives in three hours.”
Lulu was Parasol Pictures studio’s oldest living talent and its greatest diva. She also had the sex drive of a woman a quarter her age. The private plane she used to usher young studs all over the country had been their ride to Tennessee.
Catriona scowled.
“I shudder to think what you had to promise Lulu to arrange that.”
“We have an understanding,” said Sean.
Catriona thought about this for a moment. “Ew.”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Oh stop. I’m way too old for her.”
“You’re twenty years younger.”
“Exactly.” He turned his attention to Broch, cocking his head to the side. “Is that a table cloth wrapped around you?”
“Aye. Tae hide me fae the mad wummin.”
Sean looked at Catriona and she shook her head. “It’s a long, strange story. I’ll tell you on the plane.”
Sean shrugged. “Go get your things.”
Broch turned to re-enter the hotel and Catriona grabbed his arm.
“Oh no you don’t. I’ll get everything.”
Sean scowled. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Stay out here with him. Don’t let him talk to anyone and if you see a bunch of wild-eyed ladies heading for you, run.”
Chapter Four
1995 - Los Angeles, California
Rune didn’t know how to explain how he knew he’d found the right place and time. Being in the wrong place was like having a second heartbeat perpetually out of synch with his own.
When he arrived in 1995 California, the beats thumped in time.
That’s when he knew he’d found her.
She was alive. He’d known it.
It took another six months to pinpoint the exact location of that second heartbeat, and when that happened, it happened by accident. He would never have recognized her if it hadn’t been for a touch of serendipity.
Each day Rune awoke and began his search anew. His heart had pulled him to West Hollywood more than once, without success.
Still, he found himself there again.
After roaming the streets for hours, he abandoned his quest for the day and collapsed on a bench near a small children’s park. On nearby benches, mothers read novels or engaged in chit-chat with one another, occasionally glancing from their pages to confirm their children’s whereabouts and safety.
The mothers sometimes watched him, warily.
Rune stared back until they turned away.
“I know you,” said a voice.
Rune turned to find a child, no more than six years-old, staring at him. Dark hair cascaded around her freckled cheeks.
He scowled. “You don’t know me. Go away.”
The girl remained until he glanced her way once more.
“Yes, I do,” she said.
He leaned forward, bending in half to bring his eyes to her level. “You don’t—”
A shiver ran the length of his spine.
Those eyes.
He saw it in the child’s eyes.
“Impossible,” he whispered.
Giggling, the girl spun on her heel to return to her playmates.
He reached out. “Wait.”
The girl stopped and blinked at him.
“Fiona?” he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “You’re weird.”
“What’s your name?”
She smiled and pulled at her dark hair. “Catriona.”
Rune winced. His breath stopped short, as if someone had punched him in the solar plexus.
“Catty,” called a woman’s voice.
The girl snapped to attention. “Coming.”
Catriona ran across the park to a dark-haired woman. The woman’s glare locked on Rune, the corners of her mouth downturned. She pulled the girl into a protective embrace.
Rune looked away and rubbed his head with his hands.
“Something’s wrong,” he muttered, rocking in his seat. “No, no, no, no.”
He looked back at the girl.
No. It’s her. She’s confused.
The young mother gathered her bags and, taking the girl’s hand, headed toward the road. The girl skipped beside her mother to keep pace.
Fiona. I found you.
Rune stood and followed the woman at a safe distance. Her path led him several blocks away to a large house that had been converted into side-by-side residences. The woman lived on the right.
Staring at the building, Rune felt his heart strumming in time with the girl’s. Euphoric, he returned to where he’d left his car and parked it a block away from the woman’s townhouse.
He watched the home until long after night fell. No man came. No roommate. No one passed behind the large bay window but the woman and the child.
Time passed.
The second apartment to the left of the mother’s was dark inside. No lights illuminated at nightfall. No one returned from work. Rune felt confident that the other half of the side-by-side was unoccupied.
It was almost as if this opportunity to be reunited with his daughter had been fated.
It was close to midnight when he made his move, springing to action like a shadow come to life. He strode across the street to the woman’s door, its upper half segmented by panes of glass. Without hesitation, he put his fist through the pane closest to the knob and reached in to unlock the door.
By the time he entered the home, the woman was awake, standing in the hall like a statue. Stiff with fear.
He paused, staring at her. She wore a summer dress, her hair curled where, at the park, it had been straight and unkempt.
Why is she dressed?
She opened her mouth to scream and he bolted towards her, striking her in the stomach as he wrapped his arm around her neck. Breath forced from her lungs, she clawed at his arm as he dragged her toward her bedroom at the end of the hall.
Inside, he paused, holding her head tight against his body. She reached back to claw at his eyes, but he pulled back his neck, easily avoiding her.
Her struggling made it difficult to think.
Are there questions I should ask her? How did my daughter come to her? When?
She kicked him in the shin with her heel and he yelped. Grabbing her by the chest with his other arm, he gave her neck a sharp twist.
Her body fell limp, her full weight held aloft by his arm still clamped around her throat.
Rune dropped the body, the thud of her head sharp as it struck the hardwood floors.
So many questions unanswered.
Now I’ll never know.
He wandered around the woman’s apartment. From what he could divine, her name was Cathy Foster and, gathering from the lack of photos in the house, she had no family. The only photo that he could find, other than a few snapshots of the dark-haired little girl, was hidden in her underwear drawer—a candid snapshot of the mother and a man he recognized, a B-actor by the name of Joe Wake.
Joe Wake was married to a washed-up actress. Rune couldn’t recall her name. He’d seen things about them in the tabloids since arriving in Los Angeles. Perhaps that explained why Cathy was dressed and made-up at such a strange hour.
Late night rendezvous.
Shame on you, Cathy Foster.
It sickened him that his daughter had been in the possession of such a harlot.
He threw the photo at the woman’s body and it fluttered down to rest beside her.
Rune didn’t like that a man with money and influence might miss Cathy Foster, but Joe Wake was tangled in an illicit affair—there was little chance he’d make trouble.
Nothing left to learn, Rune entered the only remaining room.
Inside, the girl lay sleeping, her arms wrapped around a stuffed pink bear.
He walked to the bed and lifted her into his arms.
“Who are you?” she mumbled, eyes still closed as she rubbed at them.
“I’m your mommy’s friend.”
“Where’s Mommy?”
“I’m taking you to her. She had to go out and asked me to come get you.”
The girl pushed off his chest and peered into his face.
“I know you,” she said.
He smiled. “I know you, too.”
He walked her to his car. As he finished buckling her into his back seat, a red Ferrari pulled across from Cathy’s house and parked.
Rune straightened, staring at it.
A man stepped out of the Ferrari and his attention swiveled towards Rune.
>
It was dark. Rune didn’t think the man could see him.
But still.
Chapter Five
Back home in Hollywood, Catriona lay on her sofa, staring at the ceiling.
She glanced at the clock on her oven. Five p.m. She needed to get dressed for dinner. Sean had asked Brochan and her to join him, and he’d promised to shed light on the recent oddities in their lives. After nearly a week of her begging him for answers, he’d finally relented.
It felt good to be back in her apartment above Parasol Picture’s employment office. She’d missed glancing out her window to find a fifteen-foot dragon’s head rolling by, or a man dressed like a three-eyed alien.
Those apartment ads that touted room with a view had no idea how interesting a view could get.
Stretching, Catriona stood and moved to her tiny en suite bathroom. She turned the shower knobs to her regular positions and undressed. Eager to relax beneath a hot shower, she stepped in, and with a shriek, scrambled back out.
The water was chilly. Not cold, but certainly not the steamy shower she’d hoped to enjoy. She turned the hot knob as far as it would go to experience little change in temperature.
Cursing under her breath, she cut the water and stood staring at the knobs, as if they’d confess their sins under pressure. She’d never had problems with the hot water before and wasn’t sure what to do.
Slipping into her robe, she wandered into the kitchen to test the sink there.
No hot water.
She stared at the wall separating her from Broch’s apartment, chewing the inside of her cheek, deep in thought.
That would be a good place to start. First, she’d test Broch’s shower to find out if it was only her apartment with no hot water, or if the whole building had run out. Then, at least she’d have something intelligent to share with maintenance before she called.
She huffed. How handy that Sean had immediately given Broch the apartment right next door to the apartment she’d begged to use for years.
Exiting her apartment, she walked down the hall to knock on Brochan’s door.
No one answered.
She sighed, certain that he was inside, and tried again.
“I know you’re in there,” she called.
Nothing.
She bobbed her head back and forth weighing the pros and cons of unlocking the door with her master key. What’s the worst that could happen? It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen him naked before. The man tore off his clothes at every opportunity, like a strong-willed two-year-old.
