by Amy Vansant
While the feelings his dream-Fiona inspired felt real, other things remained blurry. In his memory, dream-Fiona’s face manifested in bits and impressions. Dark hair, blue eyes—in the end, he wasn’t sure if he’d recognize her if she walked up to him and said—
“Hello there.”
Broch turned to find Fiona standing behind him.
Struck dumb, his lips parted but no sound came.
“Broch, isn’t it?” she asked.
He nodded. A pain stitched his left side and his hand flicked to it.
Fiona glanced at the gesture and then returned her attention to his eyes. “They told me at the office I could find you here.”
He glanced at his feet. “And ’ere ah am.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Do you want to put that down?”
Broch realized he still held a bag of sand clutched tight to his chest, as if he’d been using it as a shield against her. He dropped it to the ground beside his feet with a dull thud.
Fiona smiled and tossed her hair. “I don’t know how to say this, but—did I see you outside Owen’s house last night?”
Broch’s mouth felt dry. He opened it and closed it again, not sure he should answer.
She nodded. “I can tell by your reaction I did. You were talking to that little sycophant, Asher.”
Caught dead to rights, he nodded.
Fiona rested her tongue against her upper lip and peered over her sunglasses. “Is there some way I can help you?”
“With whit?”
“With why you were outside my window last night.”
“Och, aye. Ah wanted to talk tae ye.”
“You mean Owen?”
“Na. Ye.”
“Why?”
Broch wrapped his arms around his chest. “Ah—it’s hard tae explain.”
“Give me your phone.”
“Mah—”
Fiona leaned forward and plucked Broch’s cell phone from the breast pocket of his shirt. She pressed the button and then glanced at him. “No password?”
“Nae.”
She clucked her tongue. “You should be more careful. There.” She slid the phone back into his pocket, easing the edge down his chest more slowly than the alacrity with which she’d snatched it.
“I sent myself a message. I’ll send you back my address. You can come by my place tonight.”
“Owen’s?”
She scoffed. “No. My place. Owen is—” she stopped and appeared to gather her thoughts, her expression of agitation slowly melting into a relaxed smile. “Owen is going through a difficult period and feels his time is better spent with the mother of his missing child as they work towards his return.”
Broch nodded. “Ah see.”
“See you tonight.” She spun on her heel and strode away, heels clicking on the pavement.
Broch retrieved the sandbag at his feet and stood rooted to the spot, hugging it to his chest.
Chapter Eighteen
Catriona awoke to the sound of her phone ringing. Fumbling for it, she answered.
“We have a lead on Owen’s boy,” said Sean’s voice.
She peered at her phone to find it was four seventeen a.m. and groaned.
“What’s wrong?” asked Sean.
“Had trouble sleeping and it’s an ungodly hour of the morning.”
“Justice never sleeps.”
“Right. I forgot. So, what are you saying about Toby? They found him?”
“No, but they found evidence of him. Someone walking their dog heard noise coming from a shipping container out near Lake Arrowhead. They were spooked by a man before they could investigate, but they reported it. By the time the police arrived, Toby was gone.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. So close. At least we know he’s alive.”
“Or was.”
“Mm. Any leads on where the kidnappers might have moved him?”
“Cops found a bag full of convenience store food and a mug, a water jug, a bucket—they’re running prints on everything. I’ve got someone inside who will let me know as soon as they know anything.”
“Good.”
“I thought we could go to the scene and see if anything rings a bell.”
Catriona scowled. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”
“I’m driving there, not jogging. Come on, it’ll be fun. Like old times, working the case together—”
“Fine, fine. Sounds good. Pick me up in twenty? I’ll meet you outside the studio.”
“See you there.”
Catriona hopped out of bed and ran through an abbreviated version of her morning routine. The shower had hot water, so she surmised she’d beaten Broch to it.
Kilty.
She’d almost forgotten he was officially her new partner.
Should I wake him?
Sean didn’t mention him. The Highlander had been cranky the night before and she’d heard the elevator running after midnight. Where had he gone?
Something was up with him.
She decided to let him sleep. Driving to Lake Arrowhead wasn’t a teachable moment. Neither was a kidnapping investigation. As a rule, abduction wouldn’t be part of Broch’s studio job description. Toby’s disappearance was a once in a lifetime tragedy for the Parasol Pictures extended family.
Hopefully.
Catriona grabbed her phone, the case of which held her license and credit card, and headed outside.
A few minutes later, Sean’s truck rolled to a stop in front of the studio gates and she hopped inside.
It was a two hour drive to the spot where the police had found evidence of Toby Crane’s imprisonment. That was one thing Catriona didn’t like about California—nothing was ever close.
“Where’s Broch?” asked Sean.
“I decided to let him sleep.”
“Why?”
“Why not? What’s the matter, do you miss him?”
Sean chuckled. “Oh boy. What subtext is running here that I can’t read?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“There you go again. I detect attitude.”
Catriona dragged her finger along the top of the door, considering if she wanted broach the subject of her petty jealousy. She decided to fess up.
“Fine. I might be a little jealous that he’s your real son.”
Sean chuckled “That doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
“I know. But you’re the only dad I’ve got. He just showed up and co-opted you.”
“I wouldn’t think you’d mind. After all, you’ve always called me Sean, not Dad.”
“That’s your fault.”
“How so?”
“You told me to call you Sean when you found me. Remember?”
He cocked his head. “Did I? I guess I was a little freaked out about adopting you.”
“Emotionally, or because you did it illegally?”
“Both. Definitely both. Little girls aren’t like puppies. You can’t just keep them when you find them. People frown on that.”
Catriona chuckled. “And you couldn’t lock me in a room covered in newspaper when I got annoying, either.”
“That was the worst part.”
Catriona stared at him, debating, until Sean felt her gawking at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Spit it out.”
She twisted to face him. “Has Broch said anything to you about me?”
Sean held up a hand. “Oh no. I know that tone, too. If you two are going to start a romance, don’t pull me into the middle of it.”
“It’s not that.” Catriona traced a figure-eight design on her thigh with her fingertip, searching for the right words. “I mean it is. Maybe. I don’t know. It seemed like things were heading in that direction, and then yesterday, all of a sudden, he got weird.”
“Weird, how?” Sean shook his head. “I can’t believe I just asked that. I just told you I don’t want to be involved.”
“Too lat
e. Weird like...I don’t know. Like his mind is a million miles away and he wants to be left alone with his thoughts.”
Sean shrugged. “The man wakes up and he’s three hundred years from home. He’s probably trying to find his bearings. What he’s been through—it would be like you popping up in the world of Star Wars and having to find your way.”
“Would I get a lightsaber?”
“Maybe. But think about it—everything would be foreign. You’d have no family or friends—”
“He’s got you.”
“Sure, but I’m not what he’s used to. He’s got you, too, as a friend, I hope, even if things are weird.”
Catriona hooked her mouth to the side. “Sure, but—”
“Just be patient with him. Be his friend. If nothing else develops, that’s fine, too.”
Catriona huffed a laugh. “Oh I know that’s fine. I’m nearly thirty. I’m too used to doing whatever I want, whenever I want. I’m a lost cause.”
“Oh don’t say that. I’m sure there’s someone out there looking for a royal pain in the ass.”
“Hey!” Catriona slapped his arm and Sean laughed.
Chuckling, she put her hands over her heart and lifted her chin to stare at an imaginary moon. “Fine. I promise to keep the hope of true love eternal in my heart.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Aww, your girl. That’s one thing I’ve got going for me. I guess Broch can’t ever be your girl.”
Sean shrugged. “We are in L.A. Don’t ever say never.”
They reached the coordinates given to Sean by his police contact and drove across a large stretch of barren land dotted with piles of concrete blocks and other building materials. They parked beside an old shack, its door secured with yellow crime tape. The police had left, but tape also secured the door to a metal shipping container located behind the shack.
“Not much to see here,” said Catriona, exiting the truck. She peered through the window of the shack and found it empty but for a folding cot. It seemed anything small enough to carry had been bagged and taken by the police.
Planting her hands on her hips, Catriona examined the scrub brush and dirt. “Gives me the shivers to think that poor kid was kept out here.”
Sean shielded his eyes with his hand and swept his gaze across the desolation.
“I knew there wouldn’t be much to see. I just wanted to see it. Get a feel for it. You never know what experience might trigger a useful thought down the road.”
“Any leads on who owns the land?”
“A development corporation planning a strip mall project. Progressicon is the name I think.”
Catriona caught a glimpse of something blue in the dirt and bent to pick it up. It was a flat, teardrop-shaped piece of plastic. It didn’t belong, so she slipped it in her pocket.
They spent some time wandering the area and then drove into Lake Arrowhead. It was the closest town to the container, so they inquired at the restaurants and stores if anyone had noticed any newcomers. Most commented that the police had already questioned them and none had anything new to share.
After grabbing a donut, Sean drove back and dropped Catriona off in front of the studio.
“Any big plans today?” she asked Sean as she hopped out of the vehicle.
“Nah. I have to meet Luther in a bit.”
She rested her elbows in the truck’s open window. “I think I’m hungry again. I was considering asking you to lunch.”
“Can’t today. Sorry.”
Pouting, she forced her lip to quiver for comical effect. “I bet you’d go to lunch with Broch.”
He rolled his eyes. “Very funny. Why don’t you go to lunch with Broch and find out what’s eating him?”
She clucked her tongue, stepping back as Sean waved and drove away. Strolling toward her apartment, she retrieved her phone.
Maybe Sean is right and what Kilty needs is a friendly ear.
She dialed Broch’s number. As the phone rang in her ear, to her right she heard the movie theme from Braveheart, the tune she’d set Broch’s phone to play. She changed her course to head for it.
Rounding a storage shed, she found Broch standing at the back of a pick-up truck. The truck’s bed was half-filled with bags of sand, with more stacked high in the shed.
Broch stood shirtless in his kilt, sweating in the early afternoon sun. The scar left from the wound he’d had when she first found him passed out on the lot, seemed angrier then when last she’d seen it. It glowed red above his left hip, and she wondered if it had become infected and reopened.
Oblivious to her arrival, he tilted back his head and poured the contents of a water bottle over his face and body. Rivulets of water ran down his pecs and dripped onto his stomach muscles, creating glistening paths that led into the waistband of his kilt.
Oh come on.
He wiped his face with his unworn tee, noticing her presence as he did.
“Harry roped you into doing this?” she asked.
Broch scowled. “Aye. Did he play me the fool?”
“Let’s just say he hasn’t done a full day’s work since nineteen ninty-nine.”
Broch chuckled. “Och. No matter. It felt good to work.” He reached for his phone which was perched on the bed door of the truck.
“That was me calling.”
He nodded and set the phone back down. Cracking open another bottle of water he chose to drink this one, rather than spill it down his skin.
Pity.
She eyed the truck. “Did you drive this here?”
He shook his head. “Na. Harry did whin he brought me water. Said we needed tae fill it and then disappeared again.”
She chuckled. “I told you. Man’s a genius at avoiding work.”
Broch finished the bottle and wiped his mouth. “Ye dinnae wake me this mornin’?”
“Huh? Oh. No. Sean called me early and there didn’t seem any point. They found where the kidnappers kept Toby and he wanted to check it out.”
Broch perked. “They found the laddie?”
“No. Just where his abductors were keeping him. They’ve moved him since.”
“Ah. That’s tae bad.”
A silence fell between them, until Broch dipped to grab another bag and Catriona remembered her plan.
“Do you want to go to lunch?” she asked.
He straightened, two sandbags piled in his arms. “Noo?”
“Well, when you’re done. Are you almost done?”
He surveyed the remaining bags of sand in the shed. “Uh...”
Catriona’s phone rang and she held up her index finger, asking him to hold his response, as she turned away to answer. It was Noseeum, sharing an update on an actor who’d cut his finger filming an action scene. No permanent damage. No lawsuit imminent.
She thanked him, disconnected and noticed a message alert. Clicking on it, she found the receipt for a car service the night before. The car had traveled from the studio to near Owen Crane’s home and then later, another car from West Third St. back to the studio.
She turned to Broch.
“Did you go out last night? In a car?”
His eyes grew wide. “Ye saw me?”
“I—” It occurred to her that he had no idea her phone app tracked car usage. Maybe it was better to keep the source of her knowledge a secret.
She groaned internally.
I sound like a psycho ex-girlfriend. Why would I need to keep tabs on him?
She struggled with the decision. They weren’t actually dating. There was no reason to distrust him—except, of course, he had appeared mysteriously on the studio lot and was now stitched into her and Sean’s life...
It would only be responsible to keep tabs on a new worker. Right?
She nodded. “Someone saw you.”
There. That’s vague enough to not be a lie. Someone had to have seen him somewhere at some point.
“Oh. Aye. Ah did call a car,” he admitted.
“Where’d you go?”
“Owen’s house.”
“After midnight? Why?”
He grimaced and looked away. “Ah needed to see Fiona.”
“Fiona? Owen’s girlfriend? Why?”
“Ah think ah’ve been dreaming aboot her.”
A flash of butterflies fluttered in Catriona’s stomach.
Stop that, silly girl.
“Okay...what does that mean, exactly?” she asked, after taking a moment to assume the most blank expression she could muster.
Broch sighed. “Ah’ve been havin’ dreams aboot a lassie, back in another life—”
“In the past?”
“Aye. Ah think she’s Fiona.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Her name.”
“You think a girl you knew in the seventeen hundreds is here, dating Owen Crane, just because she has the same name?”
“Ah think it’s eighteen thirty-three when ah met her. That’s what she said in mah dream.”
“You said it was seventeen-forty-five last you remember before coming here.”
He shook his head. “Ah don’t understand it.”
“So—” Catriona stood, her mouth open, unsure of what to say. “What were you doing last night? Did you talk to her? Is she who you thought she was?”
“Nah. Ah dinnae speak tae her. She was inside with Owen and ah—” He cut short, wincing.
“You stared in her window but never knocked?”
He cast his eyes downward. “Aye.”
“So, you took a car to stalk her.” Catriona looked away, trying to decide where all this information might lead.
Can this guy and everything around him get any weirder?
Broch was officially an employee of Parasol Pictures now. Her duty was clear. She had to protect the studio.
“Did anyone see you?” she asked.
“Asher found me.”
“Who the hell is Asher?”
“Owen’s assistant. She works fae Fiona as well. Her first name is Kelly bit she says folks call her Asher.”
“Have I met her?”
“She came as we were leaving Owen’s house, after the kidnapping.”
