by Amy Vansant
Someone on a bullhorn suggested the runners gather at the starting line. Teena stretched, rising to wave at the crowd between deep waist-bends.
Catriona and Broch flanked her.
“Please tell me you aren’t very fast,” said Catriona.
Teena grinned and lightly pinched Catriona’s cheek. “Depends how you mean, Chiquita.”
After a few more announcements the starter’s pistol blasted and the runners jumped forward like a panicked school of fish.
Four strides into the race, Catriona knew how much she was going to hate her day. Running had never been her thing. While she’d never been rail thin, she’d never felt the need to diet and exercise either. Her natural padding huddled in the right places. Her stomach was taught, her thighs didn’t jiggle. She was young and nature hadn’t turned on her yet. She’d done some cross-training for strength and endurance, but running for the sake of running felt like insanity.
The crowd thinned as the faster runners stripped into the distance and slower runners fell behind. Teena had set a pace that put them somewhere in the middle.
Of hell.
Catriona looked over at Broch. He pounded along in his easy stride, his massive pecs bouncing with each steps, mouth closed, still breathing through his nose like a pro. She felt like a goldfish, gasping for shrimp flakes.
Pay attention.
Catriona wiped the sweat from her brow and tried harder to study the people who lined the course, cheering on families and friends. She wasn’t sure what to look for—it wasn’t as if Teena’s stalker would be carrying a flag that said Here to hurt Teena.
Maybe the attack would come in the form of another runner.
She looked around them. No one seemed suspicious. They’d picked a portion of the pack where everyone seemed hard-pressed to do much beyond not falling even further behind. Who among them had the extra strength to bother Teena? Not the bald guy on her left. He sounded as if he was about to give birth to a Great Dane.
As they approached a table filled with small paper cups, Teena swerved in front of Broch to grab a cup of orange liquid and down it.
Catriona scowled, sending the rivulets of sweat on her forehead squirreling in new directions.
Damn. Should I let her do that? What if the drinks are poisoned?
Catriona reasoned there was no way for someone to guess which table Teena would use, let alone which cup she’d grab. Nutcase would have to poison all the cups. Which, of course, would be a nutcase thing to do...
By the time Catriona had worked through all the probabilities of poisoning tiny cups of unnaturally colored sports liquid, they’d jogged far from the table and she realized she hadn’t grabbed herself something to drink. Suddenly, her tongue felt twice the size of her mouth.
I should maybe start to jog a little more than I do.
They fell back into a rhythm. Catriona checked her smart watch to find they were about halfway to the finish line.
“How are you doing?” she asked Broch.
He looked over at her, appearing as relaxed as if he’d been swinging in a hammock.
“Guid.” His brow knit. “Ye keek a wee red in the face...”
Catriona grimaced and picked up her pace. “I’m fine.”
Teena glanced at her, grinning. “This is fun. Are you having fun?”
Catriona smiled. “Definitely. Think I’ll go to the dentist after and make it my perfect day.”
Teena gave her the thumbs up and returned to waving at the crowd.
Amidst the families and screaming supporters ahead, Catriona spotted a figure in a baggy tracksuit with a large mop of blond hair obscuring his or her face. From the outfit she guessed it a man. Something about him felt off. He didn’t cheer. His hands remained in his pockets, and only his head moved as he scanned the runners.
As they grew closer, the figure reached into a pocket and retrieved a neon-blue object. He pushed past one of the wooden barriers lining the course to enter the path of the runners.
Catriona looked at Broch and saw his laser gaze had already locked on the man. They exchanged glances and Catriona touched Teena’s arm to slow her pace.
It’s on.
As they approached, the man held up the object in his hand. The bright blue color didn’t make sense to Catriona, but the shape of the weapon was undeniable.
“Gun!” Catriona shouted, pulling on Teena. As they collapsed, a stream of liquid burst from the gun. Catriona had stopped their progress early enough to avoid the bulk of the spray, but a drop struck her leg as they fell. Pain erupted at the spot of contact.
Acid.
Teena screamed and clawed at her own arm and Catriona spotted a sizzling spot of acid on the dancer’s flesh. The crowd scattered, screaming. Runners stopped, only to be slammed into by others, a tangle of bodies piling behind them.
The gunman raised his weapon into the air and snaked back through the barriers with Broch close behind him.
Catriona spotted a man holding a bottle of water just behind the barrier and she sprang from the ground to snatch it from his grip. Squirting it on the burning patch of skin on her shin, she dumped the rest on Teena’s arm as she lay writhing, screeching in pain and confusion.
“It’s acid, use water!” she screamed at a woman trying to calm a screaming friend. People ran forward with additional bottles and Catriona poured more on Teena’s arm and her own leg.
Several people shouted they’d called 911. More people took photos for their Instagram accounts.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” Catriona reassured Teena, doing her best to shield the actress from the crowd.
Teena sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Broch whipped through the barriers after Teena’s attacker, the blond ahead of him shoving his way through the crowd, sending people spinning. He couldn’t call out to the crowd to help him stop his prey for fear the rogue still had his weapon. Stopping to steady the people shoved from the bastard’s path didn’t help him close the gap.
Teena’s attacker proved smaller and more agile than Broch had first suspected. The weasel broke through the crowd and sprinted unhindered down the street as the Highlander bumped his way through the startled onlookers. Reaching the edge of the mob, Broch bolted, taking a second to appreciate the feel of the cushioned shoes Catriona had purchased for him. It was if he’d wrapped the more spongy areas of the moors around his feet.
The gunman turned left and scampered between two buildings. Broch reached the alley entrance and leapt over a blond wig lying on the ground. He caught a glimpse of his quarry turning the far corner.
Broch dashed to the end of the alley. A car door slammed shut nearby as his speed sent him spilling over the curb and into the street. A blue truck leapt towards him, launching from its parking spot at the curb. With no time to return to the safety of the sidewalk, Broch dodged forward into traffic.
The truck peeled past him as he spun to avoid being clipped by the large side-view mirror. A much shinier black truck screeched to a halt to keep from striking both him and the attacker’s vehicle and Broch slapped his hands on its hood to steady himself.
The man inside the truck yelled at him and Broch held up a hand of apology as he made his way back to the curb. The old blue truck reached the end of the block, turned, and disappeared from view.
The man in the black truck continued to curse at him. Frustrated with his failure to capture the gunman, Broch spun and roared.
“Shut yer geggy afore ah pull ye oot o’ thare ’n‘ snap yer neck, ye eejit!”
Startled, the man offered a final mutter and drove on.
Broch leaned against a building. Hands on his hips, catching his breath, he spotted the blue gun on the ground near where the truck had been parked. He removed his shirt and used it to retrieve the weapon, doing his best to preserve any fingerprints the way Catriona had taught him.
He walked the gun back to the scene, stopping to gather the wig as he retraced his steps.
C
atriona spotted him as he approached the spot where Teena had been attacked. An ambulance had arrived and police had already begun to tape off the area. Broch hovered just outside the tape as Catriona jogged up to him.
“He got away?”
Broch nodded. “Drove away in a truck. Nearly bolted me doon.” He held out his shirt and unwrapped the prize within. “Ah fund this, though.”
“The gun? Nice. Be careful. It has acid in it. It’ll burn right through your shirt.” She pointed to his other hand. “What’s that? A wig?”
“Aye. His real locks wis mirk ’n‘ short.”
“Mirk. Dark. I know that one now.”
“Yer a fine student.”
She grinned and nodded to his finds. “Let’s get that stuff to the police. There’s an officer over there interviewing Teena.”
Broch’s eye fell to a bandage wrapped around Catriona’s calf. “Yur hurt.”
“It was a drop. I’m fine. The EMTs already fixed it up.”
Broch ducked under the tape and handed the gun and wig to the police. It made him sad to lose his new shirt. He’d liked the slick feel of the fabric.
“Ah hud tae give mah shirt tae the policeman,” Broch whispered to Catriona.
Catriona chuckled. “We can get another.”
“Guid.”
Catriona made her way to the ambulance and Broch followed, bouncing in his shoes. He’d liked the jog but he’d really enjoyed the sprint pursuing the gunman. He felt as if he were standing on springs.
The EMTs prepared to load Teena into the ambulance. As Catriona approached, the woman’s already red-rimmed eyes began to tear anew as she motioned to her bandaged shin.
“Catriona...look what he did to my legs. My beautiful legs.”
Catriona took Teena’s hand. “You’ll be good as new in no time.”
Teena sniffed. “It will scar.”
“Teena, before you go, I have a quick question for you.”
“Anything. You saved me.” She looked at Broch and held out her other hand. “And you.”
Broch took her other hand, unsure what to do with it. He followed Catriona’s lead and patted the woman’s fingers.
Catriona grew close to Teena. “Do you know a woman named Jessie Walker? She’s a makeup artist.”
Teena scowled. “Yes, I know her. I had her fired from the show. She kept trying to lighten my skin with her powders. I told her I am a Latina woman, not the snowman Frosty. Then when she poked me in the eye—I’d had enough.”
Catriona nodded. “Okay. Thank you. You get better.”
Teena’s eyes flashed with rage. “Did she have something to do with this?”
The EMTs lifted Teena into the ambulance as she continued to call after Catriona.
“Did she? Did that little puta—”
The ambulance doors closed.
Catriona sighed and looked at Broch. “It’s starting to look like everything revolves around Jessie Walker.”
He nodded. “Aye.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“He in?”
Kiki stared up at Sean from her desk outside Aaron Rothstein’s office, mouth pursing and smiling at the same time, as if she knew a secret and wanted Sean to pull it from her lips.
“Who wants to know?”
Sean grinned. “The man of your dreams.”
“Where? Is he standing behind you?”
Sean chuckled and sat on the edge of the desk.
“If you let me in, I’ll take you to dinner.”
“I will not be bribed, Mr. Shaft.”
“Well, it’s pretty important, so I’m going in anyway. You might as well take the dinner.”
Kiki offered him a theatrical sigh. “Fine, but I have to warn you. The chippie of the week is in there with him.”
Sean’s lip curled. “They’re not...?”
“Who knows? He didn’t ask me for his heart pills though, so you’re probably safe.”
Sean stood. “The Ivy?”
“Let’s do Madeo. I could kill for pasta.”
“Deal. Six.”
“Seven.”
“You’re going to keep me up past my bedtime.”
She blinked at him from beneath her strawberry bangs. “Would that be so bad?”
Trying to keep some semblance of cool, Sean slid from the desk and sauntered to Aaron’s door, feeling in no hurry to leave Kiki behind. He knocked and, from inside, Aaron barked for him to enter.
“Sean!” Aaron held his arms out in welcome as Sean entered. “How’s my favorite fixer?”
“I have news—”
Sean cut short his thought as his gaze settled on the woman standing beside Aaron.
Aaron read his expression and put his arm around his trophy. “Sean, do you know Fiona Duffy?”
Fiona stepped forward, her hand held out to shake his. “I think our paths have crossed somewhere.”
Jaw clenched, Sean shook her hand and turned his attention to Aaron. “I need to talk to you.”
“You can say whatever you need to in front of Fiona.”
“No. I can’t.”
Fiona grabbed her purse. “It’s okay, Aaron. I don’t want to listen to whatever dreary studio business you need to talk about anyway. See you later?”
Aaron grinned like a school boy. “Of course.”
He kissed her on the cheek and with a last smirk at Sean, Fiona left the office.
Aaron watched her leave as if he’d bought tickets for the event.
“She’s something else, isn’t she?” he asked.
Sean sniffed. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Keep your eye on her for me.”
“Why?”
“She’s our newest acquisition.”
“She’s coming to Parasol?”
“Not coming, came.” He chuckled at a joke to which only he was privy. Sean didn’t ask.
Aaron slapped Sean on the shoulder and walked around his desk to flop into his desk chair. “How can I help you?”
Sean found it hard to pull his gaze from the door through which Fiona had sauntered. “Aaron, are you sure you want Fiona here?”
“Of course I’m sure. The girl’s on fire since the kidnapping thing. Bad girls are very hot right now. Her prison time was gold.”
“But—”
“It’s done.”
The tone of Aaron’s voice dropped lower and Sean turned to find the studio head glaring at him. He’d seen the look before.
Discussion time had ended.
Aaron leaned back in his chair. “Tell me the news.”
Sean sighed and took a seat. “We’ve tied what happened to Colin, Timmy and now Teena together.”
“I heard about Teena. She’s okay?”
“She’s fine. Little acid burn on her leg. Quick thinking on Catriona’s part neutralized the acid and Broch took care of the attacker.”
“Caught the guy?”
“No. Scored some evidence but the guy got away. But the attack ended quickly and no one else was harmed in any real way.”
Aaron wove together his fingers and tapped his thumbs against each other, hands resting on his belly. “But you think there’s a connection with Colin and Timmy?”
“I do. All of them worked with a makeup artist by the name of Jessie Walker. Pages from what reads like a diary of grievances showed up at both Colin and Timmy’s houses, and I just got word back from my police contacts there’s a pink page in a plastic bag inside the gun used to spray the acid.
“What’s her problem, this Jessie Walker?”
“I don’t know. She’s gone missing. I tracked down a phone and address for her father, but I haven’t been able to reach him. He might be involved.”
“Why do you say that?”
“There was a shrine dedicated to Jessie at her apartment. A note about avenging her. People don’t usually build shrines to themselves.”
“So you think the father built it?”
“Could be. I’m going to send Catriona and Broch to hi
s house in Rising Sun.”
Aaron leaned forward. “Where the hell is that?”
“Out in the desert.”
Aaron snorted. “Only a crazy person would live out there.”
Sean frowned and stood to leave. “We’ll know more when Catriona gets back. You should know Jessie Walker also worked with Fiona.”
Aaron straightened. “You think she’s in danger?”
“Could be. Colin broke up with her, Timmy disappointed her, Teena had her removed from her show—which led to her being fired from Parasol—and Fiona fired her from her freelance job at Hell Hound Studios. Could make her next in line.”
Aaron ruminated on this new information before flicking his fingers in the direction of his door. “Find Fiona. Watch her until we get this Jessie girl or her dad or whoever’s responsible.”
Sean frowned, realizing the impact this new direction would have on his dinner date. “Any idea where Fiona went?”
“I set her up with Doug’s old trailer. I know she was anxious to start redecorating. She’s probably there.”
He pressed his intercom button on his desk phone. “Kiki? Get Sean Fiona Duffy’s home address.”
“Will do,” crackled Kiki’s reply.
Aaron looked up. “Go. Keep her safe.”
Sean nodded and left the office attempting to look on the sunny side of his new assignment. Maybe spending more time with Fiona would allow him to better explore her connections with Catriona and Broch.
Kiki spotted the expression on his face the moment he entered the reception area.
“We’re not having dinner, are we?”
“I’m going to have to raincheck it until our immediate problems are solved.”
Kiki sighed. “Always solving everyone else’s problems. Maybe I should hire you to fix me.”
He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. “You’re already perfect.”
She giggled. “Get out of here, you big sexy bastard.”
~~~
Sean called Catriona on his way across the lot, digging the address Luther had given him for Jessie’s father from his pocket as he waited for her to answer.
