by Amy Vansant
Abigail had every right to be worried. She was smack in the middle of one of Hollywood’s oldest stories. The hometown girlfriend comes to L.A. with the movie star wannabe—he gets the big check and she gets the boot.
Catriona leaned forward to shake the girl’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Do you know where we can find Tyler?”
The girl puffed a clump of hair from where it had flopped over one eye and placed her groceries on the counter.
“He didn’t come home last night.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“To get his fix.”
“Drugs?”
Abigail chuckled without mirth. “Worse. Poker.”
“Alain’s game?”
“Who?”
“Did he mention a Frenchman?”
The girl nodded, her consideration rolling to Broch as he took another loud bite of apple.
“You’re enormous. Are you an actor?”
Broch shook his head. “Na.”
“So it was the Frenchman’s game?” repeated Catriona, hoping to hold Abigail’s attention for more than ten seconds. Talking to people even seven years younger than her sometimes felt like trying to catch a drunken moth in a jar.
The girl pulled a quart of coconut milk and a box of bean sprouts from her bag and motioned for Broch to step aside so she could open the refrigerator. “Yes. He said it was the Frenchman’s game the first time he went, the day before. He was super excited to be invited.”
“And you haven’t heard from him since he left for last night’s game?”
She shook her head.
“Okay. Thank you. If you hear from him, give the studio a call or have him call. We need him to check in.”
Abigail nodded.
Catriona motioned to Broch. “Let’s go.”
Broch popped the last bit of apple in his mouth and crunched on the core as he smiled at the girl. “Nice tae meet ye.”
The girl nodded, her mouth downturned. Catriona didn’t get the feeling she liked her new home in L.A., but the coconut milk and sprouts implied she was trying to adapt.
Catriona and Broch made their way back to the gate. On the way, she called Robert Williams. Last she’d heard, the old movie star still liked his cards.
“Hello, Robert Williams here, how can I help you?” At seventy-two, the actor’s voice still poured like melted caramel through the phone.
“You still playing in the Frenchman’s game?”
Robert chuckled. “Still winning so I’m still playing.”
Catriona could almost hear him grinning with pride. “Did you see fresh meat last night by the name of Tyler Bash?”
Robert chuckled. “The freshest. He’d come before but he really opened his veins last night.”
“How’d that end?”
“You know, I don’t know. He was behind. Left to go to the john I think. That was the last I saw of him.”
“You notice anyone go after him?”
“No. But I had my head in the game. That’s why I don’t lose.”
“Where was the game last night?”
“Jay’s place. The room over the bar.”
“Okay. That’s all I need. Thanks Bob.”
“No problem gorgeous. Tell your rascal of a father I miss him at the games.”
“Will do.”
Catriona hung up. Most of the old guard at Parasol had massive respect for Sean, and by association, her. It was nice to have the wisdom of the studio at her fingertips when she needed it.
“Where noo?” asked Broch as they hopped in the Jeep.
“The Frenchman, Alain, runs a poker game for celebrities. Someone as new as Tyler only gets invited for one reason—to be bled dry. They knew he’d lose it.”
“Ye think he coudnae pay his debts?”
She nodded. “And Alain’s been known to get creative when actors can’t pay.”
Catriona drove them to Jay’s Joint, a popular West Hollywood spot for celebrities to hide. Pulling to the curb, she scanned the outside of the building. There were cameras, but she knew she wouldn’t get footage from Jay without a fight. The privacy of his clientele was too precious. She could call Sean in to pull some strings or…
She twisted for a new view. Across the street she spotted another camera mounted on the front of a coffee shop. Instead of pointing at the entrance of the shop, it glared directly at the front of Jay’s.
Ha. Gotcha.
A girl and a guy stood behind the counter inside the coffee shop.
Baristas.
She poked Broch on the arm.
“Come with me. I might need you.”
Broch stretched his back. “Whatfur?”
“There’s a young man and woman behind the counter of that coffee shop across the street. Between the two of us, we should be able to charm someone into giving me what I want.” She didn’t add that, in West Hollywood, the odds were better that he’d come in handy for the boy.
They entered the shop to the happy ringing of a bell. The girl didn’t bother to look up from her phone. The young man stopped wiping the counter, seemingly mesmerized by Broch.
Bingo.
“How can I help you?”
Catriona elbowed Broch in his side. “Introduce yourself.”
Broch flinched. “Huh? Och, ah’m Broch.” He leaned forward and thrust his hand across the counter.
“I’m Brian. We’re both B’s.” Instead of shaking Broch’s hand he curled his fingers against the inside of Broch’s digits to create a c-shaped chain link. “I love your kilt.”
Broch beamed. “Thank ye. Thank ye fer nae callin’ it a skirt.” He shot Catriona a look, coming just short of sticking out his tongue.
Spotlight on her, Catriona stepped up. “Brian, I was wondering if you could help us. I, I mean, we, need to see last night’s footage from that camera you have out there. Could we take a peek at that?”
Brian glanced at her, seemingly annoyed to find her present. “Can’t do that.”
“Not even for Broch?”
Broch grinned.
Brian melted for a moment and then resumed his annoyed snarl. “Are you a cop?”
Catriona shook her head.
“Then no. Not allowed to.” His gaze swiveled back to Broch and then softened again. “I wish I could, but the owner wouldn’t like it. I’d lose my job. You understand.”
“Aye.”
Brian giggled. “Where are you from with that accent?”
Catriona sighed.
So much for charm. Time for blackmail.
She pushed in front of Broch. “So, would your refusal be because the owner is selling the footage of Jay’s to the tabloid shows, or because you are selling it and you’re afraid he’ll find out?”
Brian paled. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
His co-worker snorted a laugh. Catriona glanced at her, but she dropped her attention back to her phone as if pulled by a magnet.
Catriona smiled. The girl knew it was Brian’s scheme.
Got ya.
“Gosh, Brian, are you sure you don’t know what I mean? I can explain it to you.” Catriona pointed outside. “The camera out there isn’t directed at your door. It’s pointed across the street at Jay’s. Lots of interesting people go in and out of Jay’s, don’t you think?”
Brian’s eyes darted in the direction of his co-worker as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If the boss finds out, I’m fired.”
“So just let me look at the recording. I’m not going to say anything.”
Brian sighed and caught Broch’s eye. “Is she always this tough?”
Broch smiled. “Ye hae nae idea.”
Brian motioned for them to come around the counter and led them through a curtain to a back office.
He pulled a VHS tape from a backpack, looking sheepish.
“You’re not going to take it, are you?”
Probably.
Catriona shook her head. “No. It’s an actual tape? It isn’t digi
tal?”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Greg is cheap. This system’s like a thousand years old.”
“Greg’s the owner?”
“Uh huh.”
“And this is the only copy? You were taking it home?”
He nodded and grinned as if he couldn’t help himself. “It’s a good one.”
Brian slipped the tape into the machine and rewound it for a few seconds. Catriona stared at an empty street illuminated by street lamps until a man and a woman appeared at the entrance to the alley beside Jay’s. Between them, they carried the seemingly unconscious body of a young blond man.
“That’s Tyler,” said Broch, pointing.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Catriona to no one in particular.
Brian shrugged. “I don’t know how he got like that, but here comes the interesting part.”
The woman and the man put Tyler in the trunk of a black Mercedes sedan. They spoke for a moment before the man lumbered back inside Jay’s and the woman drove the Mercedes out of view.
Brian reached to stop the tape just as another man and a woman walked out of the building.
Catriona touched his arm. “Wait.”
The couple stood outside Jay’s talking. The man was impossibly thin. The woman was all too familiar.
“Is that Fiona?” asked Broch, leaning in to get a better look. He glanced at Catriona. “And yer da?”
Catriona didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She felt as though someone had flash-frozen her insides. The nerves in her arms jangled with what could only be described as dread.
Since her father had arrived in town, she’d been trying to pretend he hadn’t. Seeing him moving and breathing made her plan more difficult.
She remained transfixed by the screen until the two figures walked out of frame, first her father, followed by her sister.
“What are they doing there?” she mumbled under her breath. Worry buzzed in the back of her brain like a fly trapped under glass.
No one had anything nice to say about her father, Rune.
Fiona had told her their father was a man to be feared…that he’d killed their mother and tried to kill her.
She didn’t remember that.
Broch knew Rune as the man who shot her dead in another life. At first, Catriona thought she’d met Broch for the first time when he appeared on the studio lot, but no. It turned out she’d once died in his arms, shot dead by her own father.
She didn’t remember that either.
Maybe that was a good thing.
After that, according to the story Sean and Broch pieced together slowly and over much whiskey, she apparently went spinning through time, appearing reborn in, well, now. Sean adopted her as a child, coming to know Rune as the man who’d killed her new, LA mother. And for some reason neither Sean nor Broch could explain, Rune had a habit of calling her by her sister’s name, Fiona. Which was odd...but possibly less disturbing than the realization that Rune had killed both the mothers she didn’t remember.
Catriona cocked her head.
It certainly doesn’t pay to be my mother.
It didn’t pay to be her father either. Sean had cleft Rune nearly in two while saving her from his clutches. This triggered the apparent reason for her family’s time-traveling abilities—some sort of preservation mechanism that swapped certain death for life in another century. Sean’s attack sent Rune off to god-knows-where.
Death, or near-death, had to be the cause for all the time-traveling. She’d been sent to the future after being shot, Sean had been run through by a sword, Broch had been stabbed...
Not only were her family and friends time travelers, they were apparently accident-prone death magnets.
Anyway, now Rune was back.
Yea.
He’d survived Sean’s attack—though when she saw him, his arm had looked suspicious, his hand gloved. She suspected his limb may not have survived. Broch still had a scar where Fiona had stabbed him, so remnants of the wounds that would have killed seemed to stay.
Maybe just wounds inflicted by other time travelers.
Hm.
“Do you need to see it again?” asked Brian.
Catriona snapped to the present.
“Huh?”
Wow. I am doing a great job not thinking about my psycho father.
“Do you need to see the tape again?”
“Oh. No.”
Catriona pushed the eject button and retrieved the tape before nudging Broch. “Let’s go.”
Brian’s eyes popped wide. “Hey, wait, you can’t take the tape.”
“Oh, but I’m going to.”
Brian gasped. “But you said you wouldn’t!”
“I lied.”
Brian lunged for the tape but Catriona easily jerked it from his reach. Broch stepped between them, staring down the barista.
“Na.”
Brian swallowed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Bitch.”
Broch’s neck cricked down to pull his face closer to Brian’s. “Ye ca’ her that again and ah’ll tie ye intae a breid knot yer partner can sell to the next man wha rings the bell.”
With a bravery Catriona hadn’t suspected in the boy, Brian lifted his chin to stare back into Broch’s eyes. “I wasn’t talking about her.”
Broch’s brow knit and Catriona tugged him through the curtain, through the shop and back onto the street. The girl never looked up from her phone as they left the store.
They were in the Jeep when Broch cocked his head to the side. “That Brian reminded me o’ a strange laddie ah knew wance...”
Catriona started the truck. “I know back in your time it was probably dangerous for men to be like Brian, but it isn’t like that now.” She paused. “At least it isn’t supposed to be. Some people still aren’t nice.”
Broch shrugged. “The boy ah ken wis an odd but good lad. Made me a fine cloak once, fer nae reason, and gave it tae me—” Broch turned to her, his expression wide.
Catriona smirked. “What?”
“Och. Ah juist realized how come he gave me the cloak.”
Catriona laughed.
Chapter Six
Tyler’s eyes fluttered opened.
I’m dead.
He surveyed the largest room he’d ever seen. Things were coming to him slowly. His brain felt like it was made out of wet socks.
Wall. Glass. Light. Sofa.
Tilting back his head, he squinted at the lights above him. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high. One entire wall was glass, but from his vantage, he could only see sky and the very corner of what he assumed was another building.
My shoulders hurt.
He tried to move his arms, but found them pinned behind him. Looking down, he traced the edges of the object beneath his butt.
A chair. I’m tied to a chair in a palace...am I on set?
He scanned the room for a camera and a crew. Maybe he was filming a movie and he’d blacked out—
“Look who’s awake.”
A girl with latte-colored skin walked in, her hips twitching inside tight black leather pants. As she shut the door behind her, Tyler caught a flash of what looked like a hotel hallway.
Front door.
He realized he’d missed the chance to scream for help.
The girl came into focus once more.
I know her.
Dez.
Dez had been in the alley.
The poker game...
He swallowed. “Where am I?”
Without answering, Dez strode across the room. He stretched his neck to watch her place a plastic bag on a marble island behind him. His bound wrists kept him from seeing much more.
Something moved in the main room and Tyler turned forward again. A man strolled through an archway across from Tyler, fifty feet from where he sat. This new man sported slicked steel-gray hair and wore a cream-colored suit, lending more credence to Tyler’s first theory—that he’d died and gone to heaven.
Did I—? No.
His
bound hands and the presence of Dez blew sizeable holes in any heaven hypothesis.
The man didn’t look like God, either. At least none Tyler had ever imagined. He was small, with a nose a little too large for his face. He wore a large gold and diamond ring on his wedding finger.
God wouldn’t be married, would he?
Tyler couldn’t tell if the man was happy...maybe amused? The corner of his mouth curled in a permanent smirk.
The cat who ate the canary.
That’s what his mother would call this man’s expression.
Tyler sighed.
I’d love to be at home with Mom right now.
Mini-god nodded at a plump chair covered in gold and cream cloth. Dez appeared from behind Tyler to move the chair into position, parking it in front of him.
The man sauntered to the chair and sat facing him. He crossed his legs and picked at one of his fingernails with his thumb.
Tyler couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Who are you?”
The man looked up from his nails. “You dahn’t know me?”
He shook his head. Was that an accent?
The little man sniffed. “Should I be offended? After all, you have one hundred and sirty-seven dollars of my money. ”
Oh.
Now Tyler knew he wasn’t in heaven. He was being punished for not paying his gambling debts.
That made more sense.
“You’re the Frenchman?”
Alain shrugged one shoulder. “You can call me zat. Many do. Or you can call me Alain.”
Tyler nodded and tried to keep from crying by thinking positive thoughts, like all the self-motivation books he’d read before getting his big break had told him to do.
Okay. Good. Alain seems reasonable. The French are super civil, right?
“You invented democracy, right?”
Tyler didn’t mean to ask the question, but thanks to high school history, it was the only thing he knew about the French and the words had tumbled from his mouth like he was in the middle of an oral exam.
Alain squinted at him and then scowled at Dez. “Why ees ’e talking about democracy and not my money?”
Dez shrugged. “You know us Americans. We’re all crazy for democracy.”
Tyler tried to get his thoughts in order, but his mind kept drifting to his arms. His shoulders burned.
“Mr. Alain, I want you to know I’m going to get you your money. Every cent.”