by Amy Vansant
Car doors opened and closed and the vehicle shook. The engine started. Sean felt them ease back out onto the road.
He licked his lips. They hadn’t thought to offer him water. There were some holes between the trunk and the main compartment of the car and some air conditioning trickled through, but it was still hot and his muscles ached.
Now he knew Thorn had left behind a thread. That gave him both hope and additional concerns. When Luther grabbed his phone, did he call the police or Catriona?
His attempts to distract Thorn’s gang from Luther crawling across his kitchen floor had gotten him clobbered. Only the throbbing in his limbs distracted from the ache in his head.
He knew from overheard conversations that they were headed to Tennessee. He’d done the math in his head. It would take them thirty-two hours on the road, more or less, to make the trip. Now it seemed they wouldn’t be stopping to sleep.
No way to tell how long it would take Catriona to put the pieces of his abduction together. And did he even want Catriona to find him? Better she stay safe in California.
Broch would watch over her. He could take over as Catriona’s guardian. If only he’d had time to explain everything to the boy.
Sean knew he wouldn’t be around for long. He just hadn’t thought the end would come at hands of the man who killed his wife.
That part bothered him to no end.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Ah dinnae lik’ this,” said Broch as Catriona buckled his seat belt.
He’d felt ill since first laying eyes on the airplane.
Flying isn’t natural.
Catriona patted his hand and sat in the seat beside him. “I’ll sit right here beside you. It’s the least I can do for you after what you did for me.” She wiped a smudge of red lipstick from his cheek with her thumb and he looked away, embarrassed.
He stared through the round window. “Ah see that it haes wings but ah dinnae see howfur they can flap.”
“They don’t flap. There’s an engine in it, like the cars. They, um, it has something to with the air moving over the wings and lift and—it doesn’t matter. We’ll be fine.”
“Aye. That’s reassuring. Ah feel much better noo, Professor.”
The engines roared to life and Broch grabbed Catriona’s hand. She giggled and he tried to release it, but she put her other hand on top of his and held him tight.
“Seriously. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
Looking into her eyes he believed her.
“Aye.” He put his other hand on top of the pile. “Thank you. Ah’ll hold on to ye for a bit.”
He did his best to feign bravery, but by the time they were in the air, he felt sure the frozen meat pie he’d found in the giant silver box back at the apartment would be as easy coming back as it had been difficult going down. There was no place in that house to start a proper fire.
The young woman who had ushered them onto the plane appeared from behind a curtain.
“Can I get either of you something to drink? Or maybe—”
“Aye, a whiskey,” said Broch before she’d finished her sentence.
“Certainly. And you, miss?”
Catriona tugged, jerking her hand from Broch’s grasp. He hadn’t realized he was still holding it.
“Bottle of water.”
When the woman left Catriona turned to him. “You should try and drink some water. Flights tend to dry you out.”
“Ah intend tae dry oot the plane.”
“Still not feeling safe?”
“Na. I’m fine.” The hum of the engines still unnerved him, but he guessed it was better to hear them than to not.
She patted his arm. “Good. If you don’t mind I’m going to lie down for a bit. I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
“Howfur long until we’re in the Tennessee?”
“Between four and five hours I think.”
He sighed.
Catriona stood and moved to a bed at the back of the plane. He peered back at her over the seats, wishing he could be calm enough to lie down, until the woman returned and handed him a half-filled glass and a tiny bottle of light brown liquid.
The glass smelled like whiskey, but the tiny bottle amused him to no end.
“Whit’s this?”
“Your whiskey, sir. I poured you one and brought you another so you’ll have it handy.”
“Did ye steal it fae a faerie?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Ah dinnae want tae anger the wee folk by swallyin all their whiskey.”
She laughed. “I think you’re safe.”
He sighed. “That’s wit everybody keeps telling me.”
He drank his glass in a single gulp and stared out the window at the clouds passing before cracking and pouring the tiny bottle. Beneath him the plane rumbled steadily and he decided it might be wise to sleep. It would keep his mind off the fact that he was moving with the birds in a giant metal contraption that had no right being off the ground.
He stood to make his way back to the bed across from the one Catriona had chosen, only to find the twin poodles stretched out on it.
“Ye’ll need tae shift, dogs,” he whispered, motioning for them to move off the bed.
Each opened a single eye and stared at him. They seemed unimpressed by his command.
“Come. Git noo.”
One of the dogs stretched her impossibly long legs, taking up what little space remained. The other lifted her poofy white head, which Broch took as a good sign.
“There ye go, lassie. Hop off.”
She yawned and her head flopped back down.
Broch placed a hand on one dog’s rump and she offered him a growly grunt to display her displeasure. He retracted his hand and glanced at Catriona. While he felt he could win a wrestling match with the fuzzy white demons, it was sure to wake Catriona, who appeared blissful in her nap.
He sighed and returned to his seat.
Closing his eyes, he recalled holding Catriona during her panic attack. The memory of his mother Blair had come to him upon seeing Catriona there, sitting on the ground, back against the wall. Glimpses of his life before his time travel had popped to mind at odd moments since awaking on Catriona’s floor. A bit of fabric reminded him of Mother Rose’s dress, running water recalled playing by the river, a patch of blue sky brought memories of tending to the garden on the side of the house. He never knew when or what might return to him.
Many of the images didn’t fit with his life with the Broken Women. Upon seeing cars he’d had a flash of a similar vehicle, but couldn’t place it.
Had he traveled through time before?
The plane shook as if it had hit a bump in the road and he jumped, the bandage on his wound pulling. He winced and put his hand to it, only to suffer a flash of déjà vu. The cabin of the plane disappeared. Instead, he saw the house in which he’d grown up as if he were standing a hundred feet from it.
Something made him look down.
Blood pooled at his feet.
Not my blood.
All at once he knew whose blood it was.
Blair’s.
The blood ran from the body of Mother Blair. Mighty Blair, her neck nearly severed, her eyes open and staring, lay on the ground beside him.
A sputtering noise caught his attention and a few feet away he saw a dying man dressed in black leather armor. He recognized the sword in the man’s belly as his own.
Stumbling toward the house he found Mother Rose, dead, curled in a heap at the entrance, most of the clothes torn from her body. Inside, Mother Margaret and another old woman who’d only recently come to stay with them, lay dead as well.
He cried out and fell to his knees, pulling Mother Margaret’s lifeless body into his lap. He rocked her, demanding that she awaken, until through his tear-filled eyes he caught a glimpse of his own bloodstained hands.
The hands of a boy.
Gently, he eased Mother Margaret’s body back to the ground. Scrambling to his feet,
he ran back outside. The dying man was dead. He realized now how small the sword in the man’s belly was. Blair had the sword made especially for him. A weapon small enough for a boy’s hand.
“Even the stinger of a wasp does its damage,” she’d said upon presenting it to him.
He jogged to the water trough and stared at his reflection in the dark water.
A child, no older than twelve stared back at him.
“No!”
He fell back, gaze drifting across the field.
Men.
Four men on horseback traveled away from the house. The armor they wore resembled that of the dead man beside Blair. He’d stayed behind, perhaps to have his way with Blair, and found it would be easier to kill her than steal her honor.
That’s when I arrived.
He remembered. Blair had seen him, seconds before the man slit her throat. She’d grabbed the bastard’s head to keep him from turning. She might have kept fighting, but instead she’d distracted their common enemy.
He’d stabbed the man as he fell back, exhausted from his battle with Mother Blair.
“Come back!” Broch screamed at the four horsemen.
I’ll kill you all.
The lead man held up a hand and they reined in their horses. They turned.
The leader’s arm raised again, this time to point at Broch.
He sees me.
The man began to gallop towards him.
He’s coming.
That’s when Broch realized the importance of the man’s reaction. There was no reason to ride back just to kill a boy, unless—
He was here for me.
He killed everyone looking for me.
“Broch?”
Broch jumped and grabbed the wrist of the hand touching his shoulder.
“Ow!”
It took a moment for his vision to clear. Catriona stood beside him. Embarrassed, he released her.
“Sorry. Ah was dreaming.”
“You were moaning in your sleep. Bad dream?”
Broch nodded. “Aye. Ah wish it so.”
“We’re just about there if you want a little time to wake up.”
He nodded and noticing a new tiny bottle of whiskey on the tray beside him, cracked it open and drank it down.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The poodle twins led the way from the plane, followed by Catriona at the end of their leashes. Broch hauled their overnight bag on his shoulder.
A man rolled up in a John Deere Gator that looked like a dune buggy and a lawn mower had had a baby. He wore a flannel shirt with rolled sleeves and a grin that could light the evening sky.
“Hey, y’all! I’m Rusty and I’m here to give you a lift! Hop on in!”
Broch sat in the back with a poodle secured beneath each arm as the man shuttled them to a building not far from the runway.
“You need a ride into town?” asked Rusty, reaching for the bag on Catriona’s lap as they piled out.
“There should be a car here that can drop us off at a hotel.”
Rusty tossed the bag down and took a place behind a desk. “You mean the car for the poodles?”
“Yes. Is it here?”
“Nope. Not coming.”
“What?”
“Got a call while you were in the air that the car wasn’t coming.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t say. To be honest she was kinda, uh…”
“Abrupt?”
“Yeah. Sure. That works.”
“Lulu.” Catriona growled. She tilted back her head and stared at the ceiling while trying to formulate a plan. “Well, I guess we can put them on the plane and send them back to her.”
The man’s head began to shake.
She scowled. “Why are you shaking your head?”
“Plane is on its way to Argentina.”
“No!” She ran to the window in time to see the plane taking off.
There must be a polo match. Lulu loved polo players.
“Did Lulu share any thoughts on what I should do with her dogs?”
“Yup. Car will be here in three days.”
“Three days? I can’t wait here three days!”
The man shrugged and pulled up in front of a dark wood building.
Catriona hung her head. “This is a disaster.”
“Looks lik’ we’ll be spending some time together, lassies,” said Broch, dancing out the way to avoid tangling in the dogs’ leashes as they paced around him trying to smell everything in sight.
“Of course it wouldn’t even occur to her this might be an inconvenience for me,” moaned Catriona as she followed Rusty inside. “Is there some sort of doggie hotel in town?”
He coughed a laugh and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Have you seen this town?”
“I’ll take that for a no. Do you live near here?”
He nodded.
“How’d you like to make a hundred bucks watching these two highly intelligent, clean, polite dogs for a couple days?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Two hundred?”
“Not about the money. I’m a cat person.”
“You’re a cat person.”
He nodded. “Princess Paw and her court would have a ten alarm meltdown if I brought those slobbering Q-tips home.”
She sighed. “Great. We’re here with the only cat-man in Tennessee.”
Rusty scowled. “Well, now, that’s not even close to true. I belong to a group called the Cat-Men-Do and you couldn’t find a bigger group of cat lovers.”
Catriona gave him a minute to admit he was pulling her leg, but his expression remained sincere.
“Uh huh. Okay. Well, I guess I’d like to take you up on that lift to town after all, if that’s okay?”
“No problem. Yours was the last flight of the day. I can take you on my way home.”
“We’d really appreciate that.”
“Whit are we doing?” asked Broch, as the dogs pulled him past her.
“We’re going to town to find a hotel that takes dogs and someone who knows where we can find Thorn—”
“Thorn?” said Rusty, as he put on his jacket. “Thorn Campbell?”
Broch pulled the dogs short and both he and Catriona’s attention turned to Rusty.
“Yes. You know him?” asked Catriona, wondering how she could have been so as stupid to say Thorn’s name out loud in what was probably his home town.
“Thorn? Sure. Everybody around here knows him.”
“You know where he lives?”
“Yup.”
A silence fell as he shut down the electronics and lights. Finished, he took a place by the door. “Ready?”
“Not quite. I was hoping you could share that information with us.”
“What?”
“Where Thorn lives.”
“Oh. Well, yes and no. For one, no one knows where he lives exactly. His place don’t have a postal address if you know what I mean.”
“He doesn’t live in a house?”
“No, I mean…” He grinned and scratched at his head a moment. “You know, I never thought about it. I reckon he lives in a house, it’s just out there.” He pointed out the backdoor through which they’d entered.
“You mean out in the state somewhere?”
“No, I mean literally out there. Cut across the airport until you see a patch of woods. Work your way through those trees for a couple miles and you’ll come across a holler. Cross that holler and he’s somewhere up on the hill on the other side.”
“I assume he doesn’t tramp through the holler every time he wants to buy eggs? Surely there’s a road?”
“Nope.”
Rusty motioned for them to follow him out the front door.
“How does he come and go?” asked Catriona as Rusty locked the door behind them.
“He’s got himself a helicopter and an army of ATVs. That’s why everyone knows basically where he lives, but not exactly. We see the helicopter. He’s a drug deal
er you know.”
Catriona scowled. “Is it safe for you to tell me that?”
Rusty shrugged. “Not like it’s a secret.”
“What if we were cops?”
Rusty snorted a laugh. “Cops aren’t usually a pretty girl, a pretty boy and a pair of foofy dogs.”
“It’s the hair spray,” said Broch, gingerly touching his hair. He looked at Catriona. “Ah tellt ye.”
She heard Broch but didn’t have time to compliment his grooming. “We need to get going.”
“My truck’s over here,” said Rusty, walking toward a black Ford pickup truck parked in the airport’s lot.
She held up a hand. “Nevermind. We’re good.”
“What’s that?”
“We don’t need a ride.”
Rusty put his hands in his pockets and surveyed the area in an exaggerated manner so she was sure to notice his point. “There ain’t nobody else around here. Next human being you’ll see is me tomorrow morning. You’re not going to get an Uber out here.”
“I know. We’re fine.”
Rusty shrugged and waved as he walked to his truck. “Suit yourself!”
As he drove away, Catriona turned to stare at Broch.
“We’re aff tae cross the field and head intae the woods, aren’t we?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yep.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
They crossed the airfield and hefted the poodles over the fence to the opposite side. The procedure required Broch to climb half the fence with a poodle under his arm while Catriona sat balanced at the top. He handed her the sixty-pound dog, and she cradled it while he shimmied to the other side. She handed the dog to him, and he lowered it to the ground before returning to get its furry counterpart.
He hefted the second dog to her.
“I’m going to kill Lulu for this,” Catriona grunted, poodle squirming in her arms.
Once everyone had reached the other side, Broch released the dogs from their leashes. They looked at him, looked at each other, and then tore into the forest.
“What are you doing?”
“They’re dogs. They should be runnin’ aroond.”
“Those dogs have spent their lives sleeping on beds, being spoon fed beef tartar. They don’t know how to survive out here. If anything happens to them…”