by Amy Vansant
“Uh huh. I see how hard you turned it. It’s hanging by a thread.”
Broch glanced at it and shrugged. “Ah dinnae ken whit ye mean. ’Tis clearly faulty. It’s a fine thing we discovered the problem fur her.”
Catriona pushed open the door and stuck her head inside.
What’s done is done.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
They went inside, calling for Dixie every other step. Though the apartment had a second story, it only took them a few minutes to search the entire house. There was no sign of Dixie.
“Coffee pot is still a little warm,” said Catriona, placing her hand against it. “There’s still droplets on the shower door, and I don’t see a purse anywhere—everything says she got ready for work and left as usual.”
“Mibbee someone came through her broken door and kidnapped her.”
“Don’t push it.”
He grinned and then knit his brow. “Did she drive?”
“I don’t think she had a car. If she didn’t carpool with Maddie this morning, we’ll have to find out who she caught a ride with.”
Broch put his hands on his hips. “Sae whit noo?”
“Noo, we fix her door and leave her a note telling her where to submit the bill for fixing it.”
“Bit then she’d ken we did it. How come would we dae that?”
“Because we did do it.”
“Nah. Ah dinnae ken whit yer oan aboot.”
Catriona found a piece of paper and a pen in a kitchen drawer and started writing a note. “We can’t let the poor thing think she’s been robbed.”
Broch shrugged. “Ah dinnae see how come not. She may well be robbed, nae that her door is open.”
Chapter Eight
“How come are we going to Sean’s?”
Catriona glanced at Brochan from her spot behind the wheel of her trusty Jeep Cherokee, almost surprised to find him there. She’d been musing about how much her world had changed since he arrived. It all felt like a dream. Or a nightmare, depending on the moment. Her new world had some dark places, but there were sunny spots as well.
Like Kilty.
Am I actually married to this man?
It had only been a handful of weeks since she’d discovered him, barely conscious, on a movie set at Parasol Pictures. She’d assumed him to be background talent for some Braveheart knockoff in production. He’d seemed drunk, lying there with his kilt naughtily akimbo on his truly magnificent hind-end—
“Whit ur ye smilin’ aboot?”
Catriona snapped to and straightened the Jeep between the lines on the road.
Whoops. She’d drifted off again for a moment.
“Hm?”
“Ye didnae answer me. How come we’re goan tae Sean’s?”
Didnae. If they were going to be working together, let alone married, maybe it was time to start modernizing his English. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she had no trouble understanding him, but she was tired of acting as his translator when interacting with the talent at Parasol.
“Why,” she corrected.
“Why whit?”
“You said ‘how come are we going to Sean’s.’ The correct way to say it is why are we going to Sean’s.”
“Did ye ken whit ah meant?”
“Yes, I knew what you mean but—”
He shrugged. “Then ah said it perfect.”
“Funny. But that’s the point, I understand you, not everyone else does. I don’t know what to do about that heavy brogue, but maybe we can at least fix the parts that aren’t even English.”
Broch snorted. “Ah grew up closer tae England than ye did.”
Catriona pressed her bottom lip against her top, until the swollen bit began to hurt.
He has a point there.
She pulled into Sean’s long dirt driveway. Why her adoptive father insisted on living in the middle of the desert, an hour away from the studio, she didn’t know. She guessed he liked to remove himself from the daily insanity he had to deal with at Parasol. Actors weren’t always the best behaved people.
Shocker.
Catriona parked and leaned into her back seat to grab a bag off the floor behind Broch’s seat. He opened his door and walked around to meet her on the driver’s side. His gaze dropped to the bag in her hand as she slid from her seat.
“Whit’s that?”
She handed it to him. “I ordered it for you.”
“Aye? A wedding gift?” He looked panicked.
“No, it’s not a wedding gift. I’ve had it for weeks.”
Seeming relieved, he tore into the bag, ripping the thick plastic as if it were tissue. From inside, he retrieved a second, thinner plastic bag with a swath of plaid fabric showing through.
“Whit is it?”
“They’re swim trunks. I got them in plaid so you’d feel at home.”
He ripped open the second bag and slid out the shorts. “How come ahm ah needin’ wee breeks tae swim?”
Catriona opened her mouth to correct his how come a second time and then closed it.
What’s the point?
Though, even she had missed part of that sentence.
“Breeks?”
“Breaches. Trousers.”
“Oh. You need breeks because you can’t keep swimming naked.”
“How come?”
He was really pushing it now.
She jerked the box from him and left him holding the trunks. “Because it’s weird, okay? You can get away with it here at Sean’s pool but anywhere else—you’re just going to have to get used to wearing clothes. Sorry.”
Kilty grunted and eyeballed the trunks as if they might bite him. “They seem awfully wee...”
“Try them on inside.” Catriona strode to the front door of Sean’s mid-century desert rancher and let herself inside with Broch behind her still holding the shorts up against his hips.
“Sean,” she called to announce their arrival. At his longstanding request, she never called him Dad. When he’d found her as a little girl, and kept her like a lost dog, he hadn’t been entirely comfortable being thrust into fatherhood. She suspected calling him Sean instead of Dad had made her seem more a diminutive roommate than a child. The concept of sharing his life with a tiny roommate was easier for Sean to swallow.
“Out here.” Sean’s muffled voice called from the back patio.
Catriona wound her way through the kitchen and through the outer, sliding door. Sean sat in his usual patio chair, a whiskey on the wobbly table beside him. He smiled at the sight of her, but his expression soon shifted to concern.
“Wow. You look worse today.”
Catriona smoothed her hair, as if putting hairs in place could rearrange her swollen face. “Please. All this flattery will go right to my head.”
“I mean the bruises seem larger. Or at least they’re worse colors.”
She tapped her lip with the fingertips. “I know. No amount of makeup was ever going to do anything about this.”
“You should have visited that group doing the special effects for that monster movie on Lot J. They could have done you right.” Sean chuckled at his own joke like a proper old man.
“Good idea. I’ll swing by there tomorrow to keep from frightening passing children.”
Sean turned to look through the sliders into the house. “Where’s Broch?”
“He’s behind me somewhere. I told him he had to wear trunks in the pool. He might be pouting.”
Sean laughed. “Probably a good habit to start.”
She sat in the chair opposite Sean and stole a sip of his whiskey. He arched an eyebrow.
“There’s more in the house, you know.”
She tilted back her head as if exhausted at the thought. “It’s so far away.”
“Did you see Luther?”
“Luther? Where?”
“Out front? He’s coming, too.”
“Oh, no. Just us so far.”
She stole another sip and Sean waggled his index fi
nger at her.
“Actually, don’t drink too much. I’ve got a job for you two tonight.”
“A job? This was a trap? I thought you were making us dinner.”
“I am, but I just got a call.”
Catriona frowned. “Fine. What is it?”
“Konrad Burson’s having a wrap party at the Devil’s Warehouse set and I’d like you to be there as security.”
Catriona grunted and searched her memory for more information on the film. Production of Devil’s Warehouse took place off the main studio lot, so she hadn’t heard much about it.
“That’s at the auxiliary lot out here, isn’t it?”
Sean nodded. “But since I’m hosting Luther, it’s handy you’re here to run over there for me for a couple hours.”
“Hm. See, I was thinking how handy you’ll both be out here so you can go work security.”
“Nope. That’s not how I see it at all. Lucky Luther and I are the bosses.”
“Is that the movie about the serial killer from a few years ago? The one who strapped a bomb on his last victim and took out the emergency crew?”
“Uh huh. The press called him Pinky.”
Catriona pointed at Sean. “Right. Because all the bodies they found were missing a pinky finger. I remember now. Yikes. So it’s a slasher film?”
“Not exactly. It’s told from his son’s perspective.”
Catriona recoiled, remembering details from the news and how she’d felt bad for the killer’s son. “He made the kid watch, didn’t he?”
“So the story goes. Pinky’s dead of course but I met the kid—Mason. Parasol hired him as a consultant on the film. Him and the cop who killed his father.”
Catriona grimaced. “Awkward.”
“You’d think, but they’ve become friends. Soto, the officer, saved Mason.”
Catriona nodded. “I guess that’s true.”
“Konrad says he’s a good kid, considering everything he’s gone through. He even cast him to play himself.”
“There’s a marketing stunt.”
“I’m sure that had a lot to do with it.”
“So what do we need to do?”
“Konrad’s going to run the party on set, like a sort of haunted house, but he tends to overdo things and creep fests like these draw out the weirdos. News has already leaked online.”
“Leaked via Konrad, no doubt.”
“No doubt. I told him I’d like to have some people there.”
“And that’s where Broch and I come in.”
“Exactly.”
Catriona pulled out her phone. “I better call Fiona and tell her we won’t be coming back tonight.”
“She can just stay at your place. You won’t have to set her up across the hall.”
Catriona rolled her eyes.
Just what I want. My psychotic sister alone in my house.
She couldn’t remember if she had anything incriminating lying around her apartment, but she felt confident if she did, Fiona would find it.
“Hello?”
“Fiona?”
“You called my phone. Who do you think it is?”
“Yep. That’s you. Always a joy.”
“What do you want? And what am I supposed to do here in your hovel? I’m so bored I’m about to watch reality shows I’m not in.”
“We won’t be back tonight, so you have the place to yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You make it sound like being trapped in your sad little apartment is like winning the lottery.”
Catriona pulled the phone from her ear and took a deep breath.
Patience.
“Just stay there. We don’t know if Rune is still around and if he is, he’s definitely looking for the girl who stabbed him in the neck. You’re safer there than in your stupid-expensive, nouveau riche penthouse.”
“You wish you could be nouveau riche.”
“Sure. Every night before I go to bed it’s what I pray for. Dear God, please give me all of the money and none of the brains.”
The patio doors slid open and Broch walked out, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing his new swim trunks. They fit him like a plaid glove.
Wow.
Fiona said something else but Catriona didn’t hear.
“Look, I’m going. Stay there, or the next time I see you I’ll be identifying your body. I already told the guards not to let you out, so don’t even think about it.”
Catriona hung up before her sister could say another word and cleared her throat. “They look good. How do they fit?”
Broch’s lip curled. “Meh.”
Catriona glanced at Sean. “Did they say meh in ancient Scotland?”
He took a sip of his whiskey. “All the time. We invented it.”
Broch strode to the steps leading into the pool and walked in with the confidence of Poseidon returning to the sea. Plunging in, he swam underwater to the opposite side, flipped and returned to the shallow end to stand, pushing his wet shoulder-length locks from his eyes as if he were starring in a high-end cologne commercial.
Ridiculous.
“I have some clothes for you and Broch to wear to the party,” said Sean, seeming less impressed by Broch’s figure.
Putting Broch in clothes was the last thing on Catriona’s mind.
She nodded as Broch turned and winked at her, the skin of his muscular torso glistening in the sun’s dying light.
I’m married to that. Doesn’t seem so awful...
And then he had to go and open his mouth.
“Did she tell ye we’re merrit?”
Sean lifted his whiskey. “That’s right. Could I get a little more information about that?”
Catriona dropped her chin to her chest.
Here we go.
She decided to keep the explanation simple. “The fake marriage we had turned out to be real.”
“So you’re serious? You’re actually married?”
Broch spoke before diving under again. “Aye.”
“On paper,” Catriona corrected, speeding up her speech in the hopes of explaining before Broch resurfaced. “I’ll get it figured out. It’s a mistake.”
“Does he think it’s a mistake?” asked Sean, motioning toward the pool as the Loch Ness Monster in the plaid shorts touched the far end and turned.
“We’re—” Catriona cut short and shook her head. She didn’t want Broch to hear her talking about a quickie divorce and the man was going to have to come up for air soon.
“We’re in discussions,” she added as he broke the surface.
Sean reached to retrieve his glass. “Well, let me know if I need to buy a gift.”
“I’d like not going to this party as my wedding gift.”
“Sorry. Fresh out of those.” Sean looked at his watch. “Hm. He’s running late.” He picked up his cell phone and made a call. A moment later he set down the phone again and stared over his back wall at the desert landscape, pensive.
“I assume he didn’t answer?”
“No.” Sean tapped the table with his fingertip. “Something must have come up. You two will have to go soon. Let’s get you fed.” He stood and walked inside while Catriona watched Broch swim the length of the pool and back before getting out.
She stood and handed him a towel from a weatherproof plastic locker in the corner of the patio.
“Go get a shower. We’re going to eat and then we have to work a party.”
“Work a party?”
“We’re security.”
“Och.” Broch nodded.
“And stop telling people we’re married.”
He grinned and kissed her hairline. “Bit we are.”
Chapter Nine
“I wonder where Luther is,” said Catriona as she and Broch walked toward the Devil’s Warehouse set. Her father’s friend and partner had never arrived for dinner, which was more than strange. While Sean was still at the house when they left for the party, she suspected he’d soon be in his precious Jaguar, off
to find Luther.
“’Tisn’t lik’ him,” agreed Broch.
“We need to get this party over and get back to L.A.” Catriona knew she couldn’t make the party go any faster but, somehow, saying the idea out loud made her feel better.
Some of the guests had already arrived. She’d seen paparazzi turned away at the gate, which was a good sign things weren’t yet out of control in the name of publicity. No doubt the air above already buzzed with camera-strapped drones, but the prying eyes wouldn’t see a thing once everyone entered the windowless building doubling as the film’s main stage and party location.
Broch tugged at his tight-fitting collared dress shirt as if it were trying to choke him. “Ah feel lik’ a haggis tucked in a sheep’s tummy.”
“Sheep eat haggis?”
Broch looked at her as if she were a Martian.
“Sheep is haggis. Ye stuff their heart, liver ’n pipes intae the tummy casing afore ye cook it.”
Catriona watched as Broch licked his lips at the thought.
Gross.
“Haggis is cooked in a sheep’s stomach?”
“Aye.”
“Blech. I don’t even want to know what the pipes are.”
“The pipes, ye ken.” Broch took a deep breath and pointed at his chest. The button nestled between his pectoral muscles popped off and plinked Catriona on the cheek.
“Ow.” She glanced down and knew there’d be no finding the button. Konrad had strings of lights dangling from the parking lot to the front door of the building, but the illumination fell far short of sufficient for finding buttons in the desert sand.
“Now you’ve done it. I told you not to flex. Sean underestimated your peckage.”
Broch huffed and nearly blew another button. “Ah didnae flex, ah breathed. Pipes ur lungs.”
“Well, don’t breathe anymore.” Catriona paused to fold down the edge of his shirt to hide the missing button. “We’ll go with the sexy deep-V tonight. Hopefully that look is in this particular five minutes before Hollywood fashion changes again.”
His gaze traced the curve of her tight-fitting dress. “Ye keek bonny this forenicht.”
Catriona shifted the bodice of her dress self-consciously. It seemed Sean had underestimated her own peckage as well. Her breasts spilled over the top like a flash flood of flesh.
“Keek isn’t a word, it’s look, but thank you. Now keep your mind on the job.”