The Topaz Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 10)

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “It’s not my case, but from what I hear, Ms. Malone had been to an estate sale with a friend from San Francisco. She returned to her room to check her emails and freshen up before she presented at a conference for caterers and event planners. When she failed to show up, her friend went looking for her. The room was empty. Ms. Malone’s purse was gone, but her phone was on the bed.”

  “What’d the security cameras show?”

  “Showed her going in, but not coming out. She was on the fifth floor, so she didn’t exit through a window. The lab is analyzing the video to see if it was altered. We can’t explain what happened, but there’s no sign a crime occurred.”

  “Strange,” Rick said.

  David sat back and folded his arms. “Roy, this is David McBain. Do ye think Billie might have seen or heard something at the estate sale that put her life in danger?”

  “It’s possible, but how could anyone get her out of the room without showing up on the video?” Roy asked. “And there wasn’t time to devise a plan to abduct her and alter the video. We’re talking about thirty minutes max.”

  “Roy, this is Kenzie McBain. Did Billie buy anything at the sale?”

  “A set of china and an old topaz brooch,” Roy said.

  All five people in the room straightened, faces paled, and eyes widened as if they’d stuck their fingers in the same electrical socket and barely survived a high-voltage shock.

  “Funny thing about that brooch,” Roy continued, unaware of the shock he’d caused. “The police found the jewelry on the floor of Ms. Malone’s hotel room. They also found the same brooch on the floor of the Fontenots’ bedroom.”

  Rick hit the wall switch, turning on the overhead fan to blow air on him before he passed out.

  “Who”—Pete coughed and cleared his throat—“who are they?”

  “Philippe and Rhona Fontenot disappeared seven years ago, and the court-appointed administrator is just now liquidating their estates. That’s where Ms. Malone had been. Look, I’ve got to jump. I’m late for a meeting. If you need anything else, call me back.”

  Rick was glad Pete had asked the question because his mouth was so dry he barely croaked out, “Thanks.” He dropped into a chair at the opposite end of the conference table. “What the shit’s going on?”

  Taking out a clean sheet of paper, Sophia sketched a man and woman caught in a fog throwing a Celtic brooch across a bedroom floor. “Why would they throw the brooch?”

  “I never thought of throwing mine,” Kenzie said. “But it should have been my first reaction. Since she’s a former Ranger, I’m not surprised it was Billie’s.”

  “The fog covered me so quickly,” Sophia said, “I didn’t have time to think. I did try to jump out of it the first time, though. But my fingers always clamped around the brooch. I couldn’t have dropped it if I wanted to.”

  “David, do you remember when you traveled back to visit Kit and Cullen, and the three brooches exploded in fireworks?” Pete asked. “What if something like that happened with the topaz brooch?”

  “Then the topaz might be more powerful than the other brooches,” Rick said. “I don’t see Billie dropping it deliberately. She would realize that the brooch caused the fog and could also reverse it.”

  “If it was like the fireworks, then it could have gotten too hot to hold. Or maybe it had an electrical charge,” Pete said.

  “You won’t know until you find her.” Sophia finished drawing the topaz brooch on the floor, surrounded by sparks. “One of the things Mr. MacKlenna told me was that the stones bring together knowledge of the future and knowledge of the past.”

  “So the topaz intentionally strands its victims in the past to do…what? Educate and alter history? If that’s the case, there could be dozens of stranded travelers,” Kenzie said.

  “We have to find out how the Fontenots got the brooch. Once we know that, we can dive deeper into their family history. Maybe we can identify other missing people,” David said.

  “How will we know if the Fontenots and Billie went to the same place?” Rick asked. “The brooch could have sent them to different centuries…even different cities or continents.”

  “We won’t know unless we find them together,” David pushed to his feet, closed his laptop, and unplugged the cord. “We have a bigger problem than three people stranded in the past.”

  A familiar look passed between David and Kenzie that under normal circumstances would have meant they were on the same page, but then her eyes narrowed, her sculpted brows swooped together. “What could be bigger than three stranded people, and one of them a friend of mine?”

  “The vision and the danger it presents.” David tucked the laptop and cord into a computer bag. “The police might decide to take possession of the brooch since it’s involved in three disappearances. We’ve got to get it back before someone else disappears. After what I saw in that vision, something evil is searching for the same thing we are. We have to get there first.”

  “Wait a minute, David,” Kenzie said. “What makes you think they—whoever they are—might be after the topaz brooch?”

  “Because it was in my vision. We’re on notice, Kenz. The evil we’ve been expecting is finally here. And it might know how many brooches we have. If we get control of Billie’s, we’ll have eight. All we need are four more to open the door in the cave—”

  Kenzie’s jaw muscles rippled. “Or seal it permanently.”

  David put his arm around her and kissed her on the mouth. “That’s an option we’ll have to consider.”

  “When we find Billie and bring her back, how is she going to explain where she’s been?” Pete asked.

  “Finding her won’t solve our problem,” David said.

  “But it will solve hers,” Kenzie said.

  David headed toward the door. “Not completely, but we’ll figure out how to handle the police later.”

  “Where are you going?” Kenzie asked.

  “To New Orleans.”

  “Not by yourself,” she said. “I’m going with you. I’ve got to help Billie.”

  “So am I,” Rick said.

  “You’re not leaving me out,” Pete said. “If we need more information, I can call Roy back.”

  Sophia popped up out of her chair. “I’ve never been to New Orleans, and I’ve heard that Jackson Square without artists would be like red beans without rice. I want to meet them and talk about their art. I can do that while you investigate.”

  Pete looked at her, a slight shadow in his eyes, and something vulnerable in his expression. “We just arrived last night from Florence, and Lukas is getting settled. It’s not good for him to have both of us leave him so soon.”

  “He’s three years old. He’s playing with Lance, and your mother is with him. He’ll be fine.”

  “He might be okay, but going to New Orleans isn’t a sightseeing trip. We’re walking into a dangerous situation, and I don’t want you hurt.”

  “I’m aware of the danger. But it’ll only be a few hours, and you can track me. I’m even more proficient in Tai Chi than I was the last time I time traveled. I don’t have any control over the brooches. Why would the evil want me?”

  Pete bent his head to hers, letting their foreheads touch. They stayed that way for a few seconds until Pete inched back, their gazes still locked. “If it can use you to get what it wants, it will. We don’t know the extent of its power.”

  “I won’t underestimate it,” she said.

  “Okay. I’ll ask Elliott if Remy can come with us and be your bodyguard.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Shhh,” Pete said. “If you want to go, that’s the deal.”

  “As long as he doesn’t bring his drums. Table drumming I can handle. Sometimes.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Pete said.

  Without further objection, Sophia said, “If that’s the deal, I accept. But give me a few minutes to go by the house, talk to your mom, and kiss Lukas goodbye.”

  “I’ll go with
you, then stop by the corporate center to talk to Elliott.”

  “When I get to New Orleans—” David said.

  Kenzie followed, poking him in the back with her finger. “You’re not leaving me behind, McBain. Granny Alice can manage the kids.”

  Pete picked up the empty glasses and carried them to the refreshment bar. “If the police have the brooch, they might hold it until they close Billie’s case. That could keep us down there for a while.”

  “We’ll set up shop there and stay as long as necessary. We can shuttle back and forth and call in backup if needed.” David stopped in front of a large closet with cubbyholes and grabbed his and Kenzie’s go-bags.

  If Rick had been in a mood to laugh, he would have.

  Unlike Pete and Sophia, once Kenzie announced she was going, David didn’t argue. And if David had told her no, Rick would have intervened. Kenzie’s perceptions could spotlight a problem too out of focus or complex for others to see.

  Elliott always said, “Don’t bring me a problem without Kenzie’s analysis.” She didn’t get it right all the time, but she rarely got it wrong. David looked at it a bit differently, and was fond of saying, “Ye didn’t get it right, lass, but ye can try again tonight.” It was a private joke they never explained, but knowing them, it had something to do with sex.

  Rick had a go-bag parked in his cubby, but he had a change of clothes and a Dopp kit on the Montgomery Winery plane. All the adults had go-bags in the closet, ready to go anywhere, at any time. If they stayed in New Orleans longer than two days, he’d have to go shopping or do laundry, so he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

  “Hey, I meant to ask. What’s up with the name Mensa? Why’d you call McBain that?”

  “David and I came up with a safe word after I wigged out in the bathroom several years ago,” Kenzie said. “He told me to use my Mensa brain to figure out how to handle separation from my kids if I wanted to go back to help Amber. Whenever either one of us isn’t listening or focusing, or it’s an emergency, we use the word.”

  “Well, it got his attention,” Rick said.

  “Did Elliott say anything to either of ye about sensing a stone was active?” David asked, shouldering two duffel bags and a computer bag.

  “Not me,” Rick said. “JL didn’t either. But she was upset about something when I left the house earlier. I thought it was either allergies or hormones.”

  Just as they reached the door, Elliott bounded in—white-faced, wild-eyed—with Remy close enough behind him to tread on Elliott’s bootheels. “What the hell’s going on?”

  David pressed his hand on Elliott’s shoulder and turned him around. “Walk with us. We’ve got a situation in New Orleans.”

  Rick pushed open the door, and they all rushed out. The sun had disappeared behind ominous black clouds, and the sweet-scented breeze of an hour ago now held the metallic taste of ozone. Blowing leaves rustled across the parking lot, and he ducked his head, dodging the pelting debris.

  “I’ve never had a feeling like this,” Elliott yelled above the rushing wind. “I’ve sensed when a brooch was active as a vibration in the still air. This time it’s aggressive and volatile. The ground is shaking. We’re in danger, lads and lasses.”

  Elliott’s alarm prickled Rick’s scalp and ran down his spine. It wasn’t a pins and needles sensation at all. It was more like a whipping with a cat o’ nine tails.

  The trip to New Orleans had mushroomed into an apocalyptic adventure south. They might be facing the family’s kryptonite. The evil they had feared was coming for them, and there were no guarantees any of them would come out alive.

  4

  Barataria, LA (1814)—Billie

  Billie regained consciousness, but her memory lagged behind her awareness. She was lying facedown on the ground, her purse within easy reach. But she should be in a hotel room in New Orleans, not tangled in a trap of thick sawgrass.

  What happened to her? She closed her eyes and concentrated.

  She had the topaz brooch in her hand. She accidentally found an inscription inside the stone… She sounded out some foreign words… The topaz burned her palm… She fell…

  And now, here I am. So deal with it. Identify the dangers and find a way back to New Orleans.

  Wondering how she’d vanished from her hotel room only to show up in a moss-swathed, tangled swamp was a giant distraction. She must have been drugged and dumped here, but the hows and whys didn’t matter right now. Survival had to be her focus.

  Other than a burn on her hand, she was physically okay.

  As for her surroundings, a cypress swamp hemmed her in, and snakes slithered past her. Why snakes? Give her rats any day, but not snakes.

  Mixed in with the screams of swamp fowl, a tall blue heron hissed and croaked atop a stack of fallen logs, and small animals scurried through the marsh grass.

  There’s nothing dangerous here—except the snakes.

  Then, a splash and the deep-throated growl of a long, knobby alligator sent a chill up her spine. If that wasn’t bad enough, a cottonmouth slithered by. A chill tingled across her skin as adrenaline stormed into her bloodstream. She stayed fixated on the creature until it disappeared in the grass.

  Get up off the ground. Now.

  She pushed up at the same time she heard male voices speaking in a mix of Spanglish and French. The voice in her head screamed, Get down!

  She flattened herself, and the sudden movement startled the heron into taking flight. She didn’t know where she was or how she got here, but now her spidey senses were pinging a danger alert in flashing neon colors.

  She spread the sawgrass and peered into the misty air that seemed to puff up in the cool breeze. Then it was gone, quick as a ghostly sigh, revealing a half dozen men armed with cutlasses and pistols, and wearing loose trousers, colorful shirts with billowing sleeves, and leather vests. They climbed out of three pirogues loaded down with canvas sacks while another pirogue with paddles skimmed through murky water carrying two additional men.

  A deep shiver ran the length of Billie’s body, and foreboding took hold, choking the confidence that had carried her through the successful negotiation for a set of china and a topaz brooch.

  Now she needed to switch into combat mode, a switch she hadn’t made in several years. But somehow, training and muscle memory took over without a hitch.

  The men were dressed for a costume party or a Mariachi band, but their cutlasses were deadly. She’d seen enough weapons to know those short swords weren’t party props. And a study of their scarred faces told her everything else she needed to know. These men weren’t members of a Mariachi band or party attendees. They lived in a world of violence and evil. If they found her, they would do a lot worse than kill her. The maddening thump-thump-thump of her pulse sounded like rapid fire from an M4 carbine.

  God, she would give her left arm for an M4 right now. She was outside the wire and in big shit trouble.

  A memory streamed like a video in her mind with the volume blasting. She was back inside a filthy room cluttered with weapons at the Special Forces base in Afghanistan, on the verge of commanding an assault against al-Qaeda fighters barricaded inside a house. After years of training, she’d be engaged in a close-quarters battle for the first time.

  Adrenaline flooded her system, and fear squatted like a pillow over her mouth and nose—suffocating—barely allowing enough air to keep her body functioning. And the terror wasn’t about combat.

  Her mind scrambled for safety but ended up where it always did when she thought about the assault—which had been carried out to perfection, with only minor injuries.

  Back then, she was in the zone, lit up with adrenaline, high on the speed and competence of the team, or she would never have entered that final room by herself.

  A terrorist jumped out of the dark, grabbed her from behind, a knife at her throat. Two defensive moves had him disarmed, but he lunged for her, she tripped, and he pinned her to the floor. A hand covered her mouth, another one s
earched her for weapons, groped her breasts. Realizing she was a female, he unbuttoned, unzipped her camo trousers.

  He smelled of body odor, filth, and rage.

  Before he could penetrate her, another team member grabbed the terrorist and slit his throat…

  …releasing a fountain of blood that gagged her and burned her eyes and saturated her hair and uniform. She struggled to her hands and knees, puking and shaking while she reached deep into her core for a casual, shake-it-off, all-in-a-day’s-work comment that might restore her standing as commander.

  And here she was again, but without a room cluttered with guns or a team to lead or even come to her rescue.

  She reached into her purse with shaking hands and gripped the handle of her only weapon—a folding knife. She was as camouflaged as a pink stork at a baby shower, and the only thing she had to protect herself was—compared to a cutlass—a toothpick.

  She’d once been a certified badass, but she sure didn’t feel like one now.

  Without disturbing the grasses, she toed off her heels and removed the scarf around her neck. She’d survived some death-defying situations, but she’d always been equipped with what she needed, even during SERE—Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape—training.

  Survival first, and then evade the eight sun-baked, vicious-looking men. She was downwind of them, and the breeze carried the stench of their sweat, rot, and filth.

  But when a weight slithered in a wavy motion over her bare feet and up her legs, the stink was forgotten.

  There’s that damn cottonmouth again.

  Panic began when a cluster of spark plugs fired off in her belly, and tension tightened her face and limbs. Then fury took over. She dug her fingernails into the dirt to keep from venting her fear and rage on the snake. No, that belonged to whoever drugged her and left her here to deal with snakes and cutlass-carting smugglers.

  She remained motionless with the hairs on her arms at full attention, until the snake slithered off the swell of her hips, oozed back onto the ground, and disappeared into the brush. Her throat was dry, she couldn’t manage a complete breath, and there was a copper-penny taste in her mouth.