Volkov studied his nails. “Mostly Serbia. Some Russia.”
Mo scowled. “Alain would never—”
Catriona touched her arm. “He would. It’s what he does. He’s a thief.”
Mo’s jaw fell slack. “He... From me? He’s stealing from me?”
“You were leaving money on the table. What’s a worse sin to a poker player?”
“But—”
“Enough!” barked Volkov. He motioned to Mo. “I’m taking you with me. The little Frenchman can have you back when he introduces me to his contacts and you both agree to give me your expired inventory.”
Volkov strolled to Broch and tapped his shoulder with his handgun. “But not you. Alain didn’t care much about what happened to you.”
Broch remained expressionless, his eyes locked on Volkov’s. His brazen stare seemed to amuse Volkov.
“You’re not worried, big man?”
Broch leaned his face closer to the Russian’s. “Tis ye wha shuid be worried.”
Volkov chuckled and took a step back. He nodded to one of his men and glanced at the door. The man approached and motioned for Broch to move.
“No.” Catriona tried to step forward but the square-bodied man beside her grabbed the hair on the back of her head to prevent her from moving. Jerking her back into place, he raised his gun to her head to keep Broch from springing forward.
Catriona looked to Volkov, pleading. “He is important. Alain wants him alive.”
Volkov shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
Broch headed for the door, the bloody-nosed henchman behind him prodding him with the tip of his rifle.
The Highlander glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Catriona.
“Ah’ll find ye, lassie.”
Catriona felt her eyes brim with tears.
He was nearly to the door.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.
Catriona reached out towards his retreating figure. She knew any movement could get her shot, but her arm swung out before she could stop it.
The man at her side flinched but didn’t fire as she called out.
“I love you, too!”
Broch crossed the threshold just as she finished her sentence.
I don’t know if he heard me.
Catriona stopped breathing. It was as if her lungs had frozen in her chest. The silence in the warehouse throbbed in her ears as she turned to Volkov.
“Don’t do it.”
He shrugged. “It’s done.”
“It isn’t. Don’t do it. Please. You can have all the clothes. We’ll never tell anyone—”
“You know that isn’t true.”
“It is. It is true. We’ll go back where we came from and never—”
A pop! echoed from outside.
Catriona gasped. Legs buckling, she leaned against the wall and Mo caught her, holding her against her side.
“Oh baby girl.” She pressed Catriona’s head into her bosom, holding her tight.
Catriona clung to Mo. “I never told him how much—”
“You did,” said Mo, stroking her head. “He heard you.”
Chapter Fifteen
The horse galloped on, proceeding as if it knew its destination. Sean clung to its back like a man strapped to a missile. He kept his eyes closed much of the time, opening them only to make small adjustments to the mare’s trajectory.
There were too many things wrestling in his head for attention.
The image of a large truck rolled in his brain. He’d seen the vehicle in his rearview mirror. It had barreled towards Rune as the lanky bastard stumbled into the street, gun in hand.
He could see those skinny legs pumping. Sean remembered thinking Rune’s pursuit of him was akin to being dogged by Ichabod Crane.
Then there was that moment—an almost giddy moment—when he knew the truck and his enemy had a date with destiny. The time for Rune to dodge the approaching vehicle had passed.
The truck struck him.
Rune flew into the air, arms and legs swinging akimbo, then…nothing.
He never landed. But then he was back. Could I have missed seeing him land?
I missed it.
He’d looked away to be sure he wasn’t driving off the road...
But I only looked away for a second...
He’d stopped the Jag in the middle of the road to watch the scene behind him in his rearview. The truck driver scrambled out of his cab. He, too, looked confused, searching for the man he’d struck. He probably hadn’t seen his accidental victim land either. The trucker looked up and down the road, and Sean realized the man could see his Jag.
So Sean hit the gas and drove another fifty yards feeling confident the truck driver hadn’t seen his license plate—and feeling joyous he wouldn’t have to worry about Rune coming after Catriona or Broch. He crested a hill—
And there he was again.
Rune, standing in the middle of the road. One shoe missing, his white sock glaringly white in the California sun.
The man he’d watched struck by a truck behind him was now in front of him.
How?
How had he only lost one shoe?
Rune couldn’t have been knocked three miles forward by the truck. He couldn’t have flown through the air, landed on his feet and raised his gun like some kind of gymnast sticking the landing.
But there he stood, like a bullfighter, daring the Jaguar to rush him.
The truck would have killed him or nearly killed—
Sean opened his eyes and watched the horse’s hooves throw clumps of peat below him.
That was it.
The truck had nearly killed Rune. The skeletal wretch had moved forward through time. He’d used time travel to heal his snapped bones and crushed organs.
He’d been able to control where he was sent—how far away and how far in the future—with precision.
Sean felt a wave of envy wash over him. He’d hoped to teach Catriona and Broch what he knew of their heritage and abilities—and now he realized he knew nothing.
Gathering the reins in one hand, he wiped the mist and horsehair from his face, before closing his eyes again, squeezing them tight.
How did I fail in
