“You’re spilling!” screamed the driver.
“What’s that accent?’ asked the one with short, blonde hair. She squinted at him as if she might be able to see his accent if she tried hard enough.
“Maybe he’s from the Thunder Down Under,” suggested her brunette friend.
A collective gasp echoed from the vehicle. “Are you Australian? Say put another shrimp on the barbie.”
Broch smiled. Being told to say something reminded him of the game he played with Jeanie back at Parasol Pictures.
“Pat anither shrimp oan the barbie?”
The women squealed and the driver’s window lowered. A dark-haired woman who looked as if she could be Catriona’s older sister pushed down her sunglasses to peer at him.
“I apologize for them. They’re a bunch of idiots.” Her voice grew louder as she said the last sentence, and she dipped her head inside to be sure her friends heard it. Finding her scolding was having little effect, she returned her attention to Broch. “I’m the lucky designated driver. They’ve been drinking since two. Divorce party.”
“I’m finally single!” screamed the brunette in the back.
The woman nodded towards the road behind her. “I saw what I guess is your van back about a mile? Run out of gas?”
Broch pictured the bullets riddling the front of the van. “Engine trouble.”
A hand reached out from the open back window, fingers curling around his bicep to squeeze it.
The driver scowled and turned to the back seat once more. “Stop molesting the man, will you?”
Giggles.
The music blared again for a moment before the driver threw out an arm and turned it back down.
She sighed. “I don’t know how much longer I can control them.”
“Are ye goan tae Las Vegas?”
“Where else do you think I’d be taking this band of idiots? Did you call for help?”
“Ah lost mah phone.”
“Oh.” She eyeballed him from head to toe and hooked her mouth to the side. “Tell you what. If you promise not to sue them for sexual harassment, you can hop in the back. If you dare. You’ll die out here.”
Broch looked in the back window and the women beckoned to him, daring him to get into the car. He looked down the long desert road, unsure which fate might be the most dangerous.
“Aye. Ah’d appreciate that.”
The driver nodded. “Hop in. Don’t let them push you around.”
Cheers rose from the back of the car as he opened the door. As he dipped his head to crawl in, the brunette leaned over her friend to grab his scarf, whipping it off his neck and wrapping it around her own. The blonde shifted on top of her friend to make room and they slapped at each other a moment as they fought for space. Once Broch sat and closed the door, the women collapsed, the closest to him landing on his lap.
She threw an arm around his neck.
“Hey there,” she breathed, her face close to his. Her breath lay heavy with booze.
Chapter Eighteen
“Hey Sean.”
Sean sat up and started coughing anew.
“Take it easy, man. Take your time.”
Sean squeezed a word between each cough. His mind wrestled with the vision of Luther beside him.
This can’t be happening. None of this can be happening.
“You let her die.”
Luther shook his head. “I didn’t. You didn’t either. Isobel was already dead.”
“She wasn’t...she...” Sean cut short and gasped for breath. His chest hurt in new ways, unrelated to the bullet hole in his chest. He felt as if he were going to drown in his own lungs.
Through blurry tears, Sean saw Luther thrust out a hand.
“We have to get out of here. Can you stand?”
“Can I—?” Sean twisted and spotted his son still wrapped in his swaddling clothes, one hand free and waving in the air above his head. “Brochan.”
“He stays.”
“What? Lying there? That’s—”
He felt Luther’s enormous hands plant themselves, one on each of his cheeks, forcing him to face his old friend. His expression was a serious as Sean had ever seen.
“Listen to me, Sean. Isobel is dead. She died hundreds of years ago and there’s no changing it. Broch will be found outside the cottage, just as he was always found outside the cottage. He’ll grow up with the Broken Women and someday he’ll find his way to you in Los Angeles.”
“But—”
“There is no but.” Luther scanned the land behind Sean’s head. “Except we have to get our butts out of here before they come to find Broch. Before you come to find—” He moved a hand from Sean’s face and motioned to the smoking cottage.
Sean found himself speechless. Luther lifted him by his armpits and he stood like an obedient child, his legs weak. They walked to his grazing, stolen horse, standing not far from the burning house, and Sean took the reins. Luther pulled them from his hands.
“Leave it. That horse wandered from home. You didn’t ride it.”
They walked a few steps farther to Luther’s enormous steed, the white hair fringing around its hooves making Sean think of beer commercials. Luther maneuvered him into place and helped him mount the horse. Taking shallow breaths, Sean allowed himself to be positioned again. He took his seat behind the saddle and Luther hoisted himself to sit in front of him.
“Hold on.”
Sean turned to look at Broch, who lay still happily waving at nothing, thirty feet from the remains of his mother and his ashen home.
“Are you sure—”
Luther reached back to put a hand on his leg. “I’m sure. You know I wouldn’t—”
“I know. You’re the only one I would trust on this. But still—”
“Hold on. I think I can let you watch.”
