In her mind’s eye, she found herself sitting on the sofa in Sean’s office watching a golfer being interviewed after his win.
“Brooks won that,” she said.
“He did. Good memory,” said Mason.
Broch leaned down and peered at the photo. “Golf.”
“You know golf?” she asked before realizing it would seem an odd question to a person unaware of Broch’s time-jumping past.
Broch scoffed. “We invented it.”
“You, personally?”
The big Scot rolled his eyes.
She returned her attention to Mason, who’d already slid the photo back into his wallet. “So your dad did boring dad things like go to golf tournaments.”
“And then he murdered wummin,” mumbled Broch, as he craned his neck to catch the eye of a server with a tray of mini quiches.
Catriona grimaced and Mason laughed at her discomfort. “It’s okay. Really. I’m used to it. Don’t get me wrong, I know Dad was a monster. I keep that photo to remind me of his other side, when my thoughts get too dark.”
“People are complicated,” said Catriona, watching a short, stocky man approach them.
“Who do you have here?” asked the man, slapping a hand on Mason’s back, his eyes never leaving Catriona’s cleavage.
“Hey, Sal, this is Catriona and...uh...” Mason shook his head. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
Broch’s hand enveloped Sal’s as he sidestepped to block the man’s death-stare on Catriona’s chest. “Brochan.”
Catriona watched Sal wince as Broch squeezed.
“Quite a grip you got there.” Sal flexed his hand as Broch released him.
She stepped forward to shake his hand. “You’re Salvatore Soto, the officer who...” She glanced at Mason. It felt indelicate to finish her sentence.
“The cop who shot my dad and saved my life,” said Mason, once again gallantly breaking the tension. Catriona couldn’t help but be impressed.
Soto threw his arm around Mason, grinning. “Just doin’ my job, kid, just doin’ my job.”
“Your ankle seems to have healed well,” said Catriona, nodding at Soto’s feet. She remembered feeling a little ill while reading that the officer’s Achilles had been sliced.
Soto flashed a dimple in his right cheek. “You can’t keep me down.” He winked and stared into Catriona’s eyes as if they were the only people in the room.
Catriona thought she heard a growl rumble in Broch’s chest.
Seemingly oblivious to Broch’s ire, Soto raised both hands, as if urging a crowd to silence. “It was crazy. There I was, creeping down that dark, dark hallway. Razor wire to my left. Razor wire to my right. I hear this weird sliding noise behind me and poing! there goes my Achilles.”
Catriona winced. The cartoonish noise Soto used to describe having his tendon severed didn’t help make the image in her head any less horrific.
Soto pantomimed shooting a gun. “That’s when I fell, firing where the pain came from.” He shrugged, his perpetual grin failing him for the first time since his arrival. He waved his hand and muttered the rest of his tale. “Then that horrible stuff with the bomb outside.”
“You were lucky,” said Catriona.
Soto nodded. “I only wish my partner and the others had been so lucky. I just want to tell their story now. That’s why I’m here.”
An awkward silence fell and Mason scanned the now crowded room. “Well, I guess I better mingle. Nice to meet you both.”
Soto sprang back to life as if someone had flipped his happy switch. “Me too.” Soto took Catriona’s hand in his own. “Nice to meet you.” He glanced at Broch and held up an index finger, warding off a second handshake. “You too, big guy, but I’m not making that mistake again.” With a final wink at Catriona and a slap on Broch’s arm, he headed into the growing crowd with Mason.
As soon as they left, Catriona flipped her wrist to smack Broch in the chest with the back of her hand.
“Behave yourself, will you?”
“He likes ye,” said Broch.
“Who? Mason?” He’s just a kid,” said Catriona, knowing he’d meant Soto.
“The wee man. Ah’ll tie him into a Celtic knot.”
Catriona laughed. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything. He’s a hero. Be nice.”
Broch grunted.
A commotion rose behind them and Catriona turned in time to see the doorman stumble forward and sprawl to the ground as if someone had pushed him.
Two men dressed in what looked like black, unmarked S.W.A.T. uniforms closed the doors behind them. One spread his legs, standing sentry. The other held up an M16 rifle.
“Everybody listen up!” screamed the other.
Chapter Ten
Rune stood outside Maddie’s house, watching her watch television. The one-story Craftsman wasn’t an impressive home, but in the Los Angeles market, a single-family proved she had some earning power.
If she owns it.
Maybe she rents.
I wonder how much rent—
Rune dropped his chin to his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose. It seemed his mind wandered to the strangest thoughts these days.
Who cares about Maddie’s rent?
She worked at Parasol Pictures. That was the important part.
Rune had felt it when he touched her, saw flashes of the Parasol logo again and again, knew she saw it every day on her way to work. He couldn’t say he’d been able to decipher what she did at Parasol, though. He assumed she was an actress, but the images he’d pulled from her mind—scissors, glue, paper and little flat wooden sticks—none of that made any sense.
But none of that mattered. What mattered was that she had access to the studio where all his enemies seemed to spend their time. Even his own daughter worked there.
He felt the scar on his neck and thought of Fiona.
Traitorous spawn.
Maddie could slip him inside the studio lot. Once in, he could kill them all.
Maybe then
