Chapter 2
Remy was surrounded by chaos—the new normal since he became his brothers’ guardian when he was twenty-four.
Looking over his shoulder as he was preparing Rune’s bowl of oatmeal, he saw Galen and Eamon chasing each other through the kitchen, waving plastic swords.
“Hey, stop, you two! Go wash your hands before sitting down at the table.”
Turning back to the task at hand, Remy poured the hot oatmeal into a small bowl, setting it aside to cool before giving it to Rune.
The last thing he needed was for his youngest brother to burn himself again.
It’d been a steep learning curve after taking custody of his three brothers; sometimes he questioned if he’d made the right decision, especially when one of them got hurt.
The guilt he felt when it happened always triggered his memories of sitting in the lawyer’s office faced with a life-changing choice.
It would all come rushing back—the numbness of his grief, how cold he felt while listening to his parents’ will being read—his world being turned upside down.
“Mr. Marchant? What do you want to do?”
When the lawyer’s voice finally penetrated through the thick fog of his mind, Remy lifted his face and stared at the lawyer. “What do I want to do about what?”
“Your brothers. As far as I can determine you are their only living relative.”
“That’s right,” Remy murmured, fresh grief washing over him about his young brothers growing up without the love of their parents to shelter them from the hate in the world .
“You do have the option of sending the boys to an orphanage that will accept boys like them.”
Shaking his head, Remy would—could never do that. He didn’t know what went on in those places, but he’d heard enough about them to know it wasn’t good. Frankly, he didn’t even know why they were allowed to exist. “No, they belong with me,” he replied.
“Are you sure? It’s a lot of responsibility for someone as young as you.”
Ignoring the comment, Remy asked, “What do I have to do to legally become my brothers’ guardian?”
“I’ll have the papers drawn up, ready for your signature tomorrow.”
Nodding, Remy stood, extending his hand. “That will be fine. Thanks.” Then he headed out to the waiting room where his brothers rushed him as soon as he entered. Taking Rune from Galen’s grasp and settling him on his hip, he said, “C’mon boys, let’s go.”
After signing the papers the next day and attending his parents’ funeral, Remy packed up his brothers’ few belongings and brought them back to France, where he began to build a new life for them…and himself.
Giving Rune a few apple slices in an effort to keep him quiet, Remy headed over to the doorway, scooping up Eamon who was running through it.
Taking the sword from his hand, he set it down on the butcher-block counter, then, tickling his brother’s belly, he smiled at the sound of childish laughter filling the room.
“Noooo, Remeee.” Eamon made futile attempts to escape Remy’s hold, laughing as he protested being captured.
“Didn’t I tell you to wash your hands?” Remy said, giving a fake growl .
“I wuz fightin’ Gally.”
“Who was winning?” Remy asked, carrying his brother over to the kitchen sink.
“I wuz!” shouted Galen, standing in the middle of the kitchen, brandishing his sword.
“Uh-uh! I wuz!” Eamon yelled, squirming in Remy’s arms as he tried to get down.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Remy said, turning on the faucet, while lowering his brother so he could wash his hands. “Hey, use soap,” he admonished, handing a bar to his brother.
“Aww, why? Gally never does.”
“I do, too,” Galan yelled.
“Stop yelling,” Remy said automatically as he dried Eamon’s hands and swiveled around, setting him on his chair. Turning to Galen, he growled, “C’mon, you, too. And put your sword next to Eamon’s.”
“Dang it. Why do I have to?” Galen pouted, slapping his sword down on the counter. “What if someone attacks me when I’m eating?”
“No one’s going to attack you,” Remy said, helping Galen up on the stool so he could reach the water.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Now go sit down.” Once Remy made sure Galen had obeyed him, he turned back to the three bowls of oatmeal, sticking his pinky in each of them to check the temperature.
Finding them cool enough, he poured maple syrup and cream in them before setting bowls in front of Eamon and Galen—and then placed Rune’s on his high chair table .
Sitting down next to his youngest brother, Remy couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful child he was.
Even though Rune was all-boy, he had an angelic air about him that reminded Remy of cherubs painted on the ceilings of French cathedrals.
His big, deep blue eyes pierced Remy’s soul while his beautiful white, curly blond hair was so fine, a person had to be really up close to see it.
Dipping a spoon into the oatmeal, Remy brought it up to Rune’s mouth, slipping it in when his brother smiled.
Suddenly, the kitchen door swung open as Mrs. Beasley swooped in. “Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed, “you are running late this morning.”
Glancing over at her, Remy grinned. “And how is that different from any other morning?”
“Ahh, true,” agreed Mrs. Beasley, removing her jacket and setting it down next to her big bag she’d dropped on the rocking chair next to the stone fireplace. Hustling over, she took the spoon from Remy’s hand. “Shoo, go get ready. I can finish feeding our Rune.”
Rising quickly, Remy gave Mrs. Beasley a quick kiss on her plump cheek.
“Thanks, Mrs. B. The new owner is arriving today and I promised to pick him up at the airport.” Glancing once more at Galen and Eamon, satisfied they were behaving, he rushed upstairs to shower and dress.
Checking the time on the grandfather clock as he hustled past it, he muttered under his breath. “Sacré bleu!” He’d be cutting it close.
~/~/~/~/~
Showering in record time, Remy dried himself and checked his scruff and mustache in the mirror.
Peeking down at the time on his phone, Remy decided it would have to do.
Rushing into the bedroom, he threw the phone onto his rumpled bed before heading to the wardrobe.
Rejecting his normal work attire—jeans and a chambray buttoned-down shirt—he chose a pair of black dress pants and a white shirt before heading over to the dresser.
Sliding out a drawer, he snorted at the mess.
One of his brothers—Eamon, he’d bet—had used his underwear to hide his plastic dinosaurs.
Digging around, he finally located the briefs he wanted, promising himself he’d straighten things up that night.
Once dressed, he slipped on his black shoes and grabbed his phone, but before he made it to the door, it began to ring.
“Fuck!” Remy muttered. “Why today? Of all days.” That ringtone only meant one thing. Answering the call, he growled, “Pierre, what’s up?”
“It happened again, Remy.”
“Shit, how many this time?”
“So far, three. But I just started.”
Slamming his fist against the doorframe, Remy exclaimed, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! How the hell did they get in? Have you checked the security cameras?”
“Not yet, I thought I’d wait for you.”
“No, go ahead. Is Henri around?” asked Remy.
“I haven’t seen him this morning,” replied Pierre, “but then, I came in through the main office.”
“I’ll call him,” Remy said, adding, “Don’t touch anything else.
I’ll be there shortly.” Ending the call, he searched for Henri’s number, then dialed it.
Heading down the stairs, he listened to the ringing, hoping Henri wasn’t under a truck fixing something or other.
“C’mon, Henri, pick up!” Someone had it out for him—it was the only explanation he could come up with.
He made a mental note to check on who’d left recently—or had been fired .
“Bonjour, Mr. Marchant.”
“Oh, thank the gods!” Remy exclaimed. It seemed luck had not deserted him. “Henri, Fionn MacDùghlas is arriving today and I need you to pick him up at the airport. He’s coming in on a private jet.”
“Oui, Mr. Marchant. When will he be arriving?” asked Henri.
“In less than two hours. Can you do it?”
“Oui, it’ll be tight but I will make it.”
“Good…oh, and you better take the SUV. I’m not sure exactly how many will be with him but I know there’ll be at least one other.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll call when I have picked them up.”
“Thanks, Henri. Drive safe.”
“Always, sir.”
After ending the call, Remy pocketed his phone before stopping in the kitchen to give his brothers a kiss good-bye. “You guys be good for Mrs. B. today,” he warned them, heading for the back door.
“Don’t you worry, Remy, the boys and I will be fine,” Mrs. Beasley said, her voice following him out.
Shutting the door behind him, Remy stopped, sniffing the air.
Satisfied, he hurried to his car, climbed in and headed down the service road that would lead him to the winery.
“Sonofabitch!” he muttered, pressing down on the accelerator.
Jerking the steering wheel back and forth, Remy tried to avoid the deep ruts left over from the last rainstorm.
Making another mental note to have Jules regrade the road, he finally skidded to a stop in front of the building housing the fermenting tanks .
As the dust settled around the car, Remy climbed out, walking over to the locked door. Entering the security code, he waited until he heard the click, then entered, finding Pierre waiting for him just inside. “Did you check the security video, yet?”
“Oui, but there’s nothing.”
“Nothing? You didn’t see who did it?” asked Remy.
“Non,” Pierre answered, “because the video was black. There was nothing on it.”
“How can that be? Did we lose power last night?” asked Remy.
“Not that I can tell. There aren’t any records of alarms last night,” Pierre said. “And the cameras were running but someone blocked the lenses.”
“Fuck! So it must be an inside job if someone knew where the cameras were located.” Heading towards the fermenting room, he said, “Show me what you found.”
“I didn’t see anything out of order until I walked over to this first tank,” Pierre said, gesturing towards a big steel tank just inside the doorway.
“When I opened it up to check, I found out it had spoiled—then I saw these,” he said, pointing to a few bugs at the base of the tank.
“It’s the same for the next two. That’s when I called you. ”
“You didn’t check any others?” asked Remy.
“Non,” Pierre said, “I waited for you.”
“Okay.” Remy walked over to the fourth tank, finding the same bugs on the floor.
“Shit! Check this one.” Then he continued down the line finding three more that also had evidence of tampering.
By the time they were through checking the rest, Remy counted seven tanks that were contaminated; the wine in them a total loss.
“Damn!” he murmured. Standing back, he stared at the crime scene— something wasn’t adding up.
Walking up to one tank, he squatted, picking up one of the bugs and rolling it between his fingers.
Then laying the palm of his hand on the side of the tank, he closed his eyes, unleashing his other senses to explore.
The shock zapping through his hand caused Remy to fall backward, landing on his ass.
Holy fucking shit! No wonder the security video was black.
“Hey, what happened? Are you okay?” asked Pierre, offering a hand to help his boss up.
Rising, then brushing off the back of his pants, Remy answered, “Yeah, thanks. Hey, check that tank’s electrical, will you? Make sure there isn’t a short.”
“Sure. What do you want to do with the wine in the seven tanks?”
“Dump it,” Remy ordered, “it’s no use to us. But before you do that, show me the security video from last night.”
Pierre grunted, leading the way back to his office. “The only possibility I came up with was someone put a black cloth over the cameras.”
“Every one?” asked Remy. “What about the ones outside? Did you check those?”
Nodding, Pierre sat down at his desk, pulling up the camera videos on his computer monitor. “See, the cameras are working perfectly,” he said, watching the screen.
“What time did they go black?” asked Remy.
“When the shift changed…2 a.m.”
Remy examined the videos and wasn’t surprised at what he saw, especially after what happened back at the tank. “Okay, I’ve seen enough,” he said, heading towards the door. “I’ll be in my office. I’ll be tied up for most of the day, but I want the guards doubled from now on.”
“I’ll see to it,” Pierre replied, rising from his desk.
Climbing the wooden staircase to his office above the winery tasting room, Remy was deep in thought about what he found.
Then sitting down at his desk, he swiveled his chair, his eyes looking out over the vineyards as his mind mulled over a mess of conflicting ideas.
Was my instinct right? This was a personal attack meant to cause me harm…
especially since it was done on the day the new owner was arriving.
It was an easy conclusion to jump to but it didn’t explain the other times.
But then, what about what I sensed? That certainly leads to me as the target.
And I didn’t find it at the other crime scenes so whoever it is must be targeting me. The question is, why?
Leaning his head back, Remy closed his eyes, sighing at the latest problem dumped in his lap.
Thinking back to the first incident of sabotage, he let his mind float, reviewing the evidence he found.
And after not seeing any connection with the current one, he went on to the next one, and then the others.
But as much as Remy tried, he couldn’t find a pattern.
I must be missing something. What he sensed today was the strongest clue he had that the perpetrator was after him.
Oh gods, I wish my parents were alive…they would have the answers I need.
Hearing a door open, followed by voices, Remy sat up.
Rolling his chair over to the inside window, Remy saw the first group of tourists and wine connoisseurs arriving for a tour and tasting.
Catching the eye of the guide, Remy nodded, then moved back to his desk.
Glancing at his phone, he realized Henri would be arriving at the airport in a few minutes.
That would give him a little more than two hours to prepare a report about the spoiled wine and the financial loss for the new owner and the Dire Enterprises’ representative.
I hope Fionn MacDùghlas isn’t anything like his father.