Chapter 15 Chicago, 1928—Remy #2
“Sheer determination—and,” Remy paused, checking himself before revealing the advanced prosthetic that facilitated Bastien’s unrestricted lifestyle. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“I’d never do that. It would embarrass him.”
“You can’t embarrass Bastien. And he doesn’t mind talking about his journey to anyone who asks. He often meets with other amputees so they can see what’s possible.”
“Would he have died if you hadn’t been there?”
“There were others who could help. I just reached Bastien first.” In his peripheral vision, Remy noticed a woman getting out of a blue sports car in front of the restaurant across the street. “Fuck!” He jerked the steering wheel, maneuvered into a street-side parking spot, and killed the ignition.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he snapped. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. The woman Archibald mentioned is here. I need to talk to her.” Remy knew Clay was not far behind him, but he wasn’t willing to wait and risk Violet vanishing again. “Do you mind waiting here?”
“I’m accustomed to being out late. I’ll lock the doors. Go on.”
He waited until he saw her lock the doors, then jogged across the street and trailed Violet into a restaurant.
The hostess intercepted him. “May I help you?”
“I’m meeting with the woman seated in the corner.” Remy strode past the hostess and marched through the restaurant toward Violet. He slid into the booth opposite her.
She glanced up from the menu she was holding, cocked her head, and studied him. Then, she calmly said, “Hello.”
“Hello,” he said in return.
Violet appeared at least ten or fifteen years younger than when she had vanished from MacKlenna Farm, placing her likely in her late forties.
Though hints of gray threaded through her raven hair, the strands remained radiant and glossy, swirling around her head like a cascading silk curtain.
Her striking hair framed high cheekbones and a graceful neck.
Her deep, gem-like violet eyes held an enchanting allure, shimmering with secrets as ancient as time itself.
“Do I know ye?”
He gave a half-hearted shrug. “With you, I can’t assume anything. I work for Elliott Fraser.”
A genuine, sunny smile spread across her face. “Charming. How is Elliott? It’s been a while since I saw him last.”
“He’s a little pissed right now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Elliott is such a mild-mannered Scotsman.”
Remy couldn’t help but grin, hating his lack of control. “Yeah, we’re talking about the same lovable guy.”
A waitress came to the table to take their order. Violet placed hers. “I’m not staying long. I’ll have coffee,” he said. “Black.”
Violet crossed her hands on the table. “What can I do for ye, Remy?”
If her goal had been to disarm him, she succeeded without raising a finger or breaking a sweat, and it was damn intimidating. “You know who I am.”
“Of course, I know ye. Ye’re James MacKlenna’s ten-times-great-nephew.”
He laughed. “Try again. There’s not a Scottish bone in my body. I’m French Arcadian.”
She flicked away his response as if it were a bothersome fly. “James MacKlenna had another illegitimate son whose mother was a Digby.”
“Aren’t you a Digby?”
“I am. Anyway, back to my story. When Gilbert was a young man, he and Thomas fought over a piece of land Thomas had given to Gilbert’s mother.
His mother bequeathed the land to Gilbert, but Thomas argued it reverted to him after her death.
Gilbert believed the court would side with MacKlenna, so he left Scotland for America. ”
“Get to the point, Violet.”
“On the ship, he met a French woman, Anne Marie Benoit, who was traveling to Acadia to live with her married sister and care for her young children. Gilbert fell in love with her. They married when they reached the peninsula, and Gilbert took her last name, becoming Gilbert Benoit.”
Remy crossed his arms, warning sensors electrifying the back of his neck. She was fucking with him, and he had an intense urge to seize her by the shoulders and shake her senseless, then shake her again for Elliott’s sake.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Meredith should have told ye the truth. That ye’re as much a MacKlenna as Elliott.”
Remy wasn’t in the mood to discuss his family tree or listen to Violet’s lies. “Why woan you see Archibald?”
Her eyes widened, and a small gasp escaped her lips. “Archibald’s here?”
“You knew that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Who were you looking for at Marshall Field’s Department Store?”
“Ye saw me?” Her face turned slightly pale.
“No, Clay did.”
“Clay?” Her voice was a careful mask of indifference—a performance Remy saw through to the calculating mind beneath it. He realized the depths of her manipulation were an endless and terrifying abyss. “Clay MacIntyre. Your son with Archibald,” he said.
“Did Archibald tell him that?” Her fierce gaze traveled over Remy’s face, and he wanted to squirm on the bench seat but kept his ass as still as possible.
“Some of it, but you told him the rest.”
“I see. It’s not true, ye know.”
He couldn’t believe his ears and almost laughed out loud at her audacity. “Clay knows the entire story about how you gave him up to stay in Scotland and raise your sister’s son, Robert, instead.”
Her eyes flared. “When did this conversation take place?”
“Another time and place.”
The waitress brought their coffee, and Violet slowly stirred cream into her cup. “Where is Archibald?”
“He went to a speakeasy.”
“I’m surprised he searched for me.” She sounded disappointed, but her hand pressed to her heart. She said something guttural in a language Remy didn’t recognize.
He was numb for an instant, blindsided by the glaring contradiction. He quickly understood that the cosmic traveler was utterly oblivious to the subtleties of human body language, leaving him frozen somewhere between shock and sheer amusement.
“Archibald tried to find you this afternoon, but he said you left town. I doan know where he looked or why he thought you left.”
“He didn’t try. If he had, he would have found me.”
Remy flat-out didn’t believe her. He turned his head to hide his disgust. “Fuck! Here comes Clay. Having a confrontation here could get us arrested.”
“Why would he want a confrontation?”
“Because you fucking abandoned him,” Remy said with a hard edge to his voice. “Look. We’re staying at Skye Marshall’s residence at 1521 North State Parkway. If you want to see Archibald and Clay, stop by.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“What the hell, Violet? Isn’t that why you’re here?” He pulled a few bills from his pocket, tossed them on the table, and walked out, meeting Clay coming in. “Get back in the car.”
“Why’d you stop here?”
“Get back in the car. We’ll talk about it when we get to Skye’s.” Remy jogged across the street, hoping Clay would follow him.
Clay grabbed Remy’s arm, forcing him to stop before he opened the car door. “Talk to me. Skye said you saw a woman. Was it Violet?”
“Get back in your car. We’ll talk about it later.” Remy jerked his arm free and opened the door. If Clay returned to the restaurant, Remy would go after him.
“What happened? Was it the woman Archibald mentioned?” Skye asked.
“Yeah.” Remy started the engine. When he realized Clay wasn’t going after Violet, he drove off. “The woman’s crazy, or else there were enormous gaps or lapses in her development.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like her teachers taught her to count to ten without the numbers three or seven.”
“How do you do that?”
Remy drew a four-second breath to quell the fury in his chest. “You can’t. You fake it and distract.” Why hadn’t anyone noticed this about her? Had Erik somehow covered up her deficiencies?
“Did you ask her to come by the house to see Archibald?”
“I gave her the address, but I wouldn’t plan on her coming by.”
They drove in silence, but Remy’s brain wouldn’t stop jabbering.
It occurred to him that he and Clay were more focused on Archibald and Violet than on Bastien and the Robertsons.
It was almost as if Archibald and Violet were conspiring to keep Clay and Remy from their mission. But why would they do that?
As Remy turned down the street toward Skye’s house, his instincts told him to put his problems, concerns, and issues on top of his problems-to-be-solved stack and focus on the beautiful, sexy woman beside him. He reached for her hand and kissed the back of her fingers.
“I’m sorry. My mind was on Violet. You now have all my attention.”
“I’m okay with that,” she said. “You have a family and close friends who are important to you. Just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I resent those who do.”
His heart panged with a hollow throb. “Isn’t there anyone?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I have the guys in the band, but most have wives and a child or two.”
“Where do you spend your holidays?”
“I’m usually working.”
He kissed her hand again, thinking of Christmases with the MacKlenna Clan. They were always loud and chaotic with so many kids and babies popping out one or two at a time.
“I’m sorry you lost your family. I’d be glad to share mine.”
She squeezed his hand. “You already are. I’ve met Clay, Marcelle, and Archibald, and soon I’ll meet the mysterious Violet, Bastien, and the Robertsons. That’s a large family.”
And we’ll all return to another time and leave you alone again.
Remy parked the car, and Clay pulled in behind him. “Looks like our guards went home.”
Skye gathered her purse and portfolio and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “I was getting used to them, but I’m not sorry they’re gone.”
Remy joined her, and they waited for Clay and Marcelle. “Capone’s men are gone,” Remy said, scanning the street.
“They probably thought we’d still be out partying,” Clay said as he and Marcelle approached. “They’ll be back.”
“I just hope they didn’t get Skye’s whisky.” Marcelle clapped a hand over her mouth. “Did anyone hear that?”
“I did,” a voice from the shadows replied.