Chapter 19 #2
“Right.” After an easy minute, Clay said, “When we go home, you’ll have to visit Mallory Plantation.
The MacKlennas open their arms, their hearts, their homes, and there’s always music.
They’re serious-minded people, but when they gather for cookouts, the stress melts away.
They have singing competitions, usually between the Irishmen and Scotsmen.
The kids get involved, and it’s the most fun I’ve ever had. ”
“For people who confront danger, having an outlet like that must balance it all.”
“Play hard and fight hard.”
“Do you enjoy living in that world?”
“I never really thought about it.” He traced the delicate curve of her jaw, his fingers brushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. A thousand unspoken sentiments pulsed in the space between them. He couldn’t decipher every message, but he felt the weight settle deep in his chest.
“When I was with Archibald, we traveled, discussed literature, explored the world, and debated the pros and cons of every issue. We lived as if we had to do it all immediately and with maximum effort. At home, my parents both worked, so they left me to do whatever I wanted. They trusted me not to get into trouble. I traveled around the city and imagined I was solving crimes, which led me to become an investigative journalist. Do I enjoy living in that world? Probably.”
“I’m the opposite. I’ve always preferred to be cautious, avoiding ventures that are too far-reaching and unnecessary risks. But I’ve missed so much because of fear, and I don’t want to live that way anymore. Depending on the destination, I would go on another adventure.”
“Remy has been on a dozen trips from 900 AD to 1928. And Archibald has been to the past and way into the future. I would go again, but I want to develop my fighting skills first. I’m not as prepared as the clan warriors, including the women.”
“That’s a good idea. I never want to be unprepared again.
Thank goodness Bastien is a trained soldier.
He’s all alone and dealing with his prosthesis.
His PTSD could be a real problem for him.
Do you think there’s any chance he isn’t on our time?
Since he went to a different city, could he have also gone to a different decade or century? ”
“The brooch brought us here. We just have to find him. He should have arrived on the same day and at the same time as you. But honestly, anything could happen when the brooches are involved.”
“‘That’s encouraging.’ Her tone was dry enough to sting.”
“There was even a scary moment here in the park.”
She covered her ears. “I don’t want to hear it.” Then she dropped her hands. “Might as well tell me. What happened?”
“In 1895, the MacKlenna Clan had several members in town to rescue Aislinn Kennedy. She and Kenzie McBain were bicycling through the park when a bad guy swooped Aislinn up and carried her off on horseback.”
“Oh, dear God.”
“She fought like hell. Tavis rescued her, but it was a scary experience. It would’ve been hard to find her if they’d taken her out of the park.”
“Couldn’t they do what we did and ask the brooch to take them to Aislinn?”
“Nobody knew the brooch could do that until later.”
“I’m glad they figured it out, or we could’ve spent weeks looking for Bastien in Chicago.”
“We wouldn’t have waited that long. We would’ve gone home and asked the brooch to take us to him.”
“Why didn’t we?”
“Because we thought we could easily find him in Chicago.” Clay stood and reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s complete the circle and head back.”
They strolled, listening to the dried leaves skittering across their path, crunching beneath their feet.
“Do you think he’s scared?”
“Bastien?” Clay shook his head. “I don’t know him, but I know you, and I doubt you’re that different. Were you scared?”
“When the shooting happened, yeah, but after I met Skye, I wasn’t. But we don’t know if Bastien met someone helpful, like I did. My biggest worry is his leg.”
“The thing about his leg is that it didn’t happen recently. He’s been living with the amputation for several years. He’ll cope with it. Trust him.”
They reached Fifth Avenue and were waiting to cross the street when a taxi pulled to the curb about twenty feet away, and a man opened the door and climbed in.
Marcelle pointed. “Clay, that’s Bastien!
” She ran toward the taxi, screaming, “Stop! Wait!” The driver pulled out into traffic, but that didn’t stop her.
She kept running along the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians and yelling, “Bastien! Bastien!” The taxi picked up speed and was now too far ahead.
She stopped, put her hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath.
Clay kept running, his hand out, ready to grab the door handle, but when he reached the next stoplight, it changed to green, and the taxi peeled away.
He kicked pebbles out into the street, then trash, then sticks.
“Fuck!” With nothing left to kick, he turned in circles, running his hands through his hair.
“Goddamnit!” Now, he had to face Marcelle with the bad news.
He turned back to connect with her and trudged ahead.
She met him halfway, wearing a pained expression, arms folded. “We were so close.”
Clay stood there with his hands on his hips, wanting to console her but not knowing if she wanted him to or even what she needed. “I don’t believe it was Bastien. There was no way he couldn’t have heard us screaming his name. The man in the taxi never once looked back.”
“He couldn’t hear us.”
“The window was open. When someone yells a name, most people turn around, even if it isn’t their name.”
“There was a lot of noise. Maybe he was lost in thought.” She brushed past Clay and kept walking. “I know it was Bastien. I’m going to the next block. Maybe he got out of the taxi.”
“Do you think he’s standing there waiting for you?”
She pivoted and squared off against Clay, invading his space. “I don’t know. Maybe he is. I have to go see.”
He threw up his hands. “Okay.”
Clay replayed the scene in his mind, watching the man hail the cab and climb into it. A chill slid over him. The man was Bastien’s doppelg?nger, but wasn’t Marcelle’s brother. Clay would bet his life on it.
“That man had two functioning legs. I watched him step off the curb without favoring either. If the battery was winding down or dead, he would have had problems.”
Marcelle continued pursuing her brother. “He must have charged it.”
Clay stood between two equally difficult options. He could either force the truth on her—risking her anger—or he could bite his tongue and let her grapple with disappointment alone. He chose the latter, opting to trail behind her in silence and leave the next move entirely up to her.
She edged past slower pedestrians, stalked the fastest walkers, and glared at every taxi. Clay dogged her steps to 59th Street, where her pace slowed, and she came to a full stop, hanging her head.
“I won’t find him this way.”
Clay put his arm around Marcelle’s trembling shoulders.
“I’m so sorry. I wish that man had been Bastien, but don’t give up hope.
We’re going to find him. Tomorrow, we’ll buy an ad in The New York Times.
Tonight, we’re going to one of the hottest jazz clubs in the city.
Maybe we’ll find him there, or someone might’ve heard of him. ”
“I doubt… doubt it.” The catch in her throat gave Clay a true glimpse into her actual state, revealing it was far worse than whatever she said.
“You’ve been so positive all along. Don’t give up hope now.”
She held up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I was this close to catching the man getting into the cab.”
“Would you feel better if you’d caught him and discovered it wasn’t Bastien, or would you rather still believe it was him and you missed your chance?”
“I don’t know, Clay. I’m just sick with worry.” She gazed across 59th Street, sighing. “I want to stand here and scream his name, but I’d probably just get arrested.”
“It won’t be the first time a New York cop has arrested a clan traveler in or around Central Park. It turned out okay, but it was a nasty experience.”
A smile flashed and vanished instantly. “Good try, but it won’t distract me right now.” They crossed Fifth Avenue and headed back to the mansion. “Tell me the truth. What do you think?” Marcelle asked.
“About the man?”
She gave a slow, deliberate nod.
“I think he resembled Bastien and could even be his doppelg?nger. But there was no hesitation in his movements.”
“You’re wrong. It happened too fast for you to be that certain.”
“You ask my opinion and then tell me I’m wrong.
Why bother?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, considering her words.
He didn’t want to fight with her or discourage her.
Though he had no siblings, Remy was like a brother, and if he went missing, Clay would be just as distraught.
“Look, Celle,” he said, his voice firming.
“I recall events with almost perfect accuracy. If that man had a disability, I would’ve seen and remembered it. ”
“No one even notices Bastien has a prosthesis unless he wears his blade.”
Clay took a few slow breaths and turned his impatience into the cool stillness of a patient man. It wasn’t easy. “He’s not wearing a blade. He’s wearing a battery-operated prosthesis that’s nearing the end of its charge.”
She made a face, her distaste for the certainty in his voice clear, and silently walked to the next block before speaking again. “I’m taking my fear out on you, and I’m sorry.”
“After what happened to Bastien in Afghanistan, your fear is understandable.”
Worry lines framed her mouth and tugged at her eyes. “And my behavior? Is it understandable?”
“Since I never had sisters or a serious girlfriend, I’m a little perplexed about what I should do to help you.”
“No serious relationship?” she asked instead of suggesting what he could do.