Chapter 35 Chicago, 1928—Remy
It was almost four o’clock.
Remy’s heels hammered a frantic tap against the hardwood. Beyond the window, his gaze scanned the alley’s shadows, while his fingers scraped a nervous beat across the polished windowsill. Where are you, Clay?
Clay had called—they planned to leave New York City at four.
Remy jerked his wrist up again, checking his watch for the fifth time in sixty seconds. They should come through the fog any minute now.
The thought of seeing Clay and Marcelle with Bastien sent a wave of raw relief through him—an understatement of the year. Splitting the team had gnawed at his nerves, and he’d have a lot to explain when they got home, which he hoped was soon.
He needed to get the hell out of Chicago and put light years between himself and Capone’s orbit.
Last night, Capone didn’t ask them to dinner.
He’d commanded it. Every muscle in Remy’s body had remained locked with fear for Skye.
Cold comfort lay in Capone’s newfound appreciation for Remy’s talent.
At least the immediate threat to his fingers had mercifully receded, which put him in a better position to protect her.
Remy’s eyes darted to his watch again. Waiting for travelers to emerge through the fog, not knowing if everyone would arrive, put a vice-like grip on his chest—a tension he hadn’t felt since he’d spent a day outside the wire during his deployment, a tension second only to facing down Capone over a plate of pasta.
“Remy,” Skye hollered. “Where are you?”
“Back here.” Remy hurried to reach her before she came to him. He didn’t want her near the window when Clay appeared out of the mist.
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Have you heard from Clay?”
He kissed her back, wishing for much more than a kiss. “They should be back soon.”
“Let me know. I’ll be in the music room, trying out a song I haven’t sung in a few years.”
He reluctantly let her go. “I’ll let you know when they get here.”
Within a minute, a jazzy tune wafted through the house.
It took him two seconds to recognize the jazz standard and an early Louis Armstrong recording.
If she planned to incorporate “Everybody Loves My Baby” into the setlist, he hoped Archibald would show up for a rehearsal.
But they hadn’t seen him since the show ended last night. Not unusual, but aggravating.
Remy returned to the window to see a black Chevrolet appear on Skye’s private drive. He walked outside and reached the vehicle just as Clay exited from the driver’s seat.
“Where’d that car come from—and where’s yours?”
Before Clay could answer, the back door opened, and a man in his fifties stepped out. Remy gave Clay a puzzled look.
“Have I changed that much?” the man asked.
Remy’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Tony!”
Tony threw fake punches, jabbing and weaving like a pro. “The one and only,” he grunted, dodging an imaginary hook.
Remy mirrored every move, and his feet danced the frantic Ali shuffle. With a final, playful lunge, he caught Tony in a rib-crushing bear hug, lifting him clear off the ground.
“You’ve aged well, old man. I want to hear all about the last thirty-two years.”
“I’ll tell you every bit, but first I want you to meet my pride and joy.”
A woman with fiery red hair, eyes the color of deep-sea glass, and flawless ivory skin emerged from the vehicle. With sculpted cheekbones that caught the light, she was Roisin McSorley’s undeniable shadow come to life.
“You must be Kaitlyn. You look exactly like your grandmother.”
She glanced up at him with adoring eyes. “You’re Remy! You’re just as I imagined.”
He opened his arms, and she collapsed against his chest. “You’re one of the biggest surprises I’ve ever had.”
“Get your goddamn hands off my girl,” Bastien said, voice crabby.
Remy kept one arm around Kaitlyn and hugged Bastien with the other. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“Thanks for coming after us.”
Remy’s gaze went from Tony to Kaitlyn to Bastien. “I’ve never been so happy to see old friends and a new one.” Remy tried to clear his throat. “Come on in. I already filled the decanter with whisky I saved for this reunion.”
“Where’s Skye?” Clay asked, glancing toward the house.
“In the music room.”
“What about Archibald?”
“I haven’t seen him since the show ended last night.”
“Will he be back?”
“You know your parents better than I do. Archibald said he’d be here. And before you ask, we haven’t seen Violet.”
Clay pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a ragged breath that spoke volumes. He swept a hand toward the door. “Marcelle, do you mind taking everyone inside? I need five minutes with Remy. But take your trumpet and saxophone inside. You might need them.”
“I get him next.” Bastien grabbed both instruments from the back of the car.
“Come on,” Marcelle said. “I’ll introduce you guys to Skye.”
As soon as the back door closed behind them, Remy said, “You did a damn good job, man. How’d you talk Tony into coming with you?”
“Tony wants to spend his remaining years with Kaitlyn, Roisin, and Phin. He’s going home with us.”
“Going home with us,” Remy echoed as if testing the words’ reality. “Are you serious? I thought he’d come for a visit.”
“Nope. Tony sold McSorley’s.”
Remy whipped his head around, eyes wide. “Fucking unbelievable. I hope he made a big profit.”
“He made more than a dollar. That’s all I know.”
Remy barked a laugh. “When Patrick hears this, he might sprint home.” Remy leaned against the Chevrolet’s cool fender, a slow grin creeping across his face as he stalked the back door with his eyes. Then, his gaze snapped away. “What do you think of Kaitlyn?”
Clay’s thumb and forefinger pinched the stubble of his jawline. “According to Sean, she’s a rock,” he finally said. “Sit her down at a negotiating table, and she’ll carve out an agreement within ten minutes. That makes her unshakable like Kenzie.”
Remy’s gaze slid back to the rear door. “How tight is Kaitlyn’s relationship with Bastien?”
Clay continued scratching his stubble. “You’d say something like, ‘Her silver Ford key fob rests on his oak nightstand next to the king-sized bed, and her Apple Watch is on a charger he bought just for her.’”
A shiver danced down Remy’s spine. “I’d never say that, but you would. I’d say, ‘She left her fucking keys on the floor in the hallway.’ So Bastien and Kaitlyn are tight?”
“At least on Bastien’s part,” Clay said. “It happened in a day, I think. Really fast. They’re sleeping together.”
“Bastien doesn’t move that fast anymore—emotionally, not physically,” Remy said.
“He moved fast enough this time,” Clay said. “What about you and Skye?”
Remy stood frozen in the driveway, the quiet house dragging him back to the nights he’d leaned against her bedroom doorframe, his heart thundering in his chest. Every nerve ending still remembered the press of Skye’s lips, the sharp intake of her breath.
He flinched, the warmth of her lips evaporating from his memory like steam. “It could have progressed, but I woan risk leaving her behind and pregnant. If I thought she’d go home with us, I wouldn’t wait.”
“Looks like Bastien is the only one who didn’t get the memo.”
“He’s having the only relationship in years that hasn’t ended in a dumpster fire within a few days.”
Clay elbowed Remy. “It’s only been four days. It could still be a dumpster fire.”
“Fuck! You didn’t have to say that.”
“And there’s one more thing—”
Remy covered his ears. “I doan want to hear it. You’ve got too many tabs open in your brain. So close ’em, and we’ll deal with it when we get home.”
“Can’t wait.” Clay’s brow furrowed, casting a shadow over his eyes. “We had a… we had a… Q&A with Erik last night.”
Remy flung his hands up, an eruption of pure disbelief. “What the hell?” he spat, the question a bitter taste in his mouth. “Why the fuck did you bury the lede?”
Clay shrugged. “I’ve done that twice lately.”
“Having Erik around is a live wire. All I can say is thank God he’s haunting New York, not Skye’s doorstep. Seeing him would shatter my control, and I’d try to punch the shit out of him. But I’d be the one bleeding on the ground.” Remy drew in a ragged breath. “We’ll never untie that Gordian knot.”
“Or cut through it,” Clay added.
Remy gazed at the ground, a futile attempt to shield his true feelings. The pretense shattered as he finally demanded, “What the fuck? What did Erik lie about this time?”
“He answered a lot of questions. I’ve got all the questions and answers in my journal, along with sketches. Marcelle helped me organize them today. The best way to understand it is to read the final version. But if you’re impatient, you can look through my journal and try to decipher my shorthand.”
“That woan get me anywhere. Just boil it down for me.”
“I understand Violet better and our role in this.”
“That’s good. What else?”
“I believe Erik told the truth this time, but he also said we’d never see him again. Then he showed up this morning to walk with Bastien.”
Remy bit his lower lip to keep from exploding, upsetting Skye’s neighbors and alarming Capone’s men. Although he almost didn’t care. After a ten-count, he asked, “Why?”
“I think Erik checked him out. He probably went to Iraq to watch the bombing to see how Bastien handled it. Erik told Bastien that he’d take him to the future to give him a permanent prosthesis with an unlimited power supply.”
“What’d he say?”
“Nothing. Bastien needs time to process.”
“I can’t tell Bastien to stay away from the asshole if Erik made an offer like that. He needs to form his own opinion. He can listen to ours, but ultimately, it’s Bastien’s decision.”
“I don’t know how he can turn down the offer, especially after the problems he had with his leg this week.”
“I’ll talk to him later about it,” Remy said. “Let’s go inside.”
Within moments of entering the house, a wave of cackling engulfed Remy. “What the hell’s so funny?” he shouted over the din as he strode into the living room.