Chapter 36 Chicago, 1928—Remy #4
She tilted her head, sending her hair swinging against her chin.
“When I was a child, my mother read Mark Twain’s novel A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and H.G.
Wells’s novel The Time Machine several times to me.
She also took me to see The Ghost of Slumber Mountain, even though that’s not so much time travel as a dream.
I wondered then where I would go if I could travel through time.
And now you’re telling me it’s possible. And that you’re a traveler.”
“Yes.” Remy couldn’t tell which version of Skye was talking. The one in shock, or this version that seemed very accepting of time travel.
“Are your friends all time travelers?”
“Clay, Bastien, Marcelle, and Archibald are all from the twenty-first century. Tony and Kaitlyn are your contemporaries. But Tony’s mother and brother moved to the twenty-first century a few months ago. And now, he and Kaitlyn want to join them.”
“And Violet?”
“She’s from the future, but nobody knows which century.”
“How come?”
“Who knows?” He threw a hand up in a gesture of frustration. “She woan tell us.”
Skye sipped her drink, and when she put it down, she asked, her voice low and awed, “What’s it like in your time? Is it different?”
“Life has evolved. It’s simpler in some ways and more complicated in others. Your house is still there. But Marcelle kind of gave that away.”
Skye’s hand flew to her mouth. “She really has been to a fundraiser here in her time?”
“That’s what she said. As for what it’s like, you’re about to find out because you can’t stay here.”
“I’ll go to California.”
“You could. But if you sing in a club, Capone will hear about it. You’re in danger wherever you go, unless you go home with me.”
“To the twenty-first century? I don’t know if I’m ready to go there, but I realize I can’t stay here. When Capone discovers we’re gone, he’ll search the city like a crazed man. Having his property stolen will make his anger ten times worse. Did we have to take the safe?”
“There’s a treasure in there. Capone wouldn’t have kept it in the vault if it weren’t full of property worth millions. You’re giving up your life here. Let him pay for your new one.”
“But we’re stealing it.”
“Isn’t that how he accumulated his fortune?”
“Because he’s a thief, it’s okay to be a thief?”
“That thief probably intended to leave us in the vault until we were dead. He’s responsible for killing over two hundred people and stealing from God knows how many others. He doesn’t get any sympathy from me, especially since he tried to cut off my fingers and threatened to kill my girl.”
“You’re right.” Skye shot her second drink and held her glass out for another refill. “What happens next?”
This time, he gave her a shorter pour. “You need to pack a bag with your important papers, jewelry, stocks, pictures, anything and everything personal and irreplaceable. Doan worry about clothes.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’ll be out of style and you woan want to wear them.”
“I guess I’ll need money to build a new wardrobe.” She glanced at the safe. “And I’ll enjoy spending Capone’s money. But where will I live?”
“You’ll have several choices and a lot of women around who will care about you and help you adjust.”
“Where will you be?”
He swirled her hair behind her ear so he could stroke the side of her face. “Wherever you are and wherever you want me to be.”
“So, we can stay together?”
“If that’s what you want. If you ask me what I want, I want to stick to you like glue.”
She let out a soft laugh. “I want to be with you, too.” She finished her drink and stood. “I should go get ready. How much time do we have?”
“No way to know, but right now, I’m concerned about the others. If Capone’s men followed them from the Sunset Café, Capone would know where they were. He might try to grab them to corroborate our story.”
The front door burst open and crashed into the wall, sounding like a gunshot.
Remy, a vise grip on Skye’s arm, hauled her across the room to the side window and thrust it open.
He made a silent promise. He’d force her through the narrow gap if Capone’s men flooded the room, guns cocked and pissed. Adrenaline surged through him.
The door clicked shut, and laughter washed over them from the foyer.
“Fuck!” Remy escorted a trembling Skye back to the sofa, but she didn’t sit down.
“Anybody want another drink before they go to bed?” Clay asked.
“I’ll take a short pour,” Bastien said.
Clay entered the living room and stopped short. “What the hell is that?”
Remy did Bastien’s pour himself. It was a good one. He’d need it. “That, my friend, is Capone’s safe. We stole it from his vault.”
“Holy shit,” Bastien said. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here before he comes in with an army of men. It could be worse than the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.”
“I agree. We need to leave town immediately,” Remy said. “Clay, you take Marcelle, Bastien, Kaitlyn, and Tony in the car and use your brooch to go home.”
“What about the Robertsons?” Clay asked.
“Another team will have to come back for them.”
“When can I come back to my house?” Skye asked.
Remy couldn’t tell her she’d probably never return, which wasn’t fair to her, but this wasn’t the time to argue. Right now, she had to get the hell out of Chicago.
“Capone gets arrested next year,” Marcelle said. “Frank Nitti takes over his operation when he goes to jail, but he’ll keep up Capone’s search for you. It won’t be safe to come back to Chicago for several years.”
Skye’s eyes went wide as she moved one hand over her heart. “Several years? My singing career will be over by then.” She plopped down on the sofa.
“Your career will be different, but it woan be over,” Remy said.
“Can Anita go with me? She won’t be safe here,” Skye said.
“Of course she can,” Remy said. “Why doan you go upstairs and explain to her what we’re doing? And pack a bag while you’re up there.”
She made an exasperated sound and snapped her hands on her hips. “How can I tell her? I don’t even know what we’re doing.”
Calmly, as if talking to the four-year-olds at home, Remy said, “We’re going to safety because Al Capone wants to kill us, and we woan come back for several years.”
“I got that part,” she bit out. “It’s the how part that confuses me.”
Marcelle went to Skye and took her hands. “The night we met, I’d just come through the fog. I didn’t know where I was or what had happened to Bastien. You saved my life. Now it’s our turn to help you. You also said your parents told you that a stranger might show up and change your life.”
Skye’s eyes met Remy’s.
A smile spread across his face as he looked at her. “Go get Anita, and both of you pack a bag with your irreplaceable items.”
“What about Archibald?” Bastien asked, his gaze tracking Skye as she disappeared up the stairs.
“He’s dead in our time,” Clay said. “He can’t go with us.”
Bastien frowned. “How can he be dead and still be here?”
“We doan know,” Remy said, shaking his head.
“Maybe Violet took him to the future to save him,” Bastien offered.
Clay’s jaw tightened. “But if she saved him, he’d be alive in our time—and he’s not.”
Remy glanced toward the hall, already shifting into action. “Don’t forget your Martin guitar and Marcelle’s trumpet. Those are too valuable to leave behind.”
The front door burst open.
“Clay!” Archibald staggered inside, one hand pressed to his side. “Help—I’m shot.”
Remy reached him first, catching his arm and guiding him to a chair. “Easy. Sit.” His eyes swept Archibald’s shirt, already darkening. “Who shot you?”
Archibald sucked in a ragged breath. “I swear I didn’t know she was married.”
Remy didn’t comment. He stripped off Archibald’s jacket and tore open the front of his shirt, pressing the fabric hard against the wound. “I need my medical bag,” he said, assessing the damage.
“I’ll get it,” Clay said, already running up the stairs.
Remy examined the bullet hole and Archibald’s back. “It went straight through. That’s good, and it’s a good thing you’re here. Capone’s looking for all of us. We’ve got to get out of town. We’ll take you with us.”
“I’m dead in yer time.”
“Are you?” Remy asked, trying to keep his frustration at bay. This dead-or-not-dead bullshit was getting old. “Clay never saw your body, and Violet has a history of saving people.”
Clay returned with Remy’s bag. “Do you have pain meds in there?”
“Yeah. Archibald, do you want something for pain?”
“I don’t want to be groggy right now. I can wait.”
Remy checked the time. “You could be in surgery within fifteen minutes. Are you okay with that?”
Archibald nodded.
“I’ll clean and wrap the wounds. We’ll take you home, and Charlotte can patch you up.” Remy started cleaning Archibald’s wounds. “Clay, get your group together and get the hell out of here.”
“Is Archibald going to be okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure you want to split up the team?” Clay asked.
“What the fuck? We already did that.”
“Oh, yeah.” Clay grabbed Marcelle’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before Capone comes in with guns blazing.”
“I don’t want to see that again,” Marcelle said. “That’s where this movie started.”
“Will you be okay?” Kaitlyn asked Remy.
“I’ll be fine, but I need to know you all are safe. Go.”
Kaitlyn laced her fingers with Bastien’s, and they hurried toward the back of the house.
Skye and Anita came running down the stairs. “Anita’s going to her sister’s house a couple of blocks away.”
“Okay, be careful.” Remy wished she’d come with them, but there was no time to change her mind. He tempered the frantic pulse in his throat along with his breathing as he cleaned Archibald’s jagged wounds, his fingers working quickly and deliberately to staunch the flow of blood.
“What do you want me to do?” Skye asked.
“I need a rope. Do you have one?”
She set a leather bag down next to his duffel. “There’s one in the storage room behind the kitchen. I’ll get it.”
“After you do that, make sure Clay’s car is gone. I doan want to leave if he’s having a problem.” He wrapped Archibald’s shoulder and put his arm in a sling. “How’s it feeling?”
“Tolerable.”
“Just hang on a little longer.” Remy put all the bloody gauze, sterile wipes, and plastic wrappers from the makeshift field surgery back into his canvas duffel. Then he helped Archibald to his feet, and together they hobbled to the safe.
Archibald’s breathing was shallower now. “Leave me here, Remy. I can go back to Buffalo.”
“It’ll take you too long to get to the hospital, and a gunshot will make the red tape a nightmare. Charlotte can take care of you at the plantation. As soon as you can travel again, you can come back here and then return to Buffalo.”
Skye returned, panting. “Here’s the rope.”
“What about the car?”
“I watched it vanish. Then I grabbed a folder of all my important documents. What can I do now?”
“I’m going to tie us to the safe.” Remy picked up his duffel and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Give me your documents. I’ll put them in my bag.”
“What about mine?” Skye asked.
“Hold on to it. I’ll run the rope through the handle. We need to put our backs to the safe, and then I’ll tie the rope around us. Here, hold on to this end.”
Clutching one end of the stiff rope, Skye watched as he snaked the other around the safe, lashing it through her bag’s handle.
He cinched the coarse fiber until all three—her bag, the safe, and them—were linked.
Only when the knots were secured did he open the brooch, the faint click echoing in the tense silence.
“This is going to be a fast ride through the vortex.”
“Do you want us to repeat a saying like last time?” Skye asked.
“Yes.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “Repeat, Take us to Mallory Plantation.”
She searched his face, anxious dark-brown eyes wide. “Where is that?”
“Richmond, Virginia.”
Her brows knit as she processed it. “Is that where Clay is taking everybody in the car?”
“Yes, you’ll see them there.” He took one last look at Archibald’s wound.
A crimson stain seeped through the bandage.
Then his eyes locked on Skye. Her heart was probably playing contact sports with her ribs.
But when showtime arrived, she was the ultimate professional.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss on her lips.
“It’s show time.”
She managed a tense smile, fingers tightening around his. “Will we be in the fog longer than last time?”
“A little longer.” He shifted closer, bracing himself. “And it’ll be bumpy. Twisty.”
She drew a steadying breath. “But we’ll be together.”
“Always.” He said it without hesitation—and couldn’t bring himself to add what he feared.
Her gaze flicked away, then back. “What if we get separated,” she asked quietly, “like Marcelle and Bastien?”
He should have known she would think of that. He swallowed hard, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “If we do, you’ll land somewhere on the plantation. The security guards will find you immediately. Tell them to take you to Elliott or David, and that they’re expecting you.”
“Elliott or David. Got it!”
Tires shrieked against the asphalt, and car doors slammed.
With a desperate whisper, Remy began the chant, and a thick fog slowly billowed around them, obscuring them from view. Just as the mist fully enveloped them, a hail of gunfire erupted, ripping through the walls and windows before glancing off the cast-iron safe.