Konrad frowned. “I can’t feed them.”
“Why?”
“The food was coming from the trailers outside.”
Catriona felt a blip of hope. “Any chance the caterers will figure out something is wrong and call the police?”
“No caterers. I just bought a bunch of food. I was going to send my assistant out to get it.”
“And your assistant is where? Outside?”
Konrad shook his head. “He’s in the party somewhere serving drinks.”
Catriona frowned. “Just out of curiosity, what did you do with all the money the studio gave you to cater this thing?”
Konrad glanced down at the body. “I hired the actors.”
At a loss for words, Catriona lifted her hands in the air and dropped them to her sides. “Give them booze then. Just keep the guests calm. Get your actors with the fake guns to stand in front of the doors. Don’t let anyone near either exit.”
Konrad and Mason nodded.
Catriona pointed her phone’s flashlight down the hall. “We’ll find the missing girls, get out and unchain the hall door from the outside. Mason, is there a trick to this maze? A path we should take?”
He shook his head. “It isn’t a true maze. It’s just a path in and out. Do you want me to lead you?”
“No. Can’t risk a studio asset. You guys go. But Mason, I do have one favor to ask.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let Konrad do anything else stupid.”
Mason looked at Konrad sheepishly.
Konrad stretched a hand toward the door and then paused. “Cat, I was thinking maybe we don’t have to tell Sean—”
Catriona closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. You know the studio’s going to have to fire you for this nightmare, right?”
Konrad pressed his lips together. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sean raced his Jaguar down the desert road toward Los Angeles. Something wasn’t right, not even counting the bullet-sized hole in his hood, left by Rune during his attempt to kill him. He hadn’t died, but it had taken weeks to return the Jag back in working order. Poor old girl still looked terrible.
Bastard. Just because I lopped off his arm…
His near-death experience, compliments of Rune, had sent Sean spinning into the past. Luther had brought him home. Luther, his best friend, who’d never mentioned anything about an ability to time travel, showed up in eighteenth-century Scotland as if they’d bumped into each other at the supermarket.
Not that he wasn’t grateful. The past held nothing for him anymore. Now his life was here in twenty-first century L.A., where he could protect his son and adopted daughter.
But Luther could have said something over the decades they’d been working together.
I should have known.
Luther had seemed unfazed when Sean admitted he remembered living in ancient Scotland. The big man didn’t blink when Rune came after them and then disappeared into thin air after Sean separated his arm from his shoulder with a sword.
Why did I think Luther was just really laid back? How stupid am I?
It didn’t matter anymore. Now, he could get some answers. Clearly, Luther was the only person who knew anything about Sean’s family’s strange relationship with time and space.
The dinner was supposed to clarify everything.
But Luther didn’t show up.
Luther would never blow off a dinner invite without good reason. And with Rune possibly on the loose, Sean couldn’t sit at home hoping for the best. Catriona and Broch were safe playing bodyguards at Konrad’s party, so when his tenth phone call to Luther went unanswered, he hopped in the Jag.
Forty minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of Luther’s modest bungalow not far from the Parasol Pictures studio. No lights shone inside. Sean glanced at his watch. It was a little after nine. It seemed early for his big friend to be in bed, but he himself seemed to go to bed a little earlier every year, and Luther was even older. Maybe a lot older. Who really knew how old his time-traveling friend might be?
Sean stepped out of the car and eased his door shut so as not to alert anyone lurking inside. He checked the front door and found it locked. Moving around the side, he made his way into the backyard.
The back kitchen door was wide open, motionless in the still night air.
That’s not good.
Sean pulled the gun from the holster he’d thrown on before leaving home and crept toward the entrance. The porch steps creaked beneath his feet. Sticking his head inside, he whispered.
“Luther?”
The house remained silent. He took another step inside.
“Luther?”
Luther’s house was old, built long before open concept living had become the norm. He didn’t see the mess in the living room until he’d cleared the kitchen.
The old oval coffee table had been flipped over. Glass lay shattered on the wide plank hardwood floors. A chair had been spun sideways from its usual position.
There’s been a struggle.
Flipping on the light switch, Sean saw no sign of blood.
That’s good, at least.
He checked the other two bedrooms and the bathroom, finding no sign of further disturbance but no Luther either.
Returning the way he came, Sean stood staring out the kitchen door into the back yard.
Luther and someone had struggled in the living room and then, what? Someone carried him out the back door? That would mean two people…
