Did someone find a way to subdue him without spilling a drop of blood?
Doubtful.
He eyed the open door and noticed the hinges seemed worse for wear, as if someone had nearly jerked them out of the frame.
Maybe it wasn’t a struggle.
Maybe it was a chase.
Sean stood on the small back porch, scanning his surroundings. Luther’s home sat flanked by other, nearly identical homes, all separated by fences of various heights and types.
If someone had been after Luther and he’d chosen to run rather than fight, where would he go?
Sean moved to the fence line and spotted the indentation of a large bare foot in the dirt of Luther’s garden. The enormous print had to belong to Luther. Nearby, he saw another print, this one a shoe, something between a sneaker and a dress shoe. He tried to remember what Rune had worn on his feet the last time he saw him, but came up with nothing.
This is where Catriona’s memory trick would come in handy.
The last time he saw Rune, Sean was trying to run the ghoul down with his Jag as the bastard shot at him. Checking out Rune’s footwear had been low on his priority list.
Tucking his gun back into his holster, Sean mounted the fence and hopped to the other side, the neighbor’s back porch light providing enough illumination for him to see.
He landed and crouched to study the earth. The ground was too dry to find good prints, but he spotted an area that appeared more trampled than the others.
This way.
Sean continued in that direction until he reached the street and then put his hands on his hips.
Cement made tracking considerably harder.
Did Luther cross the street or run down the sidewalk?
He glanced to the right and spotted a large white building several blocks away.
Ah ha.
He knew that building, and Luther did too. Parasol Pictures rented it as a warehouse for storing spare movie set props.
Luther would have run there. He knew the passcode to get in and he knew the layout of the building. It would make a great place to hide.
Sean broke into a jog.
Chapter Fourteen
Alone in the hall, Broch and Catriona stared down at the dead man lying beneath the beam of her phone flashlight. Catriona grumbled about the limited brain power of studio people.
Broch rubbed his head, mussing whatever had remained of his slicked-back ‘do.
“The evening’s gaun exactly as ah expected. Ye?”
Catriona chuckled. “We’ve got to get after those girls, but help me check this guy’s pockets. He might have a key for unlocking whatever he’s used to seal the front door.”
They felt through the man’s flak jacket and pants until Broch produced a small silver key.
“Git it.”
“Good.” She replaced her gun in its clandestine holster and tossed her purse on the floor far enough from the body to avoid any blood. “We better start before my phone battery dies.”
Catriona pointed her flashlight down the hall and they left the low din of the party behind, careful to avoid the reaching razor wire.
Twenty feet in, they heard a woman’s muffled scream and both froze, waiting to catch sound of another in the hopes it would give them a direction, but no other calls came.
Catriona started forward again and Broch reached out to grab her arm.
“Mind yerself. Be wise. It cuid be a trap.”
Catriona nodded. Kilty had a good point. Mason didn’t think his father’s place had much in the way of hidden pitfalls, but maybe this new ‘Pinky’ had his own unique vision.
Following a hard right turn, Catriona noticed a break in the razor wire. She ran her flashlight’s beam across the wall and found a round hole where a doorknob might be. She motioned to it.
“It’s some kind of pocket-door, though I don’t know if putting our fingers in the hole to slide it open seems like a great idea.”
“Ah’d keep yer haunds close by,” agreed Broch. “Staun back.”
Catriona stepped back to make way. She didn’t know how easily the door would slide, and Broch had a considerable strength advantage. It would be better to open the door quickly, and not be caught struggling with it.
On a quiet three count, Broch heaved the door to the side and they both spun away from the entrance, so as not to be sitting ducks for whatever lay waiting inside.
All remained quiet.
They craned their necks to peer into the room.
Inside, beneath the eerie dull glow of a red, bare bulb, a woman in a sparkly silver dress lay on a cot against the wall.
Catriona hustled to the woman’s side. The victim’s right hand hovered in the air as if pinned there, and as she knelt beside the cot, Catriona saw the woman’s wrist hung ensnared by a cuff bolted to the wall. She’d been gagged. Her eyes were closed and her body still.
Too still.
As Catriona’s fingers touched the edge of the cot she felt something wet and sticky. Raising her phone, she squinted at what she’d taken to be a thin scarlet choker around the woman’s throat. Her shoulders slumped.
“Her throat’s been cut.”
Broch looped his fingers around the woman’s left wrist and held up her hand. Her pinky was missing.
Catriona stood. “She’s blonde. Jessica Scout has dark hair, so this has to be the guest she took.”
Broch grunted. “That means Jessica cuid be in oan it.”
“Not out of the realm of possibility. I don’t know much about Jessica. She’s new to the studio with this project.”
Another scream rang out somewhere deep in the warehouse and Catriona jumped, goosebumps running down the length of her arms.
Get it together, Cat.
She set her jaw and did her best to appear calm.
