He’s stuck. The bastard slid out to cut me, and he can’t get back in.
Soto’s finger flexed.
I got you, you son of a—
Soto fired as he fell. He landed hard on the ground and a second shot rang out, this one high off the mark.
Fumbling to find his flashlight, Soto pointed it at the man.
The first bullet had struck the man in the chest. His eyes were wide and unmoving, the knife still in his hand.
With his good foot, Soto kicked at the knife. It remained in the man’s hand, and he could see now it was taped there.
He turned himself into a killing machine.
Soto’s breath came in short staccato bursts. Even with his foe apparently dead, he could feel panic growing in his chest.
I have to get out of here.
Soto tried to hop back down the hall, but each bounce forced a cry of pain from his lips. He gritted through it as far as he could and then collapsed to his belly, crawling like an animal toward the door.
He pushed open the door and wormed his way into the light, every inch of progress darkened by the prospect of someone grabbing his feet from behind.
Flashing lights hurt Soto’s eyes as he crawled out. A blonde, ponytailed EMT hovered over the girl in the white dress. Another tech exiting the ambulance spotted Soto and strode in his direction.
“I got a cop!”
Time seemed to slow.
Petrossian stood from his crouched position at the head of the girl, his expression awash with concern, his gaze locked on Soto.
Soto heard the blonde EMT’s voice before his brain processed the words.
“There’s something strapped to her leg—”
Soto watched as Petrossian looked down at the kidnapped girl. His partner’s eyes popped wide and he thrust out a hand, as if to grab the EMT. As if to stop her.
“Don’t touch—”
Sensing something was wrong, the second EMT stopped his progress toward Soto and turned.
Soto covered his head as the world exploded with sound and light.
Chapter Three
Present Day
Catriona opened her eyes and for one sweet second, the day was like any other.
Then she moved.
Pain, some sharp, some dull, rippled through her body.
“Oh no.”
The words grunted from behind what felt like a football superglued to her face. She raised a hand, discomfort radiating from somewhere in her triceps, and traced the right side of her mouth with a fingertip.
Swollen.
She closed her eyes hoping to slip back to sleep for a week or two, but the darkness brought with it the image of the women who hadn’t lived to suffer the aches of their battle wounds. The women lying discarded in the belly of Volkov’s lair. The women she nearly joined. She’d escaped. If it hadn’t been for Kilty—
Catriona’s eyes opened again.
Nope. No more sleeping.
Sleep had been sweet, but now the demons in her head were awake. It would take a little time to push them into a closet, lock it and forget them.
Need to get up.
She swung a leg over the bed and nearly stepped on what she thought was a pile of clothes. As her eyes adjusted to the morning light filtering through her window, she realized half the pile was flesh-colored and all of it was lightly snoring.
Speak of the devil.
Kilty.
Brochan had apparently spent the night sleeping on the floor beside her bed like a protective dog, one arm tucked under a crushed pillow, the other splayed above his head, his great back muscles spanning farther than she dared try to step.
Catriona allowed her gaze to run down his spine to the pinch of his waist and his tight, muscular butt wrapped in the plaid boxers she’d bought for him in the hopes they would be enough to satisfy him on his tartan days—the days he insisted on wearing his kilt. That woolen thing was so old and worn she suspected it roamed the halls at night, sentient from the mingling of bacteria it had collected over the years. She’d hoped the nice, new boxers could help him with his homesickness for ancient Scotland and keep her from having to suffer the stares of strangers as she moved around the city with a kilt-wearing giant.
It’s nae a skirt.
She could hear his voice in her head and smiled before wincing at the pain in her lip.
Okay, so smiling hurts. Duly noted.
Broch’s tush seemed like the best place to cross the moat of a man, and she stepped over him to tiptoe out of the room, every step triggering a dull throb.
Aspirin. That would be a good place to start.
She made her way to the kitchen to find the bottle of pain relievers in the cupboard and shook three into her palm. She knew two was the recommended dosage, but if ever there was a three-aspirin day, it was today.
Catriona eased a bottle of water from her refrigerator and gingerly leaned her backside against the counter as she swallowed the pills. She closed her eyes and took as deep a breath as her aching ribs would allow.
“Wow. You look like you were hit by a train.”
Catriona’s eyes popped open as she dropped the half-finished water. The bottle landed right-side up and shot a tiny geyser against her shins. She made a fist with her liberated right hand, readying for attack.
Fiona laughed. “Jumpy much?”
A mass of dark hair and a familiar face stared at Catriona from her living room sofa. Releasing her curled fingers, she felt her fear morph into relief. She dropped her forehead into her hand to catch her breath and slow her pounding heart.
“You’d be jumpy too,” she mumbled. Catriona looked back at her surprise houseguest. “Why are
