The scalpel in Mason’s hand arced up, trying to slice her, even as she rose into the air. The whites of his eyes flashed as he strained to reach her. Before he could readjust, she landed hard on his wrist with her bare heel. Her other foot found the cement floor, providing her much-needed balance.
She heard the scalpel clatter to the ground.
Mason yelped in pain. She kicked him hard in the face and pointed her gun at him.
“Don’t move.”
Mason’s opposite hand whipped out of the hole and she nearly fired before seeing him grab for his already bleeding nose.
“Bitch!”
Catriona dipped down and pushed the scalpel far from his reach with her fingertips. He shifted, attempting to wriggle back into his hole.
“Oh hell no.”
Catriona dipped down to clock Mason on the side of his head with her gun. The blow stunned him long enough for her to grab him by the armpits and jerk him into the hall. She roared as pain exploded around her injured ribs.
Once Mason was out, she stepped away from him to point her pistol from a safe distance.
He scrambled to his feet and whirled to face her. Sneering, he wiped his bleeding nose on his arm.
“What now?” he asked.
She held him at gunpoint, her heart racing, a muscle in her back aching from pulling his weight through the hole with such a sudden and awkward yank.
“Your father was at the PGA Open when the fourth victim was kidnapped, killed and dumped.”
Mason grinned and leaned back as he put his hands on his hips. “You got it. No one else did. I’m impressed.”
“You used your father as a patsy. Was he ever involved?”
Mason laughed. “My father? He was a mouse.”
“And you’re a monster. Congratulations. Let’s go.”
Mason shook his head. “Where? I won’t lead you out of here.”
Catriona glanced behind her. The dark hallway continued. She realized her work was far from over. She’d have to lead Mason at gunpoint through the maze—hopefully, before another booby trap blew or the little creep scurried into another hidey-hole—
A cracking sound snapped behind Mason and he ducked, arms covering his head.
Catriona stepped back.
What now?
A black dress shoe thrust through the ceiling. It appeared and disappeared several times in rapid succession as large chunks of the plywood ceiling tore away and rained to the ground behind Mason.
Catriona smiled.
I know that shoe.
Broch dropped from the ceiling to the ground. No sooner did he hit the floor than he straightened and struck Mason full-fist in the face. Mason fell back, his head landing at Catriona’s feet.
She tapped his head with her bare toe. He didn’t move.
“He’s out.”
Broch grinned. “That wis mah plan.”
“Couldn’t fit through the vent so you went over the top?”
“Exactly. We shuid hae tried that sooner. Easy traivelin oan the framework up thare.”
He scooped up Mason and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Let’s git oot o’ ’ere.”
Chapter Twenty
Two of them.
Luther hadn’t seen that coming. He knew about Rune. That skinny freak was hard to miss. But this other dude—he was short, thick and fast. He’d been able to get to the second floor window in time to watch the two of them head down the street, the small one running, something in his hands, some kind of bow.
Is it a crossbow? It had been some time since Luther was last chased by a man with a crossbow.
Behind the squat man came Rune, striding like Ichabod Crane late for a date.
Luther patted his hip. Luckily, he’d still had his work keys in his pocket, which included the keys to the spillover warehouse. He’d locked the door behind him but if they were determined, it wouldn’t take them long to get through it. It would take them a while to find their way to the second floor, though. The warehouse was enormous, cluttered, and the door to the stairs that led to the second level was tucked behind a large papier-mâché dragon. Well, it was now. It had been the largest, lightest thing he could get his hands on and he’d been able to pull it across the entrance as he closed the door behind him.
There was a second staircase in the back, but they wouldn’t see that unless they circled the building and spotted it from outside.
Luther glanced down at his empty hands.
How could I not grab my gun?
It had all happened so fast. No sooner did he spot Rune than the little one was coming after him, running down his hallway like a bull. He must have slipped in through the bedroom window.
He’d had two choices. Run, or stop and fight the little bull, hoping his hands would be clear by the time Rune made it into the house.
Back at the house, the little man’s trajectory had led him directly between Luther’s position in the kitchen and where Rune would be entering through the unlocked front door. One last glance at the look on the little one’s face and Luther had known the kid wouldn’t go down easy. If Rune had a weapon he’d be a sitting duck.
So he ran. Burst through the back door and started running, cursing at himself for not anticipating the attack. He’d been late heading for Sean’s and his mind had been on that. He hated being late.
Luther leaned against the warehouse wall, panting. Across the room, he spotted a large wooden bar once used in a western shoot. The bar would make a good shield, and its central location made it an ideal spot to
