Page 74 of Broken Moon

“Shit,” I whispered. The man insidewas likely already aware we were there, and we had no time. For all I knew hehad a plan in place in case of discovery. He might kill the girl. My heartpounded in my chest, and without another word, I sprinted toward the house.

I heard Rick bite off a curse,then he started after me. He didn’t follow me, though—he ran around the side ofthe house and to the back. If Martin tried to escape through the back door, thedetective would be waiting.

In the distance, I heard thefirst sirens wailing. Help was coming.

I grabbed a heavy, hideousgargoyle statue off the stoop and slammed it against the window, and barelyfelt glass shards scraping my flesh as I went in. I was surprised that smashingthe window hadn’t set off the security alarm, but more than likely, Martin hadtaken pains to make sure no attention would be drawn to him or his house.

I wasn’t being careful orquiet—we were past that now. I raced through a small, dark, and unclutteredliving room, intent upon finding the basement stairs, and though I halfexpected it, when I came face to face with Martin—and his gun—I was just alittle surprised.

He was a small man, slender andunremarkable with short, dark hair, maybe fifty years old. He lookedcompletely…average. There was nothing about him that suggested he might abduct,torture, and kill women.

In the semidarkness, his facewas shadowed, but his scent was overwhelming to my wolf’s nose. I could smellthe rot inside him. He was dying, and he probably didn’t even know it.

“Who are you?” he asked, hisvoice low and somehow greasy. “Why are you in my home?”

“You have a girl in yourbasement,” I said, noting the way his nostrils flared and his eyes widened. “Inabout five minutes, this town is going to be crawling with cops. It’s over,Martin. Drop the gun.”

He licked his lips. “How didyou know?”

He didn’t sound particularlyscared, merely curious. He’d likely prepared for this eventuality—or maybe hewas just incapable of feeling anything but the pleasure of hurting a helplessperson. My fingers brushed the handle of my sheathed blade. “Drop the gun,Martin.”

He took a step forward, gunaimed squarely at my chest. “Just tell me. Who are you? How are you here? Imust know.”

“Drop the gun. Last chance.” Iseriously didn’t want to kill the asshole. I mean, I did, but I didn’t want themess that would bring. I wanted to stay out of the public eye, and this casewas about to go very high profile.

He sighed. “Everyone wants tokeep their secrets. I understand.”

Then he shot me.

At first I felt nothing butpressure and numbness, but then it felt like someone had set my shoulder onfire. I lunged at him, but that’s as far as I got before the detective rushedthe bastard and slammed his gun against Martin’s temple so hard the killersimply…crumpled. Silently and almost gently, he dropped to the floor.

Rick pulled his cuffs andrestrained him, then hurried to me. I held up my right hand, but since I’d beenshot in the left shoulder, I didn’t move that arm much. “I’m okay. We need tofind the girl.”

But suddenly, it was as thoughthe night outside exploded with noise—sirens wailing, engines roaring, andthen, gunshots and shouts and screams. Law enforcement and the EMTs hadarrived, and the gangs of the Pocket were taking offence.

Then someone began pounding onthe front door.

“Handle them,” I said, as I ranto find the basement. “Let them know I’m in the basement with the victim.”

“Kait—”

But I held my hand over thegunshot wound—a wound my body was already working to heal—and ran toward theback of the house. I found the basement door twenty seconds later. It waslatched, but required no key and I wasn’t forced to kick the door in.

He’d been sure that she wasn’tgoing to climb the stairs and escape, so he hadn’t even bothered securing thelatch. I jerked the door open so hard it slammed against the wall, and then Irushed down the stairs.

They weren’t creepy, woodenstairs that led down into total darkness. They were carpeted and clean, andthere was a light switch at the landing. I flipped it on, then ran down thestairs. “Marcy,” I called. “My name is Kait Silver. You’re safe.” If she couldhear me, I wanted to reassure her that I wasn’t her tormentor.

I leaped down the stairs,turned the corner, and slammed into something that felt like a brick wall andfor a second, I was blind. My sight was suddenly there and I understood that Ihadn’t slammed into anything—someone was beating me in the face and head withwhat was maybe a heavy iron pipe.

A man.

Martin wasn’t working alone inthe abductions. He had a friend, and that friend was currently trying his bestto kill me. I felt something pop inside my head, heard something crack, maybemy ribs, my nose, something. Everything hurt and my world was chaotic and Icouldn’t seem to get my feet under me.

The basement was full ofdisorienting sights and sounds—buzzes and whistles, I thought—andexcruciatingly bright lights that flashed so fast I could barely follow them.

“Calm down, Princess. Useyour noodle, girl. On your feet. Fuck them up. Fuck themup, Kait.”

I closed my eyes, slowed mybreathing, and got to my knees. I felt the pipe coming, felt the air from it,and I shot my hand up and grabbed it. I swung and felt the blow land, and myaim was true. He fell, my attacker, but that wasn’t good enough. I lifted thepipe and hit him again, and again, and again.