Page 67 of Silver Claw

“I found your cat. She was sitting on your porch, poor thing, looking quite hungry and scratched up.”

“You can have the cat,” he said. “I don’t want it.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay. I’ll need her carrier, please.”

He pushed the door closed and went back in to grab her carrier, probably thinking it was just going to be that easy. When he returned with the carrier, I took it and set it in the doorway so he couldn’t close the door.

The cat was pushing herself away from him and as far against me as she could go, and my anger grew. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I told her, then urged her gently into the carrier. I opened the small container of food and put it in there with her, but I wasn’t sure she’d eat while she was so obviously frightened.

I slid the carrier to the side. “I’ll be back for you in just a minute,” I told her.

He frowned. “You can’t leave it there.”

I stood. “It’s just for a moment. I’m going up to the attic to get Emma first.”

He gaped at me. “What?” Then he immediately tried to slam the door in my face.

But that wasn’t happening. And when he figured out I was coming in after him, he did what he liked to do to women. He attempted to beat me up. To control me.

I let him get in two good punches.

And that gave me my excuse to kick his ass.

“Kait,” Remy called, coming into the room. “Smile for the camera.”

He took a couple of quick pictures of my bloody face, just in case, and Zach came in through the front door with the cat carrier and gave me a wave as he went on through the room and out of sight.

Then Remy put his hands in his pockets, whistling as he walked around the room, looking at the knickknacks, the books, the paintings.

I didn’t want to knock Lee Shope unconscious, so before I was quite ready to stop pummeling him, I shoved him from the room. “Take me to her,” I told him, “or I will really hurt you.”

Still, he resisted. He knew if we found what was in the attic, it was the end of him. And he knew we would find the attic, but maybe he held out some hope that he’d escape. People had strange thoughts when they were stressed.

He reverse headbutted me, breaking my nose and splattering more blood. My rage exploded then, and I turned him around, slammed him against the wall, and let my wolf come out to play—but only for a second. Only enough for him to see rage, fangs, and my wolf’s eyes. I roared into his face, and he screamed like a bobcat during mating season.

Then he passed out.

“Dammit,” I said, forcing myself to calm down. “Remy, restrain this useless bastard. I’m going to take Emma her cat.”

I let Shope fall to the floor and turned to find the ghost standing beside me, insubstantial and fading, but smiling. “I’ll show you the way,” she said.

“You don’t need help crossing over, do you?” I asked.

She shook her head and faded a little more. “Come.”

I lifted the cat out of her carrier and followed the ghost all the way to the attic.

The house itself was pleasant. Nice furniture, clean, perfect wood floors. Apparently Lee was a bit of a neat freak.

The attic, though, was a whole different story.

There were narrow, somewhat rickety stairs leading up, and when I pushed open the door, I saw none of the sterility of the house. The attic was packed, dusty, depressing.

And way back in the large room was a bed. The frame was metal, and Lee had chained Emma to it with a cuff around her ankle and a chain.

She was a small woman, dark hair, pale skin. He’d dressed her in a sleeveless nightgown, and there were bruises on her arms, her legs, and her throat. Some were old and fading, some were fresh.

The bare mattress she lay on was stained with blood and God only knew what else. She kept her face turned to the wall, but I was sure that when she looked at me, I’d see bruises there, as well.