Drop Dead Crime: Mystery and Suspense from the Leading Ladies of Murder

by Lisa Regan

  He turned to face the remaining three.

  Catriona gaped at her partner’s fierce stare.

  Holy hell, I’m glad I’m on his side.

  She felt confident things would only get worse for the men at this point. Broch had proven himself handy with a broadsword once before. How different could a katana be? She motioned to the three remaining men.

  “You messed up now.”

  The two men closest to Broch turned and raised their swords. The remaining man ran at Catriona, screaming, the sword held over his head.

  Catriona’s smile dropped as she realized she’d been so shocked by Broch’s speed she’d forgotten to pull her weapon.

  Shit.

  Catriona pushed aside her dress and fumbled for the gun on her leg. The lace holster refused to release. It felt as if a part of the pistol’s rear sight had entangled in the webbing. She didn’t have time to jerk it free before the man would be on her.

  This is going to hurt.

  Running out of options, she bowled herself sideways at his legs. In her head she thought the angle would make it impossible for the blade to hit her, but geometry had never been her favorite subject and she didn’t feel confident.

  Catriona felt the man’s knee give way in a direction unnatural for that joint. She heard his attack roar shift into a yelp of pain. As soon as she hit the ground, she scrambled to her feet and kicked the man’s fallen sword away from him. He rolled in the dirt, wailing as she finally forced her gun from her holster.

  “Freeze!” she screamed, hoping her command would inspire the man on the ground and the two men Broch had engaged to cease their attack. She turned in time to see Broch thrust his blade into the last man standing. With only a muffled grunt, the man collapsed to his knees and flopped sideways to the cement.

  The other ninja already lay on the ground, sprawled and still.

  Broch sniffed, staring down at his fallen foes. “Thay didn’t ken howfur tae fight.”

  “I can see that.” She stretched her neck to peer at the dead men and then glanced at Broch. “I think in this case we’re safe, but we’re going to have to talk about the death penalty when we get out of here. Laws aren’t quite the same as they were in eighteenth-century Scotland. You can’t just go around katana-ing people to death.”

  “Thay wur trying tae murder us.”

  She nodded and held up a hand. “No—I know. You’re good this time. Just making a little mental note: keep Broch out of the electric chair.”

  Catriona moved to the man writhing on the floor behind her.

  “Who are you?”

  “You broke my knees.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all I broke. Have you seen your friends? Who are you?”

  The man lifted his chin, doing his best to look defiant. “We’re the Disciples of Pinky.”

  Catriona squinted. “Really? Do you hear yourself? Why are you here?”

  “Pinky’s been reborn. He’s teaching us.”

  “Reborn, how?”

  The man fell silent and Catriona kicked his knee. He howled in pain.

  “Reborn, how?” she repeated.

  “I don’t know. He called to us. Had us come here.”

  “How did he call to you?”

  He didn’t answer and Catriona cocked her leg, preparing to kick.

  “No, no wait! The Dark Web. I set up a page there called the Disciples of Pinky and he found it. He contacted me there.”

  “So you’re all a bunch of sad, lonely serial killer groupies?”

  The man frowned. “We’re not groupies.”

  “Uh huh.” She put down her foot and turned to Broch. “That explains why they were such terrible bodyguards. They’re just confused losers.”

  “Acolytes,” muttered the man.

  Catriona rolled her eyes. “Same thing. Where’s the other girl?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Catriona prepared to kick him again and he waved a hand at her.

  “I swear! I swear. Pinky has her. I don’t know. He told us to stop anyone who came through here.”

  “Did you see him? Who is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You just said he told you to wait for us.”

  “He did. He slid a note under our door.” The man nodded to the fourth, unopened door.

  Catriona shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  Her gaze drifted to the only door that hadn’t belched ninja wannabes.

  “I wonder what’s behind door number four.”

  “It’s just a room,” said the ninja.

  She didn’t even have to raise a foot.

  Chapter Eight

  Brock tore strips of cloth from the two fallen ninjas’ costumes and used them to gag and tie the unconscious man to Catriona’s already hobbled victim.

  Certain the ninjas would be of no further concern, they moved to the fourth door. It opened to a room as the acolyte had promised, empty but for a desk and a chair. The surface of the desk was empty, apart from a silver-framed, larger version of the photo Mason had shown Catriona of his father at the US Open.

  Catriona lifted the photo to study it more closely. “Does this seem odd to you?”

  Broch cocked an eyebrow. “Aye. Is thare anythin’ ’ere that isnae odd?”

  “True. But this...” Catriona tapped the frame in thought. “This photo struck me when Mason first showed it to us. I thought because it felt strange to see a serial killer attending a golf match. Some kind of blood sport I’d buy, but golf seems so civilized for a guy who spends his spare time snipping off people’s pinkies.”

  Broch huffed. “There’s nothin’ civilized aboot golf. Ah played wance. It made me wantae wrap mah club aroond someone’s neck.”

  Catriona closed her eyes and tried to remember watching the US Open with Sean. Among the recent revelations in her life had come the suspicion that, while not related to Sean and Broch by blood, she too might come from time-traveling stock. She didn’t remember fetching water pails or feeding livestock in ancient Scotland, but she’d discovered she could mentally return to moments in her life and see them as clearly as if she were watching them on a movie screen. Maybe if she returned to that moment watching golf with Sean, she could divine what it was about Mason’s precious photo that bothered her.

  She concentrated on that day and found herself sitting on Sean’s sofa in his office at Parasol. Golf played on the small television. Sean sat, tilted back in his office chair, feet on his desk, watching.

  There must be something here.

  Behind Sean hung a calendar. Staring at it, she could feel it was June sixteenth, a Friday. Golf generally ran from Thursday to Sunday, so that meant the tournament had run from the fifteenth to the eighteenth.

  Eyes still closed, she talked her way through the timeline, recalling the facts of Pinky’s dark history.

  “Pinky’s fourth victim disappeared from her daily jog the evening of June thirteenth, twenty-seventeen.”

  She heard Broch mumble beside her. “I’ll ne’er git used tae the sound o’ years starting wi’ twenty.”

  “They found her dead on Sunday the eighteenth.”

  That’s it.

  She opened her eyes and held up the photo. “That’s the exact time period Pinky was hundreds of miles away at the US Open. How did he kidnap and kill a girl here?”

  Broch shrugged. “He teuk her, murdered her, gaed tae watch some golf, ’n’ then cam back ’n’ dumped her body.”

  Catriona shook her head. “That would work, but when the police found her, her body was fresh like the others. That was part of his MO. He liked to let the authorities know where to find his victims moments after he’d dumped them. I suspect so he could watch them react to his work.”

  Broch scratched his chin and then swept his hand through the air, motioning to the dark world around them. “A’ richt... howfur aboot he kept her chained in this hellhole ’n’ then murdered her when he returned?”

  Catriona shook her head. “Too r
isky. How about it wasn’t him.”

  “Whit wasnae him?”

  “Everything.” She thrust out the photo in her hand again. “See? This rebuilt warehouse is supposed to be accurate, but why would Pinky put a photo of himself at a golf tournament in the middle of his torture maze?”

  “Sae they eejits oot thare cuid worship him?”

  “They weren’t around then. Why put it here where he tortured his victims?”

  “Tae pat thaim at ease? Mak’ thaim think he’s a good man ’n’ then snip.” Broch pantomimed clipping off his own pinky with shears.

  “No. This photo is special. Special to Mason.”

  “Whit?”

  “I thought it was weird how eager Mason was to show me this. Then here it is again where the cameras won’t miss it. He’s bragging. He’s telling the world he’s the one who killed the girls. Just like a kid, he ran out and grabbed a victim while his dad was away.”

  “Girls? A’ o’ thaim? Ye don’t think he copied the da juist the yin time? Whin he wis away?”

  “No. I’m thinking the girl’s disappearances all coincided with golf tournaments. Easy enough to check.”

  Broch scowled. “But the wee man shot the da.”

  “Soto shot the man he saw stuck in the wall and assumed that’s who cut him. But think about it, why would some sick mastermind get caught in his own maze? He couldn’t pull back in because Mason prevented it. He wanted the world to think his father was responsible.”

  “Ye think Mason did a’ this?”

  She nodded. “And he wants someone watching this film to figure it out.”

  “Bit then he’d git caught.”

  “He’ll be long gone by then.”

  Broch put his hands on his hips. “Shuid we gang back tae the front room ’n’ grab him?”

  Catriona took a moment to consider the idea. “No... I think he recruited his groupies to help him subdue the guests. That can’t happen now.”

  “Nothing left fur him tae dae bit run.”

  Catriona nodded. “Exactly. Out the back entrance the dead commando came through. We have to hurry.”

  Chapter Nine

  Catriona led them back into the large rectangular room. Broch glanced at the surviving acolytes to find one still unconscious and the other seemingly resigned to his fate. The man’s eyes popped wide as they entered.

  Broch dismissed his panic with a wave. “Dinna worry yerself laddie, yer oor lest worry richt noo.”

  Doors one and two remained open and both led to darkened halls. Door three had bounced shut.

  Broch opened it to find yet another hall. He was about to ask Catriona which of the three she’d like to try first when he heard what sounded like whimpering.

  He cocked his head. “She’s here.”

  With Catriona on his heels, Broch hustled down the hall as quickly as he dared until a door stopped his progress. Catriona followed him with her phone’s flashlight, and as she neared, he spotted the door’s knob.

  “Locked,” he whispered, holding his finger to his lips, asking Catriona for silence.

  Placing his ear against the door, he heard the whimpering noise he’d caught a moment previous.

  “Stand back.”

  Broch took a step back and threw his shoulder against the door. It gave way easily, the frame splintering around them.

  A dark-haired young woman perched on the end of a cot, her mouth gagged. She jumped as they entered and tried to run, but her arm, chained to the wall behind her, jerked her back to the cot.

  “Jessica?”

  Jessica’s red-rimmed eyes glistened with fresh tears as she nodded. Holding up her hands to soothe the frantic young woman, Catriona pulled down the gag wrapped around her mouth.

  The girl’s body shook, her teeth chattering with nerves. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you found me. He heard you coming. You saved me. He was just about to—”

  She motioned to a pair of shears on the ground.

  Sobs rose in Jessica’s throat and Catriona put an arm around her. “Who did this?”

  “Mason. I thought he was kidding at first but—”

  “Whaur did he gang?”

  Jessica scowled up at Broch. “What?”

  “Where did he go?” translated Catriona.

  With her left hand, Jessica pointed to what looked like an open vent at the bottom of the wall across from her cot. Broch was relieved to confirm she still had all her fingers.

  Catriona’s eyes widened. “Through the vent?”

  Broch squatted down and peered into the hole.

  “You can’t fit through there,” said Catriona. “These low tunnels must be how he sneaked around, that little creep. Slithering like a snake.”

  “We have to get her out of here.” She turned her attention to the cuff around Jessica’s wrist. “It’s locked. It might be easier to pull the plate from the wall?”

  Broch tested the chain spanning from the cuff around Jessica’s wrist to the wall. He gathered the chain near the plate and, blocking the girl with his body, gave it a yank. It ripped free.

  Catriona motioned to the door. “Take her back to the dining hall.”

  Broch scowled. “Whit aboot ye?”

  She glanced at the vent and he shook his head. “Na. Na. Yer nae goan in there wi’oot me.”

  “I can fit. You can’t. Having you here does me no good.”

  He glowered at her. “Na.”

  “You’re getting her out of here, and I’m going after Mason.”

  “Wait ’til ah git back.”

  Catriona shook her head. “I can’t wait. He’ll be long gone.”

  Jessica tugged at Broch’s shirt, the chain hanging from her wrist jingling. “Please. I have to get out of here. Did you already save the other lady?”

  Broch glanced at Catriona and she shook her head, almost imperceptibly. Broch knew what she was saying.

  Don’t tell Jessica the other girl is dead.

  He looked down at the actress.

  “Ah’m aff tae git ye oot first.”

  It wasn’t a lie.

  “Go with him,” said Catriona.

  The girl stood, wobbly on her shaking knees.

  Broch knew what he had to do, but first, he took a step toward Catriona.

  Nae until ah dae this.

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  Catriona’s brow knotted. “What?”

  “Ah’m askin’ ye fer a kiss. Dae ah hae yer permission?”

  “Um...” Catriona glanced at the girl, her cheeks flushing beneath the dull exposed bulb hanging above their heads. “Is this really the time—”

  “Aye or na?”

  She nodded. “Sure. Yes.”

  Broch leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She slid her hands along his sides and gripped him tightly to her. He thought he could feel her shaking, but didn’t know if it was his kiss or her plan to follow Mason inspiring the reaction.

  With a final press of his lips, he pulled from her grasp and turned to scoop the frightened girl into his arms. His gaze met Catriona’s once more.

  “Ah’ll be back.”

  She smiled, looking flush. “Me too.”

  Chapter Ten

  Catriona watched Broch and Jessica leave as she lowered herself to the floor and peered into the tiny tunnel.

  Her stomach twisted into knots. She’d forgotten how much she hated small spaces.

  This is possibly the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.

  The screen of her phone warned it had 15 percent power left.

  She sighed. “Great. Perfect.”

  Turning on the flashlight, she shimmied into the vent. Phone in one hand and gun in the other, she used her elbows as pikes to drag her body through the tube.

  Progress proved painfully slow with no free hands to help. Unwilling to tuck away her gun, she took a moment to balance the phone in her cleavage. The soft glow between her breasts illumined the path before her and she continued, singing Neil Diamond’s “Heartlight” in her head wi
th slightly different words to distract her from her rising claustrophobia.

  Turn on your booblight... let it shine wherever you go...

  That’s when she saw it.

  A wire had been strung along the side of the vent. She put down the gun and pulled the phone from its breast nest to get a better look. The wire hung from the ring of a grenade, which perched at the top of the duct, held tight by duct tape.

  If she hadn’t turned on her booblight, she would have triggered the booby trap.

  That little shit.

  Stuffing the light back into her dress, she gathered her gun, held her breath and slithered on her side past the grenade.

  Catriona could feel nerves bouncing in her chest. She tried to push her thoughts to those happier moments before she’d been stupid enough to crawl into the vent.

  That kiss.

  She’d felt that she and Broch had come to a stalemate, romantically, and she was embarrassed to say his kiss had made her insides woogy.

  That was definitely better than this bull—

  Her eye caught something in the distance.

  Hold on. What’s that?

  Catriona noticed a glow at the end of the tunnel and turned off her flashlight to keep from announcing her presence as she worked her way toward the edge. The vent dumped into a hallway much like the first one she and Broch had encountered. Flat black paint covered the surfaces and razor wire coiled down the walls.

  Grateful to be free of the tube, she slid out and stood. An impossibly dim bulb hung from the ceiling, allowing her just enough light to keep her from being sliced to pieces.

  Holding her gun ahead of her, she crept forward, a step at a time, searching for Mason and the door out. Odds were good Mason had left the building. That wouldn’t be a terrible thing. If she could get to Konrad’s trailer and call the police, they might be able to cut him off on his way out of the desert.

  Mission accomplished and she didn’t have to do all the heavy lifting.

  She’d taken ten steps when she heard a faint scraping noise behind her. The synapses in her brain burst like fireworks and she pictured Soto talking to her earlier in the evening.

  I heard this scraping noise...