Page 12 of Trap ’N’ Trace

Dayne parked next to Kat’s car. It was after nine p.m. He’d figured on driving up to the castle to deliver the puppy kibble and more toys Becca’s husband had given him for Angus. Remy pinned him with intense chocolate-brown eyes. “Suits me fine,” he muttered, not relishing going back to Kat’s “house” again.

“Back in a minute, girl.” Outside, rain pelted him, quickly soaking his shirt and dripping down his face like tears. Like Ted Garman’s tears.

When he’d stopped by Becca’s house, he’d felt helpless seeing the man’s grief and unable to do anything except pay his respects.

He hefted the sack of food over his shoulder, grabbed the bag of toys, then kicked the door shut. As he started toward the Haven, wind howled through the trees, sounding exactly like—

A woman’s scream.

Kat.

He dropped the bags and bolted toward the door, punching the door popper on his belt to release Remy. Before he’d gotten halfway up the sidewalk, she darted past him.

Dayne drew his Glock and yanked open the glass door. As a team, he and Remy entered the vestibule. The overhead light was off, but a glow from the corridor behind the reception desk lit the space enough to see. With his gun extended, he “sliced the pie,” scanning in incremental wedges.

“Kat!” he shouted. A thump came from somewhere down the corridor.

Remy pranced, her nails clicking on the floor as she waited for his command. “Revier!” His K-9 took off, her feet scrambling as she rounded the desk and disappeared.

Dayne raced after his dog. Warning prickles lit up his nerve endings.

As he edged around the desk, a door slammed. Remy barked. Leading with his gun, he peered down the hallway. His dog stood on her hind legs, clawing at the door. Kat lay slumped against the wall, breathing raggedly and clutching her hand to her neck.

His breath froze in his throat like a solid ball of ice.

Light came from the room opposite where she lay. He took a quick scan through the open door. No one visible. He trusted his partner. If anyone inside that room posed a threat, Remy would have alerted him. Instead, his K-9 continued barking at the exit door.

“Bleiben.” Remy lowered and stilled. As much as he wanted to let her out to run the asshole down, he couldn’t leave Kat alone, and he wouldn’t risk sending his partner out there in the dark without knowing what she’d be up against. This fucker could have a gun or a knife, or a four-foot-long samurai sword.

He holstered his gun then tugged out his cell phone, dialing 911 as he knelt in front of Kat. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing had evened out. While he waited for the operator, he scanned her body for injuries. None that he could see. No visible blood, anyway.

When the 911 operator answered, he ID’d himself then quickly described the situation, requesting police backup and an ambulance. Then he issued a warning to all responding units to be on the lookout for anyone in the vicinity who didn’t look like they belonged there.

Kat moaned then leaned her head back against the wall, dropping her hand from her throat. Pale red marks in the shape of fingers encircled her neck.

Dayne clamped his jaw together. Jesus. He cued up another number. “Paulson,” he said when the detective answered. “Get over to the Canine Haven. Someone just attacked Katrina Vandenburg. I already called 911.”

Swearing came through loud and clear. “On my way.”

Remy remained by the door as ordered, her body vibrating with tension.

Kat reached up again to touch her throat, but he caught her wrist, gently pulling it away. “Try not to touch your neck. We might be able to pull some DNA off skin cells left by whoever did this.” It was a stretch, but it might be possible. When she didn’t respond, a shaft of worry crept up his spine. “Talk to me. You okay?” Other than the obvious.

“Yes,” she whispered, and he let out a huge breath. Judging by the fact that her eyes weren’t bloodshot and her voice wasn’t raspy, he’d guess the asshole hadn’t had his hands wrapped around her neck for very long. “But”—she coughed several times—“he wore gloves. And a ski mask.”

Damn. So much for DNA or prints.

Kat shifted, trying to get up, when she winced.

With one hand on her shoulder, he urged her to stay put. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She shook her head, wincing again.

“Be straight with me. Did he hurt you?”

She let out a resigned breath. “He threw me against the wall. My shoulder hit the fire extinguisher box.”

He glanced up at the metal and glass case housing a large red extinguisher and was doubly glad he’d called for an ambulance. “You said ‘he.’ Was there just the one guy?” She nodded. “Can you describe him? Height, weight, eyes, hair?”