Then she remembers.
Being taped up. The AK-47. Defending herself.
The dogs.
The rain.
Cat remembers.
“Cat, you okay?” Nate’s words seem to take on some clarity in her ears now. The fog is lifting from her head.
“Nate, Nate . . .” She reaches for him, realizing for the first time how much she needs him. How much she needs a man—not just any man, but this man in her life.
He reaches down and holds her for a long time. He can feel she is shaking—trembling. Probably from fear and shock.
Cat says nothing. She wants to say things, but the words will not come to her lips. She wants to tell Nate everything that has happened. She wants to tell him what she has been through. She wants to tell him so much. Words she has never shared with him before seem to take on an urgency now. But her throat is parched and dry. She cannot find the words. Only tears come to her—soaking his shirt and his shoulder.
She holds him tighter.
He responds by doing the same and with words of comfort. “It is okay. You will be all right. I won’t leave your side. I’ll be right here.”
She feels his big hand on the back of her hair, gently smoothing over it. A comforting embrace.
“Yes.” She whispers the word softly, still clutching him tight.
“I think they want to take you to the hospital for observation, to make sure you are all right.”
Cat’s grip tightens around Nate.
“By tomorrow, you will be good as new.”
Cat does not let go.
She whispers in Nate’s ear again, this time with some urgency. “The girl?”
“What girl?”
“Natasha. The dogs.” Cat’s voice is so hoarse, she can barely recognize it.
“The dogs have been taken by animal services. There was no girl. There was a lot of blood. But no girl.”
Cat shakes her head, feels her stomach clench into a knot.
What? What if that was Joey down there with those dogs?
The thought of it makes Cat retch with dry heaves.
Nate can feel her whole body tense up and then she pulls away from him. Her eyes are wide, searching his for answers.
“There was a girl. Natasha. I’m telling you. She was here.”
Nate nods, but Cat can tell he is not sure of what to believe.
“She went over the balcony, with the dogs . . .” Cat is sitting up now, pointing to the spot where Natasha went over.
“She went over right there, backward. I heard her scream. I heard her fall. I heard . . . the dogs.”
“She’s gone,” was all that Nate could say. He has no other explanation.
He has no idea where Natasha is. He has no idea if she is dead or alive given what Cat is describing.
Cat sees two men dressed in paramedic uniforms crouch next to Nate. One places two fingers on Cat’s wrist. They are already assessing her vitals. They are going to transport her.
“No, I don’t want to go. We have to find Natasha.” Cat’s eyes are pleading with Nate—pleading with him not to let her go.
Nate gives her a look. “It’s only for the night. I’ll be there first thing in the morning to get you, promise.” He gives her the faintest kiss, a sweeping glance of passion on her lips. She savors it. Cat wants to lock it into her memory forever.
Swiftly, the paramedics assess her for injuries, blood loss and shock. She knows each movement they are making because she has done it a thousand times before herself.
Before they take her to the ambulance, she looks at Nate straight on. There are tears in her eyes—welling up like half-moon-shaped glassy pools. The tears begin to fall. She can taste the saltiness on her lips. She wants to say so much to Nate, but those words will have to wait for another time.
* * *
“Doc says I’m fine. Can you bring me some fresh clothes?” Cat says into the phone, speaking to Nate. It is seven in the morning and Cat wants no more of hospitals, hospital rooms and drafty hospital gowns. She isn’t going to stay here one minute longer than she needs to.
“Sure. And Starbucks?”
Nate knows her so well. Even though she isn’t a huge Starbucks fan, anything beats the stuff that passes for coffee in this hospital.
Within a half hour, Nate is there with fresh clothes, a pair of running shoes and a caramel double latte. Cat thinks she has gone to heaven when the taste of that creamy coffee swirls across her taste buds.
“Glad to see you’re up and raring to go.”
“Me too. My shoulder still aches but we’ve got work to do.”
“I’ve already put out an APB on Natasha. No sightings of her. No word back yet.”
“She’s going to go to ground. There’s one place she might feel safe right now, and it isn’t mommy’s house with loads of cops swirling around. She’s got to be badly injured from the fall. And the dogs.”
Just saying the words makes Cat’s entire body shiver—as if her body has been dropped into an ice-cold bath. She feels as if her skin has suddenly cooled down thirty degrees.
“Where do you think she might go?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ll tell you on the way.”
Cat seems back in her rhythm; her slight smile quickly flashes across her face as she teases Nate. She knows he loves that about her—her quick mind and keen senses. They are more appealing than any fine French lingerie or perfume she could wear for him.
Cat quickly fills out the forms and signs herself out as a patient. Her doctor does not agree with it, but she assures him that if she feels unwell, she will take care of herself. He really has no choice but to agree.
Cat and Nate are in his sedan in no time. “Take the I-75 south. Get off on Griffin Road going west toward the Everglades.” Cat’s words come quickly. She is excited about what they will find.
Nate does what he is told. He has the sedan pushing eighty in a sixty-five-mile-an-hour zone. He gets off on Griffin and heads south down to Dykes Road. He’s driven it many times.
Takes the third left street.
Nate recognizes the neighborhood. He was here not too long ago.
Before long, they are driving past the gates of Big Tiny’s house.
“Don’t stop, just drive past. Don’t slow down.”
“Why would she come here?”
“Think about it—all of the other partners’ houses are swarming with cops right now. She can’t go to her Isabella’s house. It’s a crime scene. She can’t go to Clayton’s house in the Gables. She can’t go to a hotel, given her injuries. This is her best bet. It’s the only place not swarming with cops. Because I found Big Tiny floating facedown in his pool here a while ago. This place is going to be quiet. It’s a place she can think about her next move.”
The house has no lights on, but that is not unusual for this time of day.
“There are surveillance cameras at the front gate. We’ll have to figure another way in.”
“These are acre lots. I’m doing a Google Maps search. Let’s get the address for the back neighbor. We can scale the back fence and come at Natasha from the side.”
Cat nods.
Soon they are doing exactly what Nate said. Nate boosts Cat over a stone back fence. Nate follows as quickly as he can, given his injuries. From the back, the house seems quiet. Cat sees the pool, now drained. She thinks back, remembering Big Tiny’s body floating there. The stark color of his blood against the all-white pool decking.
Cat and Nate move quickly and quietly.
One of the home’s side windows has been left slightly open. Nate forces it open wide enough so that both he and Cat can get inside. They enter a bedroom that has been turned into an office.
Inside the house is eerily quiet.
Cat wonders if she was wrong in thinking Natasha would come here. Perhaps Natasha has already left the US. Perhaps she is already on a plane to Europe or South America. She is smart enough and sh
e has the monetary resources to leave the US. But something in Cat’s gut tells her that is not the case. Something in Natasha’s ice blue eyes tells Cat that Natasha will not cut and run. That is not her style. She is the kind of woman who will finish things. No cut and run.
Nate and Cat move through the house, their guns drawn and ready for a fight; Natasha has been here or might still be here.
“Look,” Cat whispers to Nate.
Nate can see footprints on the kitchen floor against white eighteen-inch tiles. Some are a full print in blood and some are partial prints, smeared as if someone was dragging his or her foot.
“She’s still here. I can feel it.”
The footprints seem to come in from the four-car garage and then go back out to the garage.
Cat can feel her breath catch in her throat. She knows a wounded human is no different from a wounded animal. Both will fight to the death.
As they approach the door that leads out to the garage, Cat glances at Nate. She nods at him. No words need to be spoken. They know what they must do.
Cat steps closer to the door. With her left hand she grabs hold of the doorknob and turns it to open it. In her right hand, her Glock is up, ready to shoot. Nate is watching her movements. His gun is raised to shoulder level. A shooter’s stance. Ready to go.
Cat dares not breathe as she feels the door’s locking mechanism disengage. As she turns the handle all the way to the left, there is a slight clicking sound. Cat flings the door open with all her strength and Nate is through in one fast movement.
The garage is dark. Cat can sense something hit Nate square in the gut. She hears him make a sound that sickens her. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, she can see Nate is down on the ground in a fetal position, his gun still in his hand. Natasha is standing over him like an animal standing over its prey. She is watching him. Enjoying the sight of his suffering.
Natasha looks up and sees Cat staring at her. Only now does Cat see that one side of Natasha’s face looks like a bloody mess. Her mouth droops to one side. Her left eye is swollen almost shut. Skin that used to be her cheek is no longer ivory-colored and smooth. Cat can see flesh and whiteness—what she believes to be a hint of chin bone.
Natasha’s left arm has been mangled too. Mauled and mangled by the dogs. It hangs from her shoulder. Natasha does not move it like one would a normal arm. It seems useless to her.
Cat looks at the girl. It is a miracle she is not dead.
Natasha’s eyes lock on Catherine. “You did this. You caused this. Now you will pay.”
With that Natasha lunges at Cat, putting her full body weight into it. Before Cat can think, she is down; the back of her skull slaps hard against the garage’s concrete flooring. Natasha is on top of her. Cat’s Glock is knocked out of her reach. Cat hears the gun slide across the floor—the sound of metal skidding across concrete. Natasha is straddling Cat—beating Cat with her good arm. A clubbing fist that comes down with force, catching Cat’s already injured right eye socket and her jaw.
Natasha is crying as she hits Cat. “I will make you pay. You will pay.”
Cat tries to shield herself from the blows with her left hand while she reaches for her Glock with the other. Because of Natasha’s angle and her focus on Cat’s face, Natasha cannot see that Cat is reaching, reaching for the gun. It is just an inch or so away.
Just a little farther.
“I will make you pay.” Natasha is saying it over and over as though she is in a trance.
Cat takes one more crushing shot to the jaw as her fingertips keep reaching. Cat is stretching. Stretching. Her fingertips find cold, hard steel.
Just a little further.
Cat wills herself not to feel the electric shocks of pain that ride through her body with each blow. She grasps her Glock. The gun has never felt so good in her palm.
Cat brings the butt up behind Natasha’s head and clubs her as hard as she can. The thudding sound of metal on skull. Natasha’s head jerks forward, then snaps back. She stops talking and seems in shock for a moment, her mouth slack.
Cat repeats the action again—this time the blow is harder than the first.
Natasha’s single good eye widens. Her face wears a look of disbelief. She slumps forward just a bit, she shoulders sagging. She looks as though she is a puppet whose strings have been cut. Then her resolve returns, and she is hitting Cat again. Not with as much force as before.
Looking behind Natasha, Cat can see that something—or someone—is moving in the darkness. A figure just barely visible out of the corner of Cat’s eye, then looming behind Natasha. Suddenly, a cracking sound—this time to the top of Natasha’s skull. Nate delivers the blow with a single pistol whip. Natasha’s body goes totally limp over Cat. The girl’s bloody cheek falls on Cat’s face. Their eyes are less than an inch apart.
Cat pushes the girl’s body off her. Natasha slumps off onto the floor. She is sputtering, trying to find words, but none will come to her. Cat scrambles to her feet and aims the Glock down at the girl. Nate has his gun pulled too. Natasha, even in her stunned state, knows that there is no way to escape. And she knows she is outgunned and outnumbered.
Cat wipes a trickle of blood from her lip and chin. As the adrenaline starts to leave Cat’s veins, she feels for the first time the full intensity of the aching in her jawbone. She wonders if it is broken. There is a stinging and ringing in her right ear. Her eye is throbbing in pain.
She looks down at Natasha.
Cat brings the gun to Natasha’s forehead. Her intentions are clear. Cat would just as soon kill this girl as watch her breathe another drop of air.
Nate can see the bloodlust in Cat’s eyes. He realizes he is about to witness a murder if he does not do or say something.
With his gun still drawn, he steps forward and he puts his other hand on Cat’s gun and lowers it from Natasha’s forehead.
“No, Cat, that is not the answer.”
Cat takes her eyes off Natasha for a millisecond. She looks at Nate. She sees sanity there. Maybe a future. Maybe, just maybe, something.
It registers in her head. She can’t kill. She is not like them. Not cold-blooded. Not cold at all. Still she is angry. Angrier than she has felt in a long time. It’s been building inside of her throughout this whole case.
Killing Natasha is not the answer.
Killing her like this makes you one of them.
It’s not what you want.
Cat gives Nate a reassuring look.
It’s okay. I’m okay. Back in control.
Then Cat’s gaze is back on Natasha.
“Now get up. To your feet.”
Natasha says nothing but does what she is told. She is rubbing the back of her head, finding blood on the palm of her hand. Her ice blue eyes shine defiantly at Cat in the garage’s dim light.
Cat looks at Nate. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I think I’ll live. This bitch has one hell of a right hook.”
“I know. I think she’s dislocated my jaw.” Cat is rubbing her chin, wondering if it will ever feel the same again.
Natasha goes to speak, and Cat shuts her down. “Right now, you’re not in a position to say much of anything. You’re not in a position to make demands. But I’m in a position to make demands of you. You will cooperate with our investigation. You will tell us everything that you know. About the Operation. About all of it. Or my friend here and I will make sure you go away for a very long time. You got it?”
Natasha’s eyes shine in defiance. But she nods.
She knows there is no escape from what her future holds.
In her soul, Natasha will never know true freedom again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
All experience is an arch, to build upon.
—Henry Brooks Adams, The Education of Henry Adams
It takes less than two weeks for federal grand jury indictments to be issued for all partners at Black and Knight. All survive the injuries they sustained at Cat’s hands. With headlines splashed acro
ss the Miami Herald and the Fort Lauderdale Sun Sentinel each day, the public can’t seem to get enough of the Operation and the related corruption scandal. The news soon goes national as multiple embassies and their respective staff members and diplomats are implicated in the international scandal.
Many Americans have never heard of the phony visa and passport businesses that exist all over the world. Most have never heard of the sex trade. For most, it is a crime that occurs in other countries—in Asia, Europe and the Eastern Block. The sex trade can’t be happening in our own backyards. It can’t be trafficking our own little sweet American girls and boys. It can’t exist alongside good old American baseball, hot dogs and apple pie. It simply could not be the massive worldwide machine that the Operation has been exposed to be. After all, most Americans, up until this time, are clueless that this crime affects so many worldwide every single day.
The public is fascinated that a criminal mob mentality can infiltrate an international law firm—one as big as Black and Knight. The mob seems so bad. A law firm, on the other hand, through its partners doing justice, is supposed to personify good. Here, with the Operation, good and bad have merged.
Cat knows that the lines between good and evil are sometimes blurred. Sometimes crossed. Black and Knight is no different.
In the media, Cat is heralded as a hero. Having survived the Eastern European mob. Having single-handedly brought them to justice.
She doesn’t feel worthy of the praise. She hates the attention. Hates the spotlight.
She’s doing her job.
Cat takes a few days and flies back to see Joey. He is overjoyed to see his mother. He does not understand why she needs to go back to Miami for the trial. She tries to explain it is only for a little while.
She must be there with the prosecution to help them build their case.
* * *
During the trial in district court months later, the judge makes a judgment call and allows cameras in the courtroom. It’s a high-profile case, but the judge reasons that the people have the right to see that justice will be served. Two federal judges have lost their lives. The streets of Miami and Fort Lauderdale were in a panic thinking a serial killer was on the loose. This is what the judge tells the media as he announces his decision to have live coverage of the trial. Cat thinks it is a bad idea. Justice televised is not necessarily justice served. Anyone who watched the O.J. Simpson criminal trial televised out of Los Angeles knows this for a fact.
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