Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1)

by Chandler Steele

  When the hell had that happened?

  “Always meet people at the door with a gun?” Alex asked, stepping inside and letting the flimsy door close behind him.

  “Yeah. Lock it, will you?”

  He did as she asked, then turned to study the house’s interior. It was better than he had expected, the walls painted a pale blue and the curtains a bright white. A pale lime-green dining table—just big enough for two people—sat in a tiny kitchen. The floors were warped wood and promised splinters to anyone adventurous enough to go barefoot. The living room furniture was likely scavenged from thrift shops and yard sales. Despite the fact that it screamed “No money here!” it felt like a home. Something he hadn’t had in over six years.

  A lump grew in Alex’s throat and his eyes dampened. He blinked to clear them as he set the plastic bag on the lumpy black couch. Miri put the pistol in a kitchen drawer, then turned toward him. Her hair was lighter brown now, cut shoulder length, her features more filled out than he remembered. She was about four inches shorter than him, five-eight or so.

  Of course she’d changed—he hadn’t seen her in three years, not since her last visit to his private hell.

  “Well? It’s a dump, right? Just say it,” she demanded.

  He shook his head. “No. It looks good. I’m so damned proud of you.”

  He’d meant it as a compliment, but somehow that set her off.

  “Well, I’m not proud of you, okay?” she shot back. “If you think you’re staying here more than a couple days, you’re wrong. Get a job, move on. I have my own life now.”

  She couldn’t have hurt him more if she’d taken her gun and shot him in the heart.

  “You’re serious? You don’t want me around?”

  “No.” Then she frowned. “Just . . . this isn’t easy, Alex.”

  “Not for me either, Monkey.”

  “Don’t call me that! I’m not some kid.”

  No matter what he said, it was wrong.

  “Okay, whatever you want. I’ll get a job and move on. But . . . ” He swallowed hard. “If you need me, I’m here for you.”

  “You weren’t for six years, why would you be now?”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” he said, his voice rising. “Every damned day. Every damned night, I thought of you, and—”

  “Don’t tell me how rough it was,” she retorted, taking a step closer now. “You got three meals a day, no matter what. You didn’t have to worry about someone breaking in, beating you, trying to—”

  He was in front of her now, his heart thudding, wanting to hold her but not sure if she’d allow it. “God, tell me that didn’t happen.”

  Miri shook her head. “I ran out the back door and hid a few streets over. The bastard took the TV and ripped up the place. It’s why I have the gun now.” She shrugged like it didn’t matter, but he knew it did. “I didn’t bother to get another television. They always steal them.”

  Tears rolled down his cheeks, shocking him. “Miri . . . Jesus, I never . . . ”

  She blinked at him as her own tears formed, and then they were in each other’s arms, sobbing like they had when their dad had died in that truck accident. Like they had when their mom had taken that final overdose and left them orphans.

  “If there is any way I can make this up to you, I will. I swear to God,” he whispered.

  She tugged out of his grasp, as if embarrassed to be crying. “Just don’t go back to jail, you hear? No cocaine, no pills, no nothing.”

  “I didn’t do any of that in the first place,” he said, wiping away his tears. “That cocaine was planted, Miri. I’ve told you over and over.”

  No matter how many times he explained that he’d been framed, she wouldn’t accept it. They were right back to where they’d been three years earlier. It was why she had no longer come to visit him at Angola—because it’d always come down to this.

  “Just admit it, Alex. You got caught and you did the time. Now use your head and don’t do something that stupid again.”

  His anger roiled. “You know, you’re right. I’ll find a job and get out of your life. Because if my own sister doesn’t believe in my innocence, why the fuck bother at all?”

  “It’s not my fault,” she said. “Never was.”

  “Not mine, either,” he shot back.

  Miri shook her head, like he was just being stubborn. “I have to leave for work in a bit. There’s some food in the refrigerator. There’s only one bed, so . . . ”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “No, you sleep on the floor. That’s where I put my mattress. People like to shoot through the windows around here, so it’s best you’re not up high. If they find out you used to work for the DEA . . . ”

  Time to change the subject. “How are you getting to work?”

  “A friend’s picking me up. She’ll bring me home, too. It’ll be late. It’s Shanita’s birthday, so we’re going for drinks after work.”

  Alex nodded his approval of that plan. He couldn’t stand to have her walking around these streets alone.

  Miri dropped a set of keys on the kitchen table. “If you could get my tire fixed, that’d be good. Shanita can’t drive me tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” At least he could do that much.

  “Oh, and if you see Mr. Toes . . . ” She paused. “He’s my cat. If he shows up at the door, feed him. His food is under the sink.”

  “I can do that, too. What kind is he?”

  Some of the frost fell away. “Calico,” she said with a faint smile. “He’s got six toes and he’s really cool. You’ll like him.”

  Maybe the cat was the way into Miri’s heart. He’d find out soon enough.

  Alex parked himself next to his plastic bag on the couch, his legs feeling like they couldn’t hold him up any longer. He remained there while his sister dressed for work. When she exited her bedroom in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he frowned.

  “Don’t you have to wear a uniform or something?”

  “I change at work. It’s easier that way,” she said as she dropped some money by the keys, probably for the tire.

  He dug in the bag for his new phone, found the number in the package, and gave it to her. “You call me if you need a way home tonight, you hear?”

  “You don’t have a driver’s license.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Keeping you safe does.”

  She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I am glad you’re home.”

  His heart beat double. That was exactly what he’d been dying to hear.

  Miri had always looked like their mother, at least before their mom started doing drugs. His sister was blessed with fine features, dark eyes, and a lithe build. “You’ve turned out to be a really pretty girl,” he said.

  “Yeah, I hear that all the time when some guy is trying to grab my ass or my breasts.”

  “So how many have you shot so far?” he said, trying to lighten the moment.

  It worked, as Miri grinned. “I’m tempted, but I need my job.”

  “I can teach you a couple self-defense moves to make those assholes back off.”

  “Really?” she asked, interested now.

  “Yup. I learned a few in the joint. They’re the kind that will bring serious pain, but not the kind that will likely get you fired.”

  Or thrown in solitary.

  Miri cocked her head, then nodded as if his peace offering was appreciated. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  A car honked outside. When she reached the door, Miri flipped the lock, then hesitated. She turned back to him and a weary smile came to her face, erasing a year or two. “Stay out of trouble, okay?”

  “I will.”

  Alex locked the door behind her, plugged in his new phone to charge, and stretched out on the couch, ignoring her warning about sleeping on the floor. If he hadn’t died in prison, he sure as hell wasn’t going to die in the real world.

  *~*~*

  When Mir
i ducked inside the late-model Ford, her friend Shanita smiled at her. The twenty-five-year-old blonde was the tallest of the cocktail waitresses at the Down and Dirty Bar, topping out at six-one. Add three more inches for her heels and she was an Amazon.

  Miri was shorter and a bit bustier, which played well with the horny tourists who visited the French Quarter watering hole. She’d never understood it, but something about coming to New Orleans meant they left their good sense and morals back home. The cheap booze did nothing to help the situation.

  Still, the money Miri made in tips more than compensated for the grabby hands. Or at least she told herself that. She hadn’t let Alex in on the fact that she wasn’t at the restaurant anymore, because he’d just go Older Brother on her and insist she quit. She was too close to having enough money to move to give that up.

  As if tapping into her thoughts, Shanita said, “This neighborhood sucks. Tell me you’re going to move in with me . . . like, tomorrow.”

  “Soon. I’ve almost got the money together.”

  “You don’t have to have all of it.”

  “I know, but I want to have enough that I don’t have to worry.”

  “Okay, it’s your thing. Let me know when moving day is, and make it soon.” Shanita headed down the street and turned the corner. “Your bro get home?”

  Miri usually didn’t tell anyone that Alex was in prison, but she needed someone to talk to and Shanita wasn’t judgmental. Not when her own father had served time.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “He just got home. He had to hitch a ride because of the tire thing.” She sighed. “He looks old, Shanita. I mean, he’s older than me anyway, but it’s even more than that now.”

  “Hard time does that. My daddy came home looking bad.”

  “Well, Alex looks healthy, but it’s what I see in his eyes.” Miri shook her head. “Of course, I got in his face right off. Rather than hugging him and saying I was so scared I’d never see him again, I went total bitch.”

  Her friend sighed. “Love will do that to you. Tell him tonight. Don’t let him think you don’t care.”

  Miri blinked back tears. “I do love him, but he keeps insisting he had nothing to do with that cocaine. Why can’t he just admit he screwed up?”

  “Was he always on the right side before he was busted?”

  Miri nodded. “Totally straight arrow.”

  “Then maybe he wasn’t good for it.”

  “But if someone set him up, that means . . . who did it? His ex-wife? His partner at the DEA? Who? Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

  Shanita quirked an eyebrow. “If your brother was really doing his job, not just phoning it in, he’d have a lot of people who’d want to take him down. What better way than planting coke and busting him for possession? Five years out of circulation, easy.”

  Today, when Miri had seen Alex’s face, seen how prison had changed him, her certainty of his guilt had begun to develop cracks, like a piece of flood-damaged concrete. It’d been easy to lay all the guilt on him for the hell she’d faced while he was gone. Now, she wasn’t sure if that was still possible.

  “I’ll wait and see,” she said. “If he stays clean, then I know they screwed him over.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Miri frowned. “Then he’d better be dead, because if not, I’ll kill him myself.”

  Chapter Five

  Alex stirred from the couch, too keyed up to sleep, and began to explore the dinky house. He wasn’t surprised to find roach traps everywhere—a nod to the bugs he’d always thought large enough to be Louisiana’s state bird. Given that the duplex next door was empty, he could well imagine there’d be a problem.

  Miri hadn’t been lying about having her mattress on the floor, and even then, she’d made up the bed covers. The bathroom was small and tidy. He put the toilet to use, pointedly reminding himself to put down the seat. Out of curiosity, he popped open the medicine cabinet and found the usual things: bandages, razors, makeup . . . and condoms.

  He sighed. Once again the passage of time bitch-slapped him—his baby sister was now a young woman who had sex. At least she was being sensible about it. There was only one toothbrush, which meant if she had a boyfriend, he didn’t do sleepovers. Not that he would while Alex was here. No guy—unless he was a goddamn saint—was good enough for Miri. Even a saint was going to find it rough sailing.

  A stack of file boxes in one corner of the bedroom caught his interest because they had his name written on them in black marker. He pulled one down and opened it, discovering the contents of his desk at the DEA: pens, blank notepad, his Dallas Cowboys coffee cup, which now had a chip in it, and all his citations from the agency. It was as if someone had created a time capsule and dumped it in this box.

  Alex sat on the floor and shuffled through it, acid brewing in his stomach. That last morning had gone well—he’d just delivered a report on his undercover work, and he’d gotten a big break that brought his investigation one step closer to busting Buryshkin’s organization.

  Then Alicia had called, frantic. His partner Dennis was at their house, executing a search warrant. Even before Alex could leave for home, he’d been arrested for cocaine possession. A small bag of it had been found in his home office.

  He would always remember the shock, the anger, the click of the handcuffs as they closed on his wrists. His outrage and embarrassment during the perp walk past his astonished coworkers on his way to jail.

  That dark suspicion rose once again, the one he’d nursed over the years. The one that tore him apart every time he thought about it. Only a few people had access to his home office, to the locked desk drawer where the coke had been found. Had it been Alicia, or his former partner? The man he’d trusted, only to find out he’d been shagging Alicia all along. Had they worked together to land him in jail?

  Or had it been someone else? Someone like the Russians.

  After all these years he still didn’t have the answer, but Veritas claimed it did. Was selling his soul to them worth the truth?

  No.

  Alex kept digging through the box, hoping to find something to counteract the agony of the past. Instead, he found the picture of him and Alicia, the one that had sat on his desk at work. He’d been so proud of it: their wedding photograph, taken that hot summer day in Austin at Horseshoe Falls Ranch. She was beautiful, always had been, a honey blonde with bright eyes and a quick smile. A woman whose rich daddy ran her life and who had cracked Alex’s heart in two like a hammer blow to a walnut.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked, as if the photograph could answer.

  Why had she cheated on him with Dennis? That had been a bitter enough betrayal, and then, the instant it looked like Alex was headed for prison, she’d divorced him, all because her father had told her to. No “stand by your man” for that woman. Just to twist the knife, she hadn’t even bothered to stay with ol’ Dennis. It was as if his buddy had been a convenient escape route, a handy parachute out of the smoking airplane of a marriage.

  Alex hurled the photo and its metal frame across the room, hearing the glass shatter. He swore his heart did the same.

  “Why the hell would you do that to me?” He’d always been faithful to Alicia, even when undercover and presented with the opportunity to get a little on the side. Lord knows, there’d been plenty of offers.

  Alex leaned his head back against the wall, heart pounding and fists clenched. God, he wanted revenge. Wanted it for all those lost years. There’d been so many times he’d fantasized about that, how easy it would be. One bullet in the forehead, one in the chest. First Dennis, then her. Bang. Bang.

  Revenge would be so sweet, but he knew it would destroy what was left of his and Miri’s lives. The lovers’ deaths wouldn’t make one damned difference. He’d get the death penalty and Miri would be alone. With all Alex had lost, he wasn’t willing to sacrifice any more.

  Old Russ had asked the right question: What is the price you’re willing to pay? In prison, he would h
ave said “anything.” Now? Now it wasn’t so cut and dried.

  With a long sigh, Alex closed the box, rose, and set it by the bedroom door near the broken glass. There was nothing in there he wanted. That was the old Alex.

  He moved the other boxes onto the floor, only to discover a door hidden behind them, which apparently led to the abandoned unit next door. He turned the knob, and found the lock busted. That gave him the creeps. The sooner he got his sister out of this house, the better.

  Inside the other boxes he found clothes, books, and a few of his favorite CDs. Somehow his old life hadn’t entirely vanished, and he had his sister to thank for that. It appeared that Miri’s harsh words weren’t equal to her actions; she could have easily ditched all this crap, and he never would have known. Instead she’d kept it for him.

  “Love you, Monkey,” he murmured. “Even if you think you’re too old for me to call you that.”

  After restacking the remaining boxes, he swept up the broken glass, ripped up the wedding picture, and tossed it in the trash where it belonged. The wastebasket was nearly full, so he headed outside to find the garbage can where it sat near the back fence, battered and grimy. As he drew near, he could see the flies boiling out of the lid, which was ajar. The stench hit him ten feet away, and he stopped in his tracks.

  That wasn’t garbage. That was something dead.

  He edged closer and shifted the lid, then dropped it, gagging. In the midst of the garbage was a calico cat, painted with flies. Mr. Toes.

  Only when Alex covered his nose and mouth to step closer did he find the note, scrawled on a piece of lined notepaper.

  NOWHERE TO HIDE

  *~*~*

  The Hotel St. Sebastian was in the French Quarter, one of those true New Orleans beauties that had survived hurricanes, floods, and decades of dirty politics. Morgan’s boss sat in an overstuffed armchair near one of the windows, a position she thought was inviting trouble. Though Veritas’s home office was in Chicago, whenever the boss was in town he stayed here, and his enemies knew it. The Russians would love nothing more than to take this guy out, and yet, he made no effort to conceal himself.