Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1)

by Chandler Steele

  They gave a completely new meaning to the words “safe house.”

  His mind turned to his bodyguard and how her bruises were barely hidden by her makeup. How she’d earned those bruises. For just a moment, he thought about what it would be like to take her to bed. Let that horizontal exercise clear his mind. Get his big head back in the game.

  Another yawn stopped him mid-sexual-fantasy, so he stripped down to his underwear and crawled into a bed that was far too soft. He was so accustomed to sleeping on a hard surface, and Miri’s couch hadn’t been much better. This luxury felt surreal. How long would it take for that to change?

  Alex tugged the blankets up against his nose, inhaling the floral scent of dryer sheets. The room was quiet. Too quiet. He blinked up at the ceiling, finding the glow of the small, red dot on the smoke detector distracting. It felt weird not to have a bunk above him.

  This was how real people lived.

  To try to lull himself to sleep, Alex closed his eyes and replayed the sounds of prison. He imagined the noises of the other men snoring, coughing, or talking in their sleep. The measured pace of the guards. The clang of doors. Perversely, the memories reassured him. Because, no matter how he looked at it, this new life scared the hell out of him.

  *~*~*

  “Parkin and I are at the safe house and he’s crashed,” Morgan said into her cell phone, cradling it against her shoulder as she moved around the kitchen. “I’m amazed he didn’t fall asleep on the way over here,” she added. “He was wiped.”

  “Not surprising, given all that’s happened in the last day or so,” Crispin replied. “Neil has his sister safely tucked away at her house. He reports that she’s not a happy camper, and he hates the lack of security at the place. He called it a ‘death trap.’ ”

  “Good. Why should I have all the fun?”

  “We’re running down leads on the girl’s assailant. I wonder if the attacker was a lone wolf, not part of the Russian deal.”

  “I’m inclined to agree, but the timing is suspicious as all hell,” Morgan replied. “Especially with planting the drugs and the gun in Miri’s house.”

  Crispin spoke with someone on his end, then returned. “Sorry. What’s your plan for tonight?”

  “Once Parkin has slept, we’re going to contact one of my confidential informants, see if he’s heard anything about the new shipment. I’ll find out if Parkin has any CI’s we can tap as well. Between us, we’ll try to locate where Buryshkin is hiding his dope.”

  “Good. Let me know how it goes. By the way, that gun you found was used in the murder of a local dealer named Juan Pablo Gutierrez. Fortunately, at least for Parkin, the gang banger died during the time our ex-con was in the ER with his sister.”

  “Damn, they really are trying to set this guy up.” She looked toward the closed bedroom door and lowered her voice. “He won’t go back. He’ll die before that happens.”

  “I know. Keep an eye on him.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Remember, it’s not always about winning,” Crispin added.

  “Riiight, boss.”

  *~*~*

  Alex’s dream was hardcore: just him and Morgan and a bed. She was naked, her long, tanned legs wrapped around him, her fingernails clawing his back as he drove himself into her, over and over. He felt her shuddering around him, and as she screamed his name . . .

  His eyes snapped open and he groaned. It took a moment for his fog to clear. Safe house. With the woman he’d just been screwing in his dreams. The physical evidence of that X-rated dream eagerly tented the sheet in front of him. Alex groaned again. Maybe when he was in the shower he should just resolve that problem.

  Or maybe once they’d dealt with Buryshkin, he would pop out to a local bar, pick up a girl, and get the relief he needed. Any old port in a storm, as his father used to say. Most of the time, when he hit on a woman, the answer was a resounding “yes.”

  Or . . . maybe once this was all over, he and the lady in the other room could celebrate the old-fashioned way. He bet any woman with that kind of fire in her eyes would be scorching in bed.

  Alex groaned again as he sat up, trying to tame the part of his body that was far more awake than the rest of him. His nose picked up the smell of roasting meat and his stomach growled eagerly. Which first, food or shower?

  Shower. He’d make it colder than normal. He refused to let Morgan see that she was getting to him.

  To his relief, the soothing routine of a shower and shave pulled Alex back to life, though it was odd not having an audience. He’d forgotten what it was like to be alone, even for activities most people conducted in private. No need to be on guard in case one of the inmates decided he needed a beat down. Or worse.

  I could get used to this.

  Remembering Morgan’s comment about clean clothes, he dug around in the chest of drawers and found himself new underwear and a pair of black socks. It appeared that, no matter his size, there were briefs and undershirts to fit, ranging from skinny on up. The closet rewarded him with a pair of stonewashed jeans and a T-shirt from a local fish joint. He laced on his own shoes.

  Pausing in the bedroom door, he checked out the view in the kitchen: Morgan bent over, checking something in the oven, her jeans tight across her rounded butt. Alex sighed as his mouth went dry and parts of him that he’d just tamed kicked back to life.

  Morgan removed a roasting pan from the oven and set it on the cooktop. Then, as if sensing his scrutiny, she turned toward him.

  “The dead have arisen,” she said. “Four hours later.”

  “Yeah. You heard from Miri yet?” he asked, rubbing his face.

  “Crispin says your sister is doing well. Neil has her stashed away at her place. He’s bitching about how he’d rather have her at a safe house.”

  “She’s being stubborn. Runs in the family.”

  “I had no clue,” Morgan said innocently.

  “I want to talk to her.”

  “Honestly, she’s fine.”

  “Now,” he said, sterner.

  From his tone, Morgan could tell this was non-negotiable, so she hit a number on her cell phone. Neil answered immediately.

  “Hey, I got a concerned brother here. Can you put the sister on the phone?” She listened, then looked up at Alex. “He says she’s asleep.”

  “Then wake her the hell up,” Alex snapped. Part of it was worry, the other part a simple test. If they refused to let him talk to his sister, he was out of here.

  Neil must have heard his order.

  Morgan held the phone out to him, and he paced until his sister came on the line. “Hey, Monkey,” he said.

  “What is it with you? I was asleep. It couldn’t have waited, or are you just being a selfish asshole?”

  He whistled under his breath. “I was just worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. Mr. My-Way-or-the-Highway has got us barricaded in here like zombies are trying to raid the place. Now let me go back to sleep so my head doesn’t hurt. And next time, I’ll call you.”

  “Understood. Stay safe, you hear?”

  “You too,” she said, less upset now. “Bye, bro.” Then the call ended.

  Mission accomplished: Veritas had no issues with him talking directly to Miri, which meant they were keeping their part of the bargain.

  “Happy?” Morgan asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Placing the phone on the table, he sank into a kitchen chair, watching as Morgan opened a bag of pre-made salad and rinsed the contents under the faucet.

  “My sis said I was a selfish asshole to wake her up.”

  “No, you’re a brother. That comes with the territory.”

  He nodded. “She doesn’t get that. Too many years of living on her own, I guess. I can’t back off, no matter what she says.”

  “My brother’s the same way.”

  It was an opening he hadn’t expected, especially since he knew almost nothing about this woman. “Older or younger?”

&nbs
p; “Older. He was always in my face when I was in high school and college. He’s better now.”

  “How did you come to work for Crispin Wilder?” he asked.

  Morgan froze for a moment, then brought two bowls of salad to the table. “I was with the FBI. I . . . joined Veritas three years ago.”

  “Any reason you’re not still with the feds?”

  “They can’t always get the job done,” she replied.

  It was plain she wasn’t going to tell him more than that, at least not at this point, so he switched subjects. “What’s for supper? It smells incredible.”

  “Roast beef, potatoes, carrots, salad, and biscuits.”

  His stomach rumbled again. He watched with anticipation as she loaded up a plate.

  “Usually we just do frozen dinners around here,” she added, “but you rate.”

  Alex eyed the feast as she set it in front of him, swearing he’d died and gone to heaven. “Why am I so special?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  Morgan didn’t answer right off, placing her own plate and the basket of freshly baked biscuits on the table first. “Because you haven’t had a real meal in a while.”

  “You cooked this for me?” he asked, picking up a fork. He wasn’t entirely sure where he should start. Maybe the potatoes. Or the meat . . .

  “I’m only good with making popcorn and scrambled eggs and roasts. Other than that, I’m a disaster.”

  The first taste of meat made him sigh in joy.

  “Good?” she asked.

  “Excellent,” he said, trying not to talk around the food and failing. Though he had dozens of questions, he found himself eating far too fast. But he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

  Morgan ate just as heartily as he did. No picking at a lettuce leaf and calling it good for this woman—unlike his ex-wife, who had always been on a diet, even though she’d needed to gain a few pounds, at least in his opinion.

  Which made him wonder if Morgan’s appetites for other things were just as hearty. When Alex finally slowed down, he found himself watching his companion eat. How her mouth curled around one of the carrots. It also made him think of other uses for those full lips of hers.

  Put it in neutral, will you?

  “You married?” he asked, figuring he might as well just ask rather than wondering. No ring, but who knew nowadays.

  “I’m a widow.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said.

  “It was more than four years ago. I’m still getting over it.”

  “Have you dated since then?”

  Her eyes rose from her plate, chillier now. “No.”

  “So if I were to hit on you, you’d just shoot me down?” he asked, partly jesting.

  “I don’t mix work and pleasure.”

  “What about once this job is done? What then?” he asked, pushing her just to see when she’d snap. For some reason, he enjoyed keeping her off guard.

  “Once the mission is over, you go do whatever it is you do, and I go my own way.”

  “Before or after we have sex?”

  The chill grew.

  “Understood.” He leaned back in his chair, watching her push her food around her plate now. He’d ruffled her feathers. “You did your homework on me so you know my sad story.”

  “You were married and now divorced.”

  “Yeah, a marriage that imploded when Alicia decided I just had to be guilty. She bailed long before I went to trial,” he said, the bitterness threatening to ruin the great meal.

  “That had to hurt,” Morgan replied, softer now.

  “More than you can imagine.”

  Their eyes met, but she quickly broke contact and shoved aside her plate. “Feel free to have seconds. There’s plenty.”

  She rose, collecting a large manila envelope from the counter and setting it near his plate. “Stuff you’re going to need. There’s a wallet, driver’s license, passport, credit card, debit card, and five hundred in cash. Oh, and a new phone. That should get you started.”

  Alex opened the clasp and let the items fall out onto the table between them. After pushing the contents around with his finger, he looked up at her, stunned.

  “You do realize that you just gave me the means to blow this town. I could fly out to wherever, tomorrow.”

  “You could, but you won’t,” she said. “You’re not going anywhere until you can take your sister with you, and she doesn’t have a passport.”

  Alex stared at her. “You people are spooking the hell out of me.” He filled the wallet with the cards and cash. “How can you do all this?”

  “We have connections. Don’t worry, they’re legit, at least for the most part.”

  “Is this phone bugged?” He knew had to be, but he wanted to know if she’d lie to him.

  Morgan nodded. “Because when things go bad, sometimes the only way you stay alive is if our team can find you.”

  Alex gritted his teeth at that. “So what am I doing to help earn all this?” he asked, gesturing toward the items. Because there was always a quid pro quo.

  “In the last couple days, our favorite Russian has received a shipment of prime cocaine. We’re hearing rumors that the street value is off the charts. You came the closest to busting Buryshkin six years ago, and his tactics haven’t changed that much. I need you to help me work our contacts and find the dope, and then we can take the bastard down.”

  “My snitches are probably long dead.”

  “There have to be a few left.”

  “And if we find the coke?”

  “Then you’re going to lure Buryshkin to the site so we can bust him instead of another one of his low-level flunkies.” Morgan winced. “Sorry. I don’t think of you like that.”

  “More like a stooge,” Alex replied, unfazed. “So what’re our chances of getting the Russian near the dope?”

  “Decent. He likes to inspect the shipments personally now that Grigori is in prison.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “You have someone in the organization.” He hadn’t framed it as a question.

  She frowned, then nodded. “We have our sources.”

  “Another flunky?”

  Morgan rose and took her plate to the dishwasher, not supplying an answer. It was clear she didn’t entirely trust him. He pushed his plate aside and leaned back in the chair, thinking all this through. There was more here than she was saying.

  She turned back toward him now. “My guess is that they offered you a job this morning. Did you accept it?”

  Lie, or come clean?

  “Yeah, I did. It was that or take a one-way trip into the swamp.”

  “Then it’s all good. That’s exactly what we hoped would happen.”

  He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. How can you trust me if I’m working for your enemy?”

  “Call us optimists. You’re not a bastard, Parkin. You’ll do what’s right, no matter what.”

  “That’s a helluva risk you’re taking.”

  “Same for you. You screw us over, and we can be as unforgiving as the Russians.”

  “That was a threat.”

  “That was a warning, nothing more,” she said. “I promise we won’t do anything to hurt your sister, which is more than I can say about Buryshkin.” She dropped the dishtowel on the counter. “There’s apple pie in the oven for dessert. It’s about done. I’ll be back in a bit. I need a shower.”

  His eyes tracked her across the room, and he tried to understand the enigma that was Morgan Blake. Sultry, smart, and with a heart that could go from caring to brutally cold in a fraction of a second. Her nickname fit her; she was a valkyrie.

  The bedroom door closed behind her and he heard the lock click. That made him smile. He was getting to her, whether it was in his best interests or not. As he made his way to the couch, he paused, looking around the apartment again. No bars. No guards. Just him and Morgan.

  Maslow’s hierarchy of needs claimed that food and shel
ter came first. Getting laid was third, but as time passed and the first two needs were being fulfilled, the third would take over his thoughts. Already was.

  Part of him knew that wasn’t smart. Just about the time he started thinking with his dick was when someone would put a bullet in his head. It was possible that someone might be the stone fox in the next room.

  Chapter Eleven

  To Morgan, it was a usual night on Bourbon Street, a dirty thoroughfare populated by wide-eyed tourists and a few locals who came here only because they were insane, or after something. Usually a little of both. She’d brought Parkin down here to connect with one of her best snitches, provided the man was willing to meet with her.

  Bar music blared out of open doors, along with the thick smell of sweat and beer that hung heavy in the humid air. She tried to imagine what it looked like to Alex: the press of bodies, the blare of voices, the clip-clop of a mule pulling a carriage along a side street. It had to be as foreign as if someone had dropped him in the middle of Bangkok or Red Square.

  For some reason, it felt important to understand what was going on inside Parkin’s mind. Morgan told herself it mattered to the case, not because she cared. He was only a means to an end. A convenient weapon. A handsome one, but still, only a weapon.

  Just keep repeating that. Maybe it’ll stick.

  Initially he’d come off as an asshat, but now that she’d spent time with him, she’d learned that Alex had a dry sense of humor and didn’t appear to be a chauvinistic jerk. He was someone who would do anything to keep his sister safe. That, she could work with, at least on this mission.

  Now, as they wandered through the crowd, he was jumpy, probably because of all the people around them. When she asked him a question, he was slow at responding, like he was thinking through each answer multiple times, unable to deal with the sensory overload.

  Morgan gave it another try. “What’s this like for you? I mean, after all those years inside?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he expected a threat to materialize out of nowhere.