Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1)
Page 17
“No, I don’t,” he called out. “But I do read lips.”
For an instant, she swore she saw a hint of a smile, then it was gone.
“You read lips,” she said flatly. Of course you do.
*~*~*
Morgan had just pulled into a parking spot in the hospital lot when her phone rang.
“Morgan,” she said. Then she smiled and pointed at the phone. “It’s your sister.” She returned to the call. “I hear you were badass this morning.” Her smile grew. “Mr. Action Figure? I hope you didn’t call him that. Oh, good. It’s more what Neil doesn’t say that counts.” A pause. “Yeah, he’s here. Hold on.” Morgan offered Alex the phone. “This call, you’ll like.”
“Miri? God, are you okay?”
“What kind of hell have you unleashed on us?” she demanded.
Alex grimaced. “The worst kind.”
She seemed to hear the agony behind the words, and her tone softened. “What about you?”
His hand went to the bandage before he could stop himself. It was becoming a habit, one he’d have to break. “It’s been a little rough here, but nothing like what you guys went through. I’m sorry about the house, Miri.”
“So am I. Not the actual place. It was a total dump. But I’d made it mine, you know?”
“Yeah, I understand. Once this is over, we’ll find you a place of your own.”
“What, you’re not going to camp on my couch, vet my boyfriends?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
There was a short silence, and in the background he could hear a faint engine noise, but he couldn’t place it. A boat motor, perhaps?
“I’ll be good and stay hidden until you get this settled,” she said. “But remember, do not get yourself dead. You hear me?”
“I hear you, Monkey. Trust whatever the Iceman tells you.” His eyes went toward Morgan. “These Veritas guys are legit. They’ll keep you safe.”
“They better. Now go kick some Russian ass, brother. I’m just going to chill for a while.”
“You always were a slacker.”
“Jerk!” she said, then laughed. “Love you, Alex.”
“Love you too, Miri.”
He handed the phone back to Morgan. “She’s doing good. Sounds stronger somehow.”
“Neil can have that effect on people.”
As they crossed to the hospital entrance, he asked, “Can you tell me where she is?”
“I’m not exactly sure myself, but I will say they’re in the best place for an ex-Navy SEAL to protect her.”
Alex’s mind brought up a memory.
“I had a buddy in college named Avi. When he became a SEAL, he told me all about the hellish training they went through, how eighty to ninety percent of the ‘tadpoles’ washed out.”
“Then you know what they’re like.”
“Yeah. He said that SEALs are deadly anywhere, but you get them on or in the water and they’re invincible. Of course, with Avi about every other word was fuck, but I got the message.”
Morgan’s smile bloomed, which told him he’d just hit gold. His dear sister was out of the city, on a boat with a former special-ops dude who would blow the world apart to keep her safe.
Alex sobered. “Thank you. Tell your boss that, will you?”
Morgan nodded as they walked through the double doors that led to the hospital lobby.
“We must be getting close to something or Miri’s house would still be standing,” he added.
“Or maybe her brother has a crap-ton of enemies who’d love nothing more than to let him know how much they hate him.”
“Shit. Yeah. Maybe that too.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get it done.”
“God, I hope so,” he murmured. “If for nothing more than to give my sister back her life.”
Morgan didn’t bother to stop at the front desk; she knew exactly what room the judge’s daughter was in. The instant she’d seen the man’s name on the list Crispin had provided, she should have backed off. Let someone else conduct the interview. Still, Crispin had a reason for Parkin and her being here, and she’d just have to trust him.
It all came down to whether Judge Redburn remembered her as Wayne Clifton’s wife. Alex didn’t know that he and her dead husband had a history, one that she wasn’t proud of. One that might actually make him walk away from this mission, no matter how great Neil was at watching over his sister.
“Who are we talking to?” Alex asked, matching her pace down the hospital corridor.
“The father of the only victim who survived. She’s a student at Tulane University. I’m hoping he can give us some background so we have a place to start.”
As they drew close to the room, Morgan caught Alex’s arm and they halted. “There’s something you need to know. The man we’re meeting is the judge who sentenced you to prison.”
Alex’s eyes went wide, almost as if she’d slapped him. “Redburn?”
She nodded.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me before we got here?”
“Because I need you to keep that anger on a leash. The man might know something that could help us nail Buryshkin. What happened all those years ago is not important at the moment.”
“The hell it isn’t. Redburn had to suspect that my defense lawyer was throwing the case, and he never stepped in.”
Unfortunately, Alex wasn’t exaggerating. His defense attorney—Morgan’s husband—had been under orders to ensure that his client went to prison, because Wayne had possessed secrets of his own. Secrets that Buryshkin had threatened to reveal. Secrets that would have destroyed her husband’s career. So instead, he’d destroyed Alex’s.
Alex didn’t know she’d been Wayne’s wife; she’d kept her maiden name. Now, with one wrong word from Redburn, the truth would be out, and the rapport they’d built would go down in flames.
Which is why I can never sleep with you.
“Why your attorney blew the case is a subject for another time,” she said.
“You know who set me up, don’t you?” Alex asked, barely keeping his voice low enough for a passing nurse not to hear him.
“We have our suspicions. We’ll know for sure the moment Buryshkin is in custody.”
He looked away, angry, then back at her. “Then let’s get this done.”
Morgan took the last few steps to the room, steeled herself, then knocked and stepped inside. It was as bad as she’d suspected—though the heart monitor was beeping rapidly, a pale young woman lay on the bed, looking as if death was only inches from claiming her. At least Sarah Redburn was still alive. The others had never had a chance.
An older woman, probably her mother, was bent over the girl, crying. Her father, a stern figure on the other side of the bed, was trying to hold it together. It was a damned poor time to intrude, but Morgan had no choice.
“Judge Redburn?” she said, then introduced herself.
The man gave a nod to his wife and joined Morgan and Alex in the hallway.
“Wilder said you’d be wanting to talk to me,” he said. He was in his mid-fifties, heavy at the waist, with graying hair and piercing eyes. The last time she’d seen him was at some legal-beagle holiday party, and he’d been telling off-color jokes to one of his clerks. Now he was bordering on tears.
Before she could reply, he frowned at her. “Do I know you? We’ve met before, I think.”
She ignored the question, hoping he wouldn’t make the connection to Wayne. “How is your daughter doing?”
“They’ve sedated her. It’s the best way, so the poison doesn’t . . . We just have to wait now.”
“I’m sorry, Judge Redburn, but we need to ask you questions regarding your daughter’s activities, so we can try to track down where she got the cocaine.”
“Of course. I’ll do anything I can to—” Then he saw Alex. It took a few seconds for the ex-con’s face to register. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Alex squared up like he was eager for a fight.
“Let’s take this to the waiting room. We need privacy.” Redburn didn’t budge, his face growing crimson. “Please, not out here. You wouldn’t want to disturb your wife.”
That was the lever it took to move him, and the judge stalked down the corridor.
Morgan caught Alex’s arm before he’d taken two steps. “Keep it cool. We need his help.”
“You saw him. He thinks I had something to do with this.”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s just upset about his kid, so cut him some slack,” she said.
“He didn’t cut me any.”
“This isn’t just about you, Parkin. Not this time.”
When the three of them entered the waiting room, the lone occupant, an elderly male, looked up. He took in the vibes, then rose and headed for the door, making an excuse that he needed coffee. Morgan wished she could join him.
She pulled the door partially closed to give them some privacy.
“They let you out already?” Redburn demanded.
“I did my full sentence, Your Honor. I’m all ‘rehabilitated,’” Alex said. “You’d be surprised what I learned in there, thanks to you.”
The judge fluffed up. “Explain to me why Wilder would work with someone who betrayed his badge and his fellow DEA agents?”
Alex took a step toward the man, his fists clenched at his sides. “After you tell me why a judge let the defense attorney make mistake after mistake and didn’t question his competency.”
This was going to come to blows if she didn’t step in.
Morgan put her hands to her mouth and issued a shrill whistle, placing her body between the two irate males.
“Okay, time-out. You guys can sort this out later.” She turned to the judge. “We’re here to find out who did this to your daughter. Besides her, we have four other victims, all dead. Parkin’s on board because he knows how drugs flow through this city. You have no say in whether he works for us or not, Your Honor.” She shot a glance over to her companion. “Jesus, Alex. His daughter almost died. How would you feel if it was Miri in that bed?”
Alex looked away, his mouth in a thin line and the vein on his neck pounding. “I’ll do what I need to do.”
“Okay, good. Judge?”
The man nodded reluctantly. “What do you need to know?”
“Has your daughter used drugs in the past?”
Redburn slumped into a chair, the fury gone. “No. And I’m not some clueless parent—I know the signs. I see them every day in my courtroom.”
“Is she in a dorm on campus, or does she have her own place?”
“Sarah has an apartment over in the Garden District. She rooms with a nurse named Laura Powers. Thank God, too, because Laura knew something was wrong and called 911. If she hadn’t, Sarah would be . . . dead now.”
“Does your daughter have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, a new guy. She wouldn’t bring him home, which told me he probably wasn’t on the level.”
“I can’t imagine bringing my dates home if my dad was a judge,” she said, smiling gently.
Redburn nodded. “I love my daughter and”—he looked at Alex—“and I would do anything to keep her safe.”
Morgan angled her head toward Alex. “Sounds like you and your sister.”
“Yeah. Same thing.”
Redburn’s expression changed. “How is she? Your sister. I remember her from the courtroom.”
“She’s good. She found a way to live without her brother all these years.”
Morgan cut in again. “Would your wife know anything about your daughter’s boyfriend?”
The judge shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Sarah is an intensely private individual, and she doesn’t share much with her parents.”
“Like most kids that age.”
Alex stirred. “Where does Sarah hang out? Any particular bars?”
“Are you saying my daughter’s a tramp?” Redburn demanded.
“No, I’m saying she might have told her friends more than she did you,” Alex replied.
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Laura.”
After Redburn gave them his daughter’s address, he brushed past Alex, then paused at the door. “I wouldn’t trust this man if I were you, Ms. Blake. His defense attorney learned that lesson the hard way. It cost Wayne Clifton his life.”
No, it didn’t. Wayne was his own worst enemy.
Morgan released a long sigh of relief once the judge was gone.
“He’s right, you know,” Alex said. “My so-called defense attorney killed himself right after I nearly died in prison. I’d always hoped the guilt made him put that gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.”
Morgan jolted at the cold anger behind his words, at the memories that surfaced in her mind. The clotted blood, the smell of death. The fact that she’d never had a chance to apologize.
“He did feel guilty,” she said. Wayne had said as much in his suicide note. “But he left behind a wife who loved him.”
“Yeah, and I left my life behind. So which is worse?”
She eyed him. “It all depends on who you ask.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sarah Redburn lived a few blocks from the Starbucks on Magazine Street in the Garden District, the old-money part of New Orleans. Morgan had insisted they stop for coffee and something to eat before they interviewed Sarah’s roommate. Alex had not objected.
Across from him, Morgan demolished a generous slice of iced lemon cake, as if she hadn’t eaten all day. A heavily doctored cup of coffee sat nearby. She’d yet to say anything other than placing the order, which made him feel like even more of a jerk. Especially given how things had been between them this morning.
He shifted in his seat, the part of him that had a one-track mind recalling her soft skin, her firm breasts, how ready she had been for him. Everything had changed between them at the hospital. Now Alex sipped his coffee, watching her skillfully avoid conversation through food. He had no idea how to take it all back, how to regain the camaraderie they’d once shared.
I was a bastard. It hadn’t been right for him to spew all that venom about his attorney at her. It wasn’t her fault; she hadn’t even known the man. And she was right, Clifton had had a wife, one who had no doubt been devastated by his death. To rejoice in the man’s suicide was just cruel.
At the time, Alex had been too upset to realize that there was more going on than just an incompetent attorney. Years of thinking through every minute detail of the trial had revealed the truth: someone, probably Buryshkin, must have pulled Clifton’s strings to get Alex put away.
To keep from making things worse between him and Morgan, Alex stared out the window instead. The Garden District was upscale, with expensive homes and fancy restaurants, the kind of area where you settled down and raised your kids. He wasn’t likely to remarry, not after his first marriage’s spectacular failure. He’d been a sucker, like most guys, buying into the whole happily-ever-after bullshit they sold you along with the diamond engagement ring.
All those years in the joint had changed him on a fundamental level. The old Alex was dead, and he didn’t like the new one very much.
“You’re looking really serious. What are you thinking about?” Morgan asked.
Her question jarred him; he hadn’t expected her to reinitiate conversation. He answered without thinking. “That I’m more like Buryshkin or his thugs than like the rest of these people.”
“Why?”
He gestured to the street outside. “Tell me what you see.”
Morgan checked out the scene, then turned back to him. “Big houses, lawns so perfect they look artificial. The people seem pretty happy. Why?”
“The houses and the people? They scream ‘opportunity’ to me.”
“I don’t understand,” she replied, looking puzzled.
“When I was with the DEA, my boss told me I had to think like a criminal. It was always hard for me.”
“Because you’re not a predator.”
“The prison university,” she said.
Alex lowered his voice. “If I need to steal a ride and it’s a Dodge, Chrysler, or Jeep, I can jack it in fifteen seconds or less. A screwdriver in the ignition and I’m gone. I know how to kill people without making a sound.” He stared into his coffee cup, watching the dark liquid move with the slight vibration of the table. “I can scope out women who are the best targets, and I know exactly when to strike, when they’re at their most vulnerable. I know how to case houses and pull off second-story work without setting off an alarm.” He snorted. “They say prison is all about rehabilitation. It’s just teaching you opportunities you never saw before.”
On the sidewalk, a young woman walked by, pushing a stroller with a sleeping toddler inside. She was pretty—but right now any female from age eighteen on up to fifty looked nice. Still, his libido wasn’t kicking in, not when there was a child involved. Nevertheless, she would serve as an example of his twisted mindset.
“See the lady with the kid? The instant she turns her back to put the child in the car, she’s at risk. You put a knife at her throat, threaten the baby, and she’ll do anything you tell her because she would die protecting that child.”
“Obviously.”
“You’re not seeing it, are you?” he said.
“No, I get it. You internalized the evil that surrounded you every minute you were in jail,” she said.
Alex’s eyes slowly rose, expecting to see condemnation, maybe even pity. There was none.
“I hate who I’ve become,” he admitted.
“You can’t hunt a shark if you don’t know its ways,” she said. “Your years in prison taught you skills that other law enforcement folks don’t have.”
He held his breath, wishing it were that simple.
“Take that knowledge and use it to keep the predators from harming people like that mom and her kid,” Morgan said. “That’s the best we can do.”
“Is that what you do?”
“As much as I can. You can take it even further.”