Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1) (4 page)

“Letting you admire your handiwork.”

He let her go right before they reached the trash can. Whipping off the lid, he waited for her to admit this was her doing. Instead, the woman’s face went pale. Her hand covered her mouth and she stepped away. He lowered the lid, then stepped back to escape the cloud of flies.

Morgan swallowed hard as she took another step back. “Who did that?”

“Your people.”

“What? No way,” she said. “We don’t do that kind of crap.”

His resolve wavered. “Then who? The Russians?”

To his surprise, she shook her head. “No. That’s not Buryshkin’s style.”

If it wasn’t her or the Russians, there was another player in the game.
No, it has to be one of them
.

“That was my sister’s cat,” he said. “There was a note with it. It said, ‘Nowhere to hide.’”

“Was it a message for you . . . or for her?”

That, he didn’t know.

The frown on Morgan’s face grew. “Admit it, you’re in deep trouble, Parkin. You’ve got enemies who’d love to break you in half, and they don’t care who they hurt in the process.”

“My problem, not yours.”

“It’s your sister’s problem too. They won’t hesitate to use her as a way to put a ring in your nose. You piss them off, and you’re both taking a one-way trip to the swamp.”

“Is that any different from you guys?”

“Hell yes.” A fly landed on her face and she swiped it off. “With us, you get a chance to make things right. A chance to get even. Don’t you want revenge?”

“Of course I want revenge,” he said, stepping closer to her now. “But I won’t be a pawn for anyone. I’ll take care of my sister on my own. That’s my job now.”

Morgan shook her head in dismay. “You’re so out of your league.” She dug a business card from her purse and offered it to him. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

She tossed the card in the grass at his feet. “Someday, you may not have a choice anymore.”

He made no move to pick it up. “Not going there, lady. I’d rather kiss the devil’s ass.”

“Dial that number and maybe we’ll still have time to pull
your
ass out of the fire. Because we’re going to be the only ones who can do it.”

As the woman marched around the side of the house through the weeds, he stared down at the business card, then picked it up. A mobile number was listed beneath her name.

He crumpled the card, then threw it toward the trash can and the rotting corpse, where it belonged. By the time Alex was back inside, the kitchen clock told him he needed to get a move on; Miri’s tire needed fixing, if for no other reason than to get in her good graces. Especially when he would have to tell her Mr. Toes was dead.

Who the hell would do something like that?
Clearly it was some sick bastard, and the fact that he’d been anywhere near Miri scared Alex senseless.

After making sure the back door was bolted, he collected the ring of keys and the money from the kitchen table. Locking the front door behind him, he paused and took a deep breath as the open space loomed around him, pressing down on him like it had its own weight. Some cons took time to adjust to the outside, and apparently he was one of them. He wondered if he would ever be normal again.

No routine.
That was what he was missing. Routine meant stability. Relative safety. Now he felt like he was completely adrift in a sea of unknowns. Other people would go to the cops, tell them about the cat, maybe get someone to investigate.

But not Alex. Not with his record. He was on his own.

It took work to get the tire off the car as the lug nuts weren’t cooperating. The heat didn’t help; he was dripping sweat by the time the task was complete. Slowly, he ran his fingers over the tire and found a slice in the sidewall, not a nail hole. His first guess had been right—someone, probably Veritas, had slit the tire to allow Morgan time to lure him into their web.

Their plan had failed.

Hefting the tire, Alex set off down the street. If he was lucky, he’d find a neighbor kid who could point him toward the closest tire-repair place. Once it was fixed, he’d order some pizza and decide what to do next. Figure out how to fight back.

Mr. Toes had been an innocent victim. Alex was determined that he’d be the only one.

*~*~*

Morgan flipped the locks on her front door, then tapped in the code to disable her apartment alarm. She was still fuming at Parkin’s stubbornness. How could he think they would kill his sister’s cat? They weren’t monsters. This wasn’t like the Russian’s goons, either. They wouldn’t mess with some pet—they’d go right after Parkin or his sister.

As Morgan kicked off her tennis shoes, her cell phone began to play “Ride of the Valkyries.” She checked the caller ID and smiled—it was Lars Ericson, who had been assigned the task of keeping an eye on Parkin. Lars was the son of a Scandinavian pharmaceutical executive and a British-Jamaican flight attendant. He was a whip-smart operative and a devastating handball player. Morgan had learned about the latter talent at great personal humiliation and expense, because there was always some money riding on each game.

“Hey Lars, what’s new? Parkin get his ass shot yet?” she said, bending down to scoop up her shoes.

“Nope. He’s currently carrying the flat tire down the street. I’m guessing he’s off to an auto shop.”

“Being the dutiful big brother, then.” She caught Lars up on what their subject had found in his trash can.

“Ah, hell. What kind of sick SOB would do that to a cat?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like Buryshkin. Could it be an ex-boyfriend who wasn’t happy to be left behind?”

“According to our research, the sister’s last steady guy was over eight months ago and he lives in Detroit now.”

“So maybe it’s a stalker,” Morgan grumbled.

“Always possible. I didn’t see anyone around the house, but then, I didn’t start surveillance until six this morning.”

“There were no maggots on the corpse yet, so it probably died sometime last night. They take about twenty-four hours to hatch out.”

A brief pause and a shuffling noise, perhaps Lars switching the phone to the other ear. “What happened between you and Parkin? I saw him haul you into the house. I figured you could handle him, so I held back.”

“Parkin was blaming us for the cat. He’s got a short fuse, and the fact that his sister’s space has been invaded has made him even more volatile.”

“You want me to keep watching him?”

“Yeah, at least for another couple days. The Russians will be in touch with him soon.”

“Who’s taking the night shift?” Lars asked.

“Bill.”

A laugh came down the line. “No surprise there. I swear that man is a vampire. He’s pale enough to be one.”

“True.” Which was one thing that Alex Parkin wasn’t—his time in the prison fields had made sure of that.

“I gotta go. Our guy is turning the corner so I better catch up with him. I’ll call you later with an update.”

“Thanks, Lars.”

“Later, Valkyrie.”

Morgan ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bathroom counter. Eyeing the bathtub, she turned on the water and began to strip. Dropping in a scoop of sandalwood bath salts, she climbed in.

Morgan slid farther down into the water, hoping it would wash away some of her worries. She had good people—Lars, Neil, and Bill were top-notch operatives, and they’d keep an eye on Parkin and his sister.

“Come on, you idiot, work with us,” she muttered.

God help her, she was willing to use his desire for revenge to fuel her own.

Chapter Six

It was close to two in the morning and Miri really wanted to go home, exhausted after a six-hour shift—though the tips had been really good. Nevertheless, she’d agreed to go out for a few drinks after work to celebrate Shanita’s birthday, so she’d put on her happy face and sucked it up. Because that’s what you did for your best friend.

They’d started the evening with a couple of Shanita’s buddies at the Two Friends Bar, a gay watering hole on Dauphine Street. After spending an hour or so there, they’d migrated to a raucous daiquiri joint down the river from Jackson Square. That was when everyone else’s drinking had gone into overdrive.

The only things keeping Miri in place were loyalty to her friend and the fact that her brother was at home, probably wondering where she was. She needed to demonstrate her independence or Alex would treat her like she was still a teenager. It had never been a contest of wills between them before, but she suspected that would be the case now. He’d be trying to make up for all the years she’d been on her own.

Day after day, year after year, she’d waited for that phone call to tell her that he’d died in prison, been knifed or beaten to death, because she knew that former law-enforcement officers didn’t do well behind bars. Too many people had scores to settle. But somehow, he’d survived. She’d always known Alex was tough, but he’d managed to surprise her.

Miri had wanted to burst into tears, hug him, and tell him how relieved she was when he’d knocked on the door, but something had held her back. Something deep inside her that she didn’t really understand. Something she wasn’t proud of. It was as if she needed him to hurt as badly as she had. But that was stupid, because one look in his eyes had told her that he’d been there and suffered just as much, if not more.

Her eyes swept across the bar again, the third time in a few minutes. She’d had the feeling that someone was watching her all evening, but it was hard to determine just who with so many bodies in one place. It’d begun at work, then followed her to the first bar, and now here.

You’re just being paranoid.
Mostly because she was a cocktail waitress, and that meant that a lot of guys—and a few girls—felt the need to hit on her. Most of them backed off, but every now and then there was one who just didn’t understand “no.”

She shook off the feeling and tried to refocus on the conversation between Shanita and her two friends. One was a realtor and the other a would-be fashion designer. All three were becoming drunker by the minute.

Miri’s phone rang and the caller ID wasn’t familiar, so she let it roll over to voicemail. It buzzed again a minute later, which meant it probably wasn’t a wrong number. Then she remembered it might be her brother. Yet another new thing to adjust to. As she answered the call, Miri pushed her way toward the front door.

“Hello?” She stepped outside, where the noise level dropped by half, and moved farther down the street, leaning against a building to be out of the flow of foot traffic. She was careful to keep her small purse tucked between her and the brick wall. New Orleans bred thieves like it did tourists, and she had nearly a hundred fifty dollars of tips in there.

“Hey! This is your no-good ex-con brother, checking in to see how you’re doing,” Alex said, his voice straining to sound nonchalant.

She blinked in surprise, then frowned. “I’m fine. Did you get the tire fixed?”

“No. I—”

“Shanita can’t drive me to work tomorrow. I need my car, Alex.” She’d given him one little job, and he’d let it slide.

“If you’d listen . . . I didn’t get it fixed because it was too damaged. I bought a used one to replace it. I talked the guy down ten bucks, and it should last a long time.”

Miri paused, realizing she’d been jonesing for a reason to argue with him. Which was dumb.

“Sorry. That’s cool. Thanks.”

“No sweat.”

“Did you eat anything?”

“Yeah. I ordered a pizza. That was a novel experience. I’m not used to having to decide what I want to eat.”

Just one of the many things she took for granted. “You find the beer in the refrigerator?”

“Yeah. I’ve had two, and it feels more like eight.”

“Listen to you. You’re a total wuss now.”

“Tell me about it,” he joked. “I’m about to go to bed, so . . . when should I start worrying if you’re not home?”

She could tell Alex was lying—he was already worrying, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to bed until she came through the front door.

“Actually, I’m really tired and Shanita’s just getting started. I should be home in about an hour or so.”

“You need a ride?”

“I’ll catch the bus. Remember, you don’t have a license? You don’t need the cops nailing you for that.”

A long sigh came down the line, telling her he’d forgotten again. “Where does the bus drop you off?”

“St. Charles and Josephine.”

“Good. Then when you get on, call me, and I’ll meet you at the stop. That way I won’t freak out about you walking home alone in this craptastic neighborhood.”

Rather than being angry at his interference, Miri smiled. Her brother could be a pain in the ass, but he always cared.

“Okay. You got it. You sure an old guy like you doesn’t need his beauty sleep?”

“Smartass. You having fun?”

“Yeah,” she said, though that wasn’t as true as she made it sound. “I’m just tired from work.”

“I’ll try not to snore tonight and keep you awake.”

“You better not. Did you feed Mr. Toes?”

There was a long pause. “Ahh . . . no. Sorry.”

She decided to let it go. Toes would be waiting for her when she got home, and she’d take care of him.

“I’ll call you when I leave,” she said, heading back toward the bar’s entrance.

“Love you, sis.”

Miri hung up without replying. Why? She didn’t know. She loved him, but she wasn’t good with the chaos he brought into her life. Her instincts told her it was just starting all over again.

Did she dare tell him what had really happened when he’d been in prison, the kind of hell their aunt and uncle had put her through? Would he understand why she’d kept running away, time after time?

Not yet. Maybe someday
.

She found Shanita on her third daiquiri, doing Beyoncé imitations—which was goofy, since she was totally a white girl and her voice sucked. Miri still laughed at her attempts because it was
so
Shanita.

“Anything going on?” her friend asked.

“Just the bro checking in on me,” Miri replied, sliding back into her seat. “You’d think I was like sixteen or something.”

“Do you have a picture of him? I want to show him to my friends here.”

It was an odd request, but Miri chalked it up to too much alcohol. She did have a photo in her wallet, but it was from before he went to prison. Alex
now
was different from Alex
then.
“Not really. I need to leave pretty soon.”

“No! We should go until dawn!” Shanita protested.

“You can. I have to be at work at noon.”

“Then let me buy you another beer. You guys want something?”

After collecting their orders, Shanita was off to the bar, leaving Miri to chat with the other two, both of whom she barely knew.

Awkward.

Yet another reason to drink her last beer and head for home.

*~*~*

As Morgan stepped inside the bar, she winced. It must be a sign of age, because all the noise and packed bodies didn’t do a thing for her. Not that she was old at thirty-four, but the jumbled mix of spilled beer, sweat, and perfume made her head ache.

On top of all that, she’d had to leave her gun in the car, something she never liked to do. Since state law came down hard on folks who went armed into a Louisiana bar, that would violate one of Veritas’s prime directives: avoid hassles with local law enforcement. With her luck, it would just get stolen out of her car and she’d still have to talk to the cops.

Since Bill had reported that all was quiet at the girl’s home, Morgan texted her other contact, the one who’d been tailing Miri. Samuel Marsh was in his mid-thirties, a former Chicago homicide detective who now worked as a private investigator. Tonight he was serving as backup on the mission.

His return text served as her guide dog through the throng at the bar. With a slim build and a boyish face, he could pass for someone ten years younger, even a college student. That had worked to their advantage in the past.

He’d chosen a spot along the far wall, which made him look like he was scoping out the babes, not just one girl in particular. He had a beer in hand and was dressed in bar camouflage: jeans and a navy T-shirt. He worked out regularly, but his muscles weren’t quite as defined as Parkin’s. Morgan groaned to herself. Now she was comparing every guy to the ex-con. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Sam,” she said, leaning back against the wall next to him while keeping her focus on the milling crowd. “How’s it going?”

“Good. Our lady is directly opposite us, with three friends.”

Morgan’s eyes skipped over the tables and settled on a young woman. She’d seen surveillance photos of Miri Parkin, but she was even prettier in person, with an expressive face and a lighter version of her brother’s thick brown hair. The way she held herself told Morgan she was exhausted and really wanted to be anywhere but here.

“How much has she been drinking?” Morgan asked.

“Not much. That’s her third beer for the night. She’s a smart one. She won’t touch a bottle unless the cap is still on. Got a bottle opener in her purse.”

Morgan found herself liking the girl already. “She works in a bar. Probably seen every roofie trick in the book. Thank God she’s not a lush. Babysitting drunks is never fun.”

Sam grunted his agreement. “We won’t be babysitting much longer. She got a call from her brother. She told him she was going to be leaving soon.”

“Good. I don’t think my eardrums can handle this noise much longer.”

“You get used to it after a while,” he replied.

“Only after you go deaf.”

Morgan pulled out her cell phone, acting as if she were just checking messages. Using it as a prop, she held it up in such a way that she could scope out the bar, noting certain faces, taking pictures of a few of them for reference. No one screamed “Russian,” so she lowered the phone and looked back at Miri. The girl was doing the same thing—scanning faces—minus the phone. Had her brother warned her to keep an eye out for trouble? Or was it something else?

“Does she seem edgy to you?” Morgan asked.

“Yes, and I’ve been wondering why.”

“I’ll scope the place out, see if I find anyone who looks like they’re working for Buryshkin. Let me know if anything changes.”

“You got it.”

Morgan made the rounds of the bar, wandering through the crowd of locals and tourists. Offers to buy her a drink came her way, but she politely turned them down. Finally, she grabbed a half-full beer bottle off an empty table and carried it with her to keep the come-ons to a minimum.

When she returned to Sam, she found that Miri was no longer with her friends. “Where is she?”

“Restroom. It’s amazing how long you ladies can spend in a place like that.”

Morgan’s unease rose. “How long has she been gone?”

Sam shrugged. “Five minutes, maybe.”

Except none of Miri’s friends were with her, so there would be no reason to spend that much time hanging in the restroom.

“I’ll check on her.” She placed the beer decoy on a nearby table and headed through the crowd once more.

“Hey, honey!” a guy called out, but she kept moving.

The hallway to the restrooms had a series of classic New Orleans photographs on the walls, most of them of Mardi Gras, with lots of masks and beads and the occasional topless female.

Morgan pushed open the door to the ladies’ room and found a lone occupant at the sinks. The girl had to be using a fake ID. Ms. Underage was busy adjusting her clothes for maximum exposure. Hiking her short skirt even farther up, flashing more thigh. Bending over and plumping her breasts to make them pop out from the low top.

Was I ever like that?
Unfortunately, the answer was “affirmative,” at least when she’d been sixteen. Once the girl was gone, Morgan checked underneath the stalls. No Miri.

Where was Parkin’s sister?

When she pushed through the door to the hallway, Morgan had to step aside to allow an older woman in pink polyester pants and a “Do Whatcha Wanna” T-shirt to enter the restroom. Ignoring the Men’s, she tried the two doors located closer to the bar. The first led to a deep storage closet, currently occupied by a pair of lovers who were not there to do an inventory of the paper towels. Not with the woman’s legs wrapped around his waist and his jeans around his skinny ankles.

Once she’d determined the girl wasn’t Miri, Morgan apologized and closed the door, slightly embarrassed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen people having sex before, it was just that they were having such a good time at it.

Not once in her life had she gone into some storage closet and gotten it on. She’d always convinced herself it wasn’t her thing. It certainly hadn’t been her husband’s. Now, as she grew older, Morgan wondered exactly what she’d been missing all these years. Besides the great sex.

She sighed and checked the other door, which led to a small, unoccupied office. That left one other possibility, one that she could not imagine Miri choosing on her own.

Morgan pushed open the heavy back door that led to the alley behind the establishment. It was like most New Orleans back alleys: smelly. A single security light offered a small patch of meager illumination. At the end of the alley to the right was a metal privacy fence, separating it from the main street. Along the adjacent building was a line of lidded trash cans, unfortunately reminding Morgan of the dead cat she’d seen today. That chilling image echoed the warnings her mind kept pushing at her—she was damned if Parkin’s sister would get hurt on her watch, even if Parkin insisted he didn’t need Veritas’s help.

To the left was another privacy fence, dividing that end of the alley in half. Its gate hung open on sagging hinges. Morgan stepped out of the light, moving toward the open gate. She’d just reached it when a sharp cry of “No!” and then the sound of a slap came from that direction. A low moan followed.