Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1) (8 page)

“You okay?” Morgan asked.

She’d been impressive. Ballsy, even. Because of her, he wasn’t headed back to jail.

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

“Happy to help out. I’m just glad we caught it in time.”

“He’ll be back,” Alex said, sobering. “The next time, we might not find the stuff, and—”

“There won’t be a next time. We’re about to move somewhere a
lot
more secure. I’ll have someone keep an eye on the house until your sister and Neil get here, so her stuff doesn’t get ripped off and nothing illegal is left behind.”

Alex frowned, not liking the fact that he had no input in this plan. “I’m still not sure I can trust you, even after what just went down. You have to know that.”

“Good. That’s exactly where you should be, Parkin. Trust
no one
but your sister.”

He blinked in surprise. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear.

“The biggest badass is going to walk away from this alive. Make sure it’s you,” she advised.

“What about you, Ms. Blake?”

“I just want to see Buryshkin fall. That’s all that matters to me.”

Which meant that everyone involved in this mission was expendable.

Even me.

Chapter Ten

Miri quickly realized that being under someone’s protection meant losing almost all personal control. Once they’d reached her home, which had involved a circuitous route to ensure they weren’t being followed, “the Iceman” had dictated when and how she got out of his SUV. He’d insisted on doing a security sweep, then proceeded to give her a comprehensive set of rules that made her aching head reel.

Angry and frustrated, she slumped on the couch, trying to ignore him. Like that was possible.

“Did you hear what I said?” her bodyguard asked. He’d positioned himself in the middle of the living room, hands on his hips, looking like a statue of some ancient warrior come to life. All he needed was a cape and he could double as a superhero.

Miri sighed, trying to comprehend how such a hottie could be such a dictatorial jerk.

“Did you hear me?” Neil asked, his voice tighter now, the only indication of his rising tension.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

“Then repeat my instructions back to me,” he insisted.

That pissed her off. She wasn’t five.

“Let’s see: This place is a damned death trap, I’m a complete moron for wanting to live
in
my own home
, and because I’ve got two X chromosomes, you’re the only reason I’ll live to see next week. If I’m lucky.”

Neil blinked. “I don’t remember saying that last part.”

“You thought it.” And he didn’t deny it either.

“Did you
understand
my instructions?” he demanded.

“Yeah. Don’t go near the windows, don’t answer the door, and follow your every command as if you’re God Almighty.”

A tiny quirk at the side of his mouth now. “That works.”

Miri shook her head. She couldn’t tell if that arrogance came from years in the military, or if it was just in her bullet catcher’s DNA. No matter how the Iceman got that way, she knew that he was going to drive her freaking crazy.

So damned unfair. The cutest guy I’ve seen in forever, and he’s an asshole. And what is it with that earring anyway?
She’d come close to asking him a couple times, then backed off. Something told her that wouldn’t be smart.

Her headache and the ache of her scalp wound told her it was time to crash. She rose from the couch, more unsteadily than she preferred. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Remember, stay away from the—” he began.

“I got it all the first time. You do your damned job, and I’ll do mine.”

As she entered her bedroom, she heard him muttering under his breath. Every fourth word started with “f”.

Same to you, buddy
.

By the time Miri was in bed, her anger was gone. Instead, tears formed as the last twenty-four hours caught up with her. Everything sucked. Alex was out of prison, but he was in deep trouble. Some sick creep had tried to kidnap her and beaten the hell out of her. Mr. Toes was dead. The sob came before she could stop it.

“You okay?” Neil asked quietly from the doorway.

Wiping away a tear, Miri nodded. “Yeah. Getting there,” she lied.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” he replied, and then he vanished back into the living room, armed and lethal.

Damn you, Alex. What have you gotten us into?

*~*~*

Alex trailed alongside Morgan and the dog as they made their way through the French Quarter. They kept the pace slow in deference to Odin’s limp, which had grown more noticeable now. Morgan had been right: Alex was like the dog. He was damaged, and no longer of value to his old employers. Put out to pasture. Except this pasture had wolves keen to rip out his throat.

His paranoia had gone full tilt, and that made him dismantle his phone, checking for bugs before they even left his sister’s house. There hadn’t been one. Apparently the Russians knew they could yank on his chain anytime they wanted. If not his, then Miri’s, provided they could get to her.

Alex shifted his attention back to this part of New Orleans. His memories of the area had dimmed over time, both with the years in Angola and the fact that he’d spent most of the last six months of his pre-prison life working undercover in Baton Rouge.

The shops were all open, clueless tourists wandering around with beers or Hurricanes in their hands. The neon lights were gaudy, the music was in your face, and the sex for sale wasn’t exactly subtle. “Hasn’t changed much,” he said, looking around.

“Never does,” Morgan said.

“Where are we headed?”

“To do a little magic,” she replied as she cut down a side street and led Odin up three short stairs into a business.

Alex paused and stared up at the sign. It was a Voodoo shop. “What the hell?”

The shop was painted a blue-green color, with mullioned windows and a gas lamp near the doorway. When he reached the entrance, he looked down to find a semicircle of white chalk markings just inside the door. The figures inscribed inside the arc made no sense to him.

As he debated whether or not he wanted to cross whatever the hell that thing was, a couple left the shop, chatting happily about something they’d bought. They didn’t even seem to notice the symbols.

“Come on in. Adah won’t bite,” Morgan said, waving him in from her position by the cash register. At present, it was just her, Odin, and a shopkeeper inside. The moment Alex stepped over the threshold, a sneeze overtook him. Then another.

“Damned incense,” he muttered. Then he realized the shop’s clerk had heard him. Or was she the owner?

“We got ourselves a live one here, don’t we?” the lady asked, smiling.

“We certainly do,” Morgan replied.

Adah was about forty, with smooth, mocha skin and dark eyes, probably a mixed-race Creole, descended from some of Louisiana’s early colonial settlers. She was strikingly pretty, an earthy contrast to Morgan’s more sophisticated beauty.

Alex tried not to stare at her or all the stuff in the shop. It proved impossible. Anything related to Voodoo had always spooked him. Some of the drug dealers swore they’d never get busted because they had a
loa
, or god, watching over them. Alex had proven a couple of them wrong. He wondered just how much that had pissed off their deities.

Why are we here?
He was about to ask that question when Morgan handed Odin’s leash off to the woman.

“Lars will pick him up in about fifteen minutes and get him back to his handler. Figured you might like that.”

“Surely,” Adah replied, grinning now. “I wouldn’t mind admirin’ that fine young man again. Lars has got quite a smile on him.”

“He’s also a player, so watch out.” After Morgan knelt to pet Odin, he settled his chin on his paws behind the counter and gave a long doggie sigh.

As Alex followed Morgan toward the back of the shop, he mouthed to the dog, “Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.” Odin’s tail wagged as if he’d actually understood him.

Adah reached out and touched Alex’s arm. “Don’t give up. Your time will come. But ya gotta believe it will.”

He mumbled a thank-you and hurried to catch up with Morgan.
Your time will come
. He barely suppressed the shiver that rode up his spine. That was exactly what Grigori had said.

He found Morgan in a small room at the rear of the shop, a tiny space where Adah apparently did some sort of fortune telling. A whole bank of candles flickered on one side of the room, some graced with small offerings of coins or flowers or food. On the other side was a bookcase, filled with various tomes on the subject of Louisiana Voodoo.

Alex’s skin twitched. He couldn’t have been more ill at ease if he’d been in the middle of a gang shootout. He had zero desire to see into the future. His present was bad enough, so why find out what kind of hell awaited him down the line?

“I’m not really into all this Voodoo stuff.”

Morgan eyed him. “Then you’ll never really understand New Orleans, will you?”

“No need to. I’m from Texas.”

“Ah, yes, Texas. The center of the universe. I once thought the same about New York City,” she said. “Close the door, will you?”

He did as she asked, grumbling under his breath. When he turned back, Morgan stood in front of the bookcase. She tipped up onto her toes, clicked something on the top bookshelf, and the whole thing promptly swung open, revealing a heavy metal door. A series of numbers on an electronic keypad generated another click, which allowed her to push open the portal. It led into a hallway. She waved him through, clicked the bookcase back in place, and closed the door.

“You guys are really into cloak and dagger, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

He followed her down the hallway. “Are all your safe houses like this?”

“No. Just depends on the location,” she replied, heading up a wooden staircase. The stairs squeaked as she climbed.

“Maybe you should get these fixed or something.”

“And ruin our early warning system?” she called down, grinning. “Not everything is high tech, you know.”

She had to be messing with him, right? Or maybe not.

He admired the view as she continued up the staircase, and sighed. Nothing about this woman was low rent. Her butt was firm and round, her legs long and lithe.

I really do need to get laid
. But first, he had to stay alive long enough to make that happen.

As she led him on, they passed through two more white steel doors, both requiring passcodes. Finally, they entered an apartment. The instant Morgan shut the door behind him, she set the alarm.

Alex walked farther into the living room, checking it out, and he had to admit that it was a nice place: warm beige walls, a big TV, black couch, and a couple chairs. The floors were wood and the lighting recessed.

If anything, it looked like one of those extended-stay executive apartments. It sure beat the hell out of a prison cell. When he went to one of the windows and carefully pushed back the curtain, he found that it overlooked a courtyard. No balcony. One less way for their enemies to get inside. He stared at the window and realized it had a special covering, most likely to keep someone from seeing inside the apartment.

Turning back, he found Morgan standing in front of the TV, which now displayed nine different security-camera feeds.

“Talk about being paranoid,” he said.

“Better than being dead,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What if all this fancy security fails and the person you’re babysitting dies?” he asked, just to see if he could get a rise out of her.

“We’ve got a great maid service. They’re really good at sweeping up stray body parts and getting stains out of the furniture.”

He found himself smiling.

“You want to eat first, or sleep?” she asked.

It was as if the S-word magically conjured up a yawn, one that hit him hard, no matter how he tried to stifle it. He raised his hand to cover his mouth.

“Sleep. I’m wasted,” he mumbled around the yawn. He was barely able to move as it was.

“The bedroom on the right is yours. Keep the curtains drawn. You’ll find clean clothes in the drawers and closet, and appropriate boy stuff in the medicine cabinet.”

“Boy stuff?”

“It’s like girl stuff, only different,” Morgan said, deadpan. “Now, if the girl stuff is more your style . . . ”

Alex cocked an eyebrow.

“Hey, whatever your kink is, it’s all good,” she said.

Before he knew what he was doing, he moved closer, pushing the space between them. So much had happened so quickly, and this woman had been in the heart of it. Saying “thank you” just didn’t seem to cut it.

Something changed in her eyes, something about him being too close to her. Morgan immediately stepped back. “Go! When you have a brain, we’ll plan our strategy. Right now, you’re too damn tired to be useful.”

She was right.

The wood flooring creaked under Alex’s feet as he entered the bedroom. The beige walls continued here, with heavy white curtains at the windows and a black, lightweight comforter on the bed. He kicked off his shoes, then made for the bathroom. Here, apricot walls greeted him—not his favorite color—and some sort of seashell shadowbox display on the wall beside the sink. It was too fussy for him.

He washed his face and arms, then toweled dry. Looking in the mirror told him that the dark circles under his eyes weren’t going away without sleep. Lots of it.

Hearkening back to Morgan’s comment, he pulled open the medicine cabinet and found the “boy stuff”: razor, shaving cream, a comb, deodorant, a new toothbrush wrapped in plastic, and a tiny tube of toothpaste. He laid all of them on the counter near the sink. Then his eyes returned to the ribbed condoms stacked neatly in one corner of the cabinet. The grin came unbidden.

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.”