Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1) (5 page)

“Miri?” she called out. Another cry, this one quickly cut off.

Morgan’s fingers hunted for the zipper to her purse. Then she remembered—no gun. She slung the strap across her body and edged through the gate. In the semi-darkness, she made out two figures—one large, over six feet tall, weighing at least 225. He was choking out the other, smaller figure, his massive arm around her neck as he dragged her down the alley toward a black sedan and its open trunk.

“Ah, hell.”

To her credit, Miri was fighting the bastard, but it was plain that she didn’t have the skills or the bulk to take on her attacker. She clawed at his thick arm, blood running down her face and onto her T-shirt from a cut on her scalp, her eyes panicked as she tried to breathe.

“Hey asshole, let her go!” Morgan called out as she advanced.

“Get lost, bitch,” he snarled.

“Wrong answer,” Morgan said, looking around for a weapon. None to be found, unless she wanted to throw a trash can at the guy. It wasn’t going to be an even match—he had at least ninety pounds on her—but no way was this monster leaving with Parkin’s sister.

He ignored Morgan as if she posed no threat. Instead, as he shifted his captive around to force her in the trunk, Miri took that opportunity to slam a fist into his face. A sickening crunch of cartilage and a roar of pain as the man reeled backward, holding his bleeding nose.

Morgan waded in, snapping a kick at his closest knee. He moved at the last minute, and it missed him, clipping his thigh instead. His fist shot out, but instead of targeting her as she’d expected, he hammered a blow into Miri’s chest. She folded to the ground, curling into a fetal position, trying to catch her breath.

Morgan exploded in fury. She grabbed a beefy shoulder with both hands, and using all her leverage, tried to ram his head into the open trunk lid. He swung a fist at her, catching her chin and snapping her neck around. She lurched backward, but the bastard just kept coming. He grabbed her throat with huge hands, digging his fingers into her flesh.

As black spots crowded her vision, Morgan swept her right arm down and broke the chokehold. Trapping his one arm against her, she elbowed his gut. When he bent over in pain, she brought her knee up, connecting with his chin. The man fell back, blood dripping down his face. Fumbling, he reached behind his back. When the gun came into sight, Morgan kicked it out of his hand.

When it skittered away, vanishing into the darkness, he staggered toward the front of the car, spraying blood with each step. Though Morgan really wanted to kick the hell out of this guy, a quick look back at Miri told her that the girl needed help, immediately. She lifted her up and began moving her toward the bar’s back entrance.

They’d nearly reached it when the car fired to life and the reverse lights came on. Their attacker hadn’t given up yet. As the tires squealed, Morgan dragged Miri into the narrow entrance. With a roar, the sedan ploughed backward through the fence, snapping off the metal pipes, which headed toward them like a line of sharpened stakes.

As the girl cried out in fear, Morgan wrapped herself around Miri and pressed her against the door. The metal spikes screeched against the asphalt, then cut along the bricks.

In the end, the fence saved them, as one of the stakes drove a hole into a rear tire and a loud pop echoed in the alley. Inside the vehicle, their assailant bellowed his fury, then put the car into drive and took off down the alley, the flat tire thumping with each turn. Shouts erupted as the sedan barreled out into the street, telling Morgan that he’d barely missed some pedestrians in his effort to escape.

“Jesus,” she murmured, her knees no longer supporting her. She turned so her back was to the building, then slid down the brick to the ground, cradling the injured girl to her chest. Miri’s breathing became increasingly labored.

Morgan’s phone was trapped under the girl. As she tried to extract it, the back door opened and Sam stepped out. He took one look at them and swore. His phone was out of his pocket in an instant, and he dialed 911. Another face appeared in the doorway, one of the bouncers.

“Get a blanket. She’s going into shock,” Morgan said to him, feeling surprisingly calm, though her voice still shook.

The man blinked, then nodded and vanished inside.

Miri murmured something, her head rising, eyes unfocused. At least her breathing had evened out. Maybe she didn’t have a broken rib after all.

Morgan pushed back the girl’s bloody hair. “He’s gone. The paramedics are coming. You’re going to be okay. Just hang in there.”

“He . . . he . . . ”

“I know, honey. I know.”

Morgan knew better than most that too many girls ended up dead in shallow graves or in alleys, tossed away like garbage. She’d seen so many of them during her time at the FBI. Knew how close she’d come to the same fate.

“Why . . . me . . . ?” Miri asked, shivering in Morgan’s arms now.

“Don’t know. Some guys don’t need a reason.”

“Said I was . . . his . . . stalking me . . . ” Then the girl shuddered. “My brother . . . he’ll kill him . . . go back . . . to prison . . . ”

“No, he won’t. You have my word on that,” Morgan said.

Because if I find that bastard first, I’m going to take him out before Parkin has a chance. And I’m going to smile when I do it.

Chapter Seven

By the time the cops and paramedics arrived, Miri had stopped talking and fallen unconscious, which wasn’t a good sign. As the paramedics began their initial assessment of the victim, a few of the bar patrons wandered out to check on the commotion. The bouncer promptly earned his pay and herded them back inside.

Still seated on the ground, Morgan leaned back against the building. Her throat and shoulder ached in time with her heartbeat.

“Ma’am?” a city cop asked, kneeling next to her. “You hurt?”

“Nothing an ice pack and a stiff belt of whiskey won’t cure,” she replied. Compared to the gunshot wound earlier in the year, this was nothing.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Morgan laid out the details of the assault step by step, though some of it was pure fallacy. She could hardly talk about the Russians and Alex Parkin, so she claimed to have stepped outside to get some air when she found the girl being attacked. She noted that Sam was nearby, listening to every word. He gave a short nod, indicating he’d spin his tale the same way if asked.

Fortunately, the cop seemed to buy her story.

It pissed her off that she’d only gotten a couple numbers from the Dodge’s license plate, but it was that or get flattened like an armadillo on a state highway.

“Description of the guy?” the cop asked, taking notes.

“Closely cropped brown hair, cuts on his face, probably from the girl’s nails, and his left ear sticks out a bit more than his right. He has a scarred face. And now he has a broken nose.”

The cop cracked a smile. “That your doing?”

“Nope. The girl did the nose job,” Morgan replied, wanting Miri to get the credit.

“Sweet. Sounds like the bastard deserved it.”

“No argument there.”

After giving the officer her contact info, she rose to her feet in slow motion, waving off his help. Sam was talking to another cop, and she knew he’d claim that they’d just been hanging together in the bar before the incident.

Morgan made her way over to Miri. The girl’s eyes were closed, an oxygen cannula in her nose and an IV line in her right arm, pumping in fluid at a steady rate. The blood had dried on her face and clothes now, making her look like the victim of a multi-car pileup.

“How’s she doing?” Morgan asked, kneeling next to her.

The lady paramedic looked at her. “Still unconscious. Vitals are pretty decent. We got the head wound to stop bleeding, so that will help. They’ll check out her skull and the rest of her when we get to the ER.”

“Which hospital?”

“Tulane Medical Center.”

“Thanks.”

“You need us to check you out?” the other paramedic asked.

“No, I’m good.”

Morgan rose and stepped away, hitting a contact number on her phone. This was the kind of major screw-up you reported directly to the boss before he heard it from the cops. Because he would hear about it soon enough.

“How bad is she?” Crispin asked without saying hello.

How do you do that?
“She got pretty badly beaten up.”

“Russians?”

Morgan thought back to the man’s voice, his speech pattern. “I don’t think so. She thinks he’s some sort of stalker, and right now, I’m inclined to agree. Especially with what happened to her cat this afternoon.”

“Another complication,” her boss said. “Give me your report.”

Ensuring they had privacy, she brought him completely up to speed.

“I’ll have Neil get with you for support,” Crispin said. “You did good tonight, Morgan.” Then he ended the call.

“Not from where I’m standing,” she said, watching the paramedics and their patient.

If she’d been on the ball, Parkin’s kid sister wouldn’t be headed to the emergency room.

Neil’s call came within a minute. “What do you need?” he asked.

That was the Iceman’s style: no fuss, no drama, just solid backup. It was what made him one of her favorite people at Veritas.

“Did Crispin give you the rundown?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell Parkin what happened and bring him to Tulane Medical’s ER.”

“You want your name mentioned?”

“Yeah, might as well get it all out there. He’ll find out anyway. Be careful with him. This will set him off big time. We don’t want him on a manhunt for this whack job.”

“Understood. Send me a picture of the girl. That’ll get him moving.”

Then he was gone.

Neil didn’t let emotions rule him. He just did his job. Right now, that was exactly what Morgan needed most.

*~*~*

Alex hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the day had finally punched his ticket and he’d crashed shortly after talking to his sister. He woke up, groggy, thinking he’d heard a car door slam. He leveraged himself up on the lumpy couch and rubbed his eyes. When his vision finally cleared, he checked the clock above the stove.

3:09? Where the hell is she?

He was reaching for his cell phone on the floor when someone pounded on the front door. He sighed in relief. This was probably her. Still, she was supposed to call him . . .

Alex opened the door, ready to ream out his baby sister for being stupid, and found himself staring into the blue-gray eyes of a young man. He had a closely trimmed beard and moustache, and a flattened silver stud in his right ear. He was a big dude, obviously worked out regularly, and was about the same age as Alex. But what Alex noticed the most was the world-weary expression, the kind that said life had kicked this man in the balls more than once, and that he didn’t expect that to change.

“Parkin—”

“Wrong house,” Alex said, starting to close the door. A hand grabbed the door and shoved it open again.

“You need to come with me. It’s about your sister.”

The hair on the back of Alex’s neck rose. “What happened to her? Who are you?”

“Name’s Neil. I work for Veritas
.
Your sister got into some trouble at a bar tonight, and she’s headed to the ER. I’ll drive you there.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” he demanded.

Neil pulled out a cell phone, scrolled through his messages, and handed it over. “Sorry to do it this way, but we figured you’d need proof.”

Alex stared at the image of his sister being loaded into the back of an ambulance. There was blood on her face and clothes, a cervical collar around her neck.

“Oh my God.”

His hand shook as he gave back the phone. His mind on autopilot, Alex sank onto the couch, fumbling for his shoes. “What the hell happened? How’d she get hurt?”

Neil stepped inside the house. “Some guy beat her up. It didn’t go any further than that. Valkyrie made sure of it.”

Valkyrie?

Alex laced up the second shoe as he worked through the news: Miri was hurt, bad, or she wouldn’t be going to a hospital and he’d been sleeping when it’d gone down.

Goddammit.

Grabbing the keys off the table, he jammed his phone in a pocket and headed out the door. Once he had it locked, they hurried across the lawn to where a black SUV sat at the curb, prime bait for this neighborhood. Surprisingly, no one was paying any attention to it, as if they knew it would only buy trouble.

He climbed into the vehicle, buckled up, and then they were headed down the street. Alex stared at nothing out the side window. “Who is Valkyrie?”

“Morgan. That’s our nickname for her.”

Alex glared at him. “What does she have to do with this? Why are you guys anywhere near my sister?”

The driver shot him a look, then turned back to watch the road. “Morgan was worried something might happen, so she was keeping an eye on her.”

Alex’s suspicions rose. “Sounds too noble. I’m thinking maybe you bastards set this whole thing up just to get me on your team.”

Neil slammed on the brakes, rocking Alex forward until his seatbelt caught. They skidded to a stop. The driver grabbed the front of Alex’s T-shirt, yanking him forward so they were nose to nose.

“I’ll say this once: Morgan Blake is the only reason your sister is alive and not some sick bastard’s play toy. I don’t give a goddamn if you work for us or not, but you better get your head out of your ass. This game just went into overtime.”

Alex opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut, registering the seething anger in the man’s eyes. Neil released him and went back to driving, jaw clenched.

As Alex straightened his shirt, he made a note not to piss off this guy again. There was a lot of barely repressed rage beneath that icy exterior, something far beyond tonight’s attack.

“Was it the Russians?” Alex asked.

“Morgan doesn’t think so. She thinks the guy was a sicko, a stalker maybe. Must have grabbed your sister when she came out of the restroom and hauled her into the alley before she could scream for help. By the time Morgan got there, the guy was trying to stuff your sister into his car trunk.”

Alex’s blood chilled. “Did he—”

“You want to know any more, ask Morgan. I only got enough info to get your stubborn ass in the car.”

Alex ground his teeth, but he didn’t ask any more questions. He’d find out the details soon enough. Then it’d be his turn to rain hell on whoever had hurt his baby sister.

*~*~*

His father had called him Hurricane Alex when he was little because there wasn’t much that could slow him down. It was the same now as he swept through the emergency room at top speed, nearly mowing down a nurse’s aide in his haste. The instant he was inside the door, he remembered the place from when his former partner had been knifed during a drug bust. It was crowded, as usual, with people bleeding, vomiting, and moaning.

Tonight, his only goal was to find his sister.

A young, light-skinned black man stepped in his way and gestured to him. “This way, Mr. Parkin.”

“What?”

“Your sister’s down this way. I’m Lars, one of Morgan’s people,” the man replied, hustling Alex past anyone who might have slowed them down.

Just how many
people
did Morgan have?

They reached the door to the exam room, and suddenly Alex’s feet locked up.

Lars seemed to understand. “She’s still unconscious, but she’s breathing okay. They stopped the bleeding. I’m sorry this happened. Honestly.”

Alex swallowed hard, touched by the man’s compassion. It sounded sincere. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Lars said, and stepped aside.

Alex made himself move forward, fearing more than he could put into words. All he wanted to do was hold Miri and know she was going to be okay.

He figured the ER staff would give him hell the instant he headed into the room, but instead a nurse looked up from a computer terminal. She was short and black and looked like she knew what she was doing. Had probably been doing it for longer than his sister had been alive.

“I’m Miri Parkin’s brother.”

“Oh, good. Just know that she looks kinda rough.”

The nurse waved him forward and pulled back the curtain.

Alex stepped closer and gasped. His sister lay on a bed, her neck and the upper portion of her chest covered in dried blood. A neck brace held her head immobile and oxygen flowed into her nose through a tube. Miri’s eyes were closed, her chest rising slowly with each inhalation. Her skin seemed sculpted from wax, not the light tan he’d seen this afternoon. A heart monitor beeped steadily and there seemed to be a million IV lines.

“Oh God,” he said.

The nurse patted his arm. “She’s doing better, honey. Much better. The good Lord looked after her, that’s for sure.”

“Mr. Parkin?”

Alex turned to find a gentleman in a turban—Doctor Singh, according to the man’s name badge.

“How bad is she?”

“She’s stable. I’ve ordered a CAT scan to ensure there’s nothing going on in her skull that we wouldn’t like. Her pupils are equal and I’m not seeing any sign of an intracranial bleed, but we want to be sure. After that, we’ll monitor her vitals and wait for her to regain consciousness. It all depends on what we learn from the tests.”

Alex liked this guy. There was no “I am God” attitude. He just delivered the news in an honest and reassuring tone.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for her. She’s . . . ”

“Your sister,” the nurse said, checking Miri’s blood pressure. “Most of us got one. They’re God’s precious gift.”

He looked at Miri, his eyes clouding with tears now.

“That’s exactly what she is.”

And I almost lost her.

*~*~*

After Lars had thrown an uncharacteristic fit and insisted that Morgan be checked out by a doctor, she had submitted to an exam and then found solace in an empty waiting room. Once she was settled, her friend brought her hot tea and an ice pack. She couldn’t decide if the latter needed to be on her throat or her shoulder, so she kept shifting it around.

A nurse had been kind enough to give her a set of scrubs so the cops could take her bloody clothes. Maybe they’d get lucky and find DNA that would lead them to the attacker, if the fingerprints on the gun didn’t turn up anything.

The cops didn’t realize that Veritas had already turned its vast resources toward finding the bastard. Though she’d love to be the one to run him down, she suspected that honor would go to Neil. When the Iceman was in hunter mode, nothing stopped him.

A text came through. As she picked up the phone, she noticed the blood embedded around her nails, and sighed. If she hadn’t trusted her instincts, that girl would have been in that guy’s trunk, headed for hell.

The text was from Lars: Parkin had arrived and word was that the X-rays and CAT scan were clear, though Miri still hadn’t regained consciousness.

“At least that’s something,” Morgan murmured.

After another sip of tea, she lay down on the couch, pulling a blanket over her. She’d give Parkin a bit more time, then she’d go see him and his sister. After that, she was headed home, as dawn was only a few hours away.

Rest didn’t come as easily as she’d hoped, not with all those questions firing through her head. Was this a random attack? Something the Russians had cooked up to sway Parkin to their camp? Or was this one of his old enemies hitting at his most vulnerable spot?

When her eyes finally drifted shut, all she could hear were Miri’s desperate screams and the sound of screeching tires.