Kat and Mouse (2 page)

The media tycoon smirked. “I’ve heard that before. A pretty little thing like you doesn’t go to a place like Los Magia to sleep.”

Katrina faced him squarely, giving him a level look. “Ever been investigated by the Federal Police for unlawful practices?”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “No.”

“Want to be?”

He stared at her for a second before mumbling something under his breath about frigid cows and turning back to his window, stuffing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

Katrina suppressed a dark grin, shoving aside the unsettled fluttering in the pit of her stomach left over from the unexpected dream of a moment she’d left behind. She had a job to do. Somewhere 30,000 ft below was The Mouse. Australia’s most wanted jewel thief and all-round bane of her existence.

She’d been trying to catch the illusive bastard for two years now. He was an annoying blot on her otherwise spotless record. Every time she thought she had him, every time she thought she knew his next move, he proved her wrong. But this time…

She thought of the clues leading her to the mysterious desert city in the United States of America—over seven thousand miles from home.

This
time he hadn’t been as clever at covering his tracks.
This
time she knew exactly where he was headed. He was off-loading the
Australis Night
to someone in Los Magia. If she didn’t know for a fact he worked solo, she’d have thought his clumsy exit trail from Australia the work of a disgruntled, double-crossing partner. She did know better however.

Except for who he was, she knew almost everything about him. His height, his weight, his preferred jewel—diamonds, the hard-to-get-because-they-belong-to-someone-else-and-are-priceless variety, his style… everything she could know without actually meeting him.

Almost like an obsession, really.

Katrina curled her lip. No. Not an obsession. More like a…a…

An obsession?

She rolled her eyes again.

The Mouse had taunted her too many times. Too many times he’d played her—leaving false clues which led to a slap-in-the-face: an empty hotel room in which waited a vase of deep purple irises and an unsigned card addressed to her; a paper-trail leading to another empty room, this time with a black velvet cat collar, complete with tiny bell, sitting in the middle of the folded-down bed; a digitally printed image of Katrina herself left on the empty remains of a display case, the photo captured just as she climbed from her car—gun drawn—outside the crime scene mere minutes earlier.

All taunting her. All twisting her gut tighter. She didn’t know what she loathed more. The man’s brazen criminal acts, or the way he humiliated her at almost every turn. There was no way she’d let him escape her this time. No matter what she had to do, this time she was getting her man.

Los Magia may change people’s lives, but it wasn’t going to change hers. Or The Mouse’s.

She
was going to change
his
life. And that was all.

She’d changed her life once already, and one lifetime life change was one enough.

Los Magia would just have to work its magic on someone else, thank you very much.

Chapter Two

Oppressive heat wrapped Katrina the second she exited the airport. Dry. Baking. Sucking the moisture from her flesh before it could bead as perspiration. It turned the light cotton tank-top and worn denim jeans she wore to a prickling overcoat. She fidgeted, hitching her tote bag higher up on her shoulder. Australia was hot in summer, but not like this. This felt like she’d stepped into Hell.

She cast a look around herself. On second thoughts, Hell probably didn’t have as many beautiful people, looking divine and smouldering sensuality. She scowled, feeling dowdy and jet-lagged. Damn, she should have packed some make-up along with her cuffs.

She pictured locking them around The Mouse’s wrists and a squirming sensation unfurled in the pit of her stomach. Okay, in the junction of her thighs actually. She huffed at her bangs. Getting turned on about arresting a jewel thief? She needed a holiday.

The irony of the thought made Katrina snort. Here she was in a city that, as far as she could tell, rivalled Las Vegas for glitz, glamour and escapism, and she was thinking about having a holiday
when
she left it?

You have a sad life, O’Lauchlan. A sad life
.

Shaking her head, she started striding along the footpath, threading her way in and out of the people around her, studying them, the buildings and everything else her gaze fell on. It was unlikely she’d bump into The Mouse on the street during her first ten minutes in the city, but she wasn’t going to play tourist just yet. The first thing she needed was a map of the city. After she’d familiarised herself with the layout, where the key resorts and casinos were, where the resort
she
herself was staying in, she’d formulate a plan.

Tracking The Mouse down wasn’t going to be easy, but it sure as hell was going to be easier when she knew—kinda—where to look.

Get a feel for the place and the people. Know your surroundings
.

On a less-professional level she found herself wishing she
was
here on holiday, forgetting everything for a few days, just relaxing and take it all in. The lights, buildings, the people. She threaded through them, aware of their body-heat caressing her skin. The people were everywhere; laughing, holding hands, taking in the sites, flapping their wings…

Katrina blinked. A winged person, male and more gorgeous than legally allowed strutted past her, his sculpted bronzed body gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat. God, was Los Magia
that
kind of city? One where the non-humans of the world came to party?

“Crikey…”

The whispered word fell from Katrina’s lips before she could stop it. Crikey?
Crikey
? She hadn’t used the term ‘Crikey’ since she was a teenager. Thank God no one had heard her. She wasn’t doing much for the cultured Australian image.

“Ms O’Lauchlan?”

The silky male voice in her ear made Katrina start and, scowling, she spun about.
Damn it, why was she so edgy
?

A towering man stood beside her, liquid-blue eyes sparkling with an ambiguous light that made Katrina’s nerves tingle. He seemed to radiate energy, a thrumming power that reached out and threaded around her like warm fingers of low voltage. Her nipples pinched tight, as if an unseen caress brushed one and then the other, and she gasped. The urge to take a step back rolled through her, almost as powerful as the urge to take a step
toward
him. To close the distance between them, slide her arms up his back and bury her fingers in the thick blackness of his hair and offer herself to him. Her mouth, her neck, her sex, her soul. To let him invade her completely and –

Katrina blinked again, the strange compulsion fading from her being. She stared at the man, mouth dry, scowl deepening. “I’m sorry, but you are?”

The man smiled, and an unexpected wave of wet warmth pooled in her pussy. “I am Abaddon.” He tilted forward slightly at the hip, an archaic action of respectful greeting, intense blue eyes holding hers through the artful tumble of midnight-ink hair. “I must apologise for missing you at the airport. Unfortunately I was detained elsewhere when your jet touched down.”

She frowned, incapable of missing how gorgeous the man—Abaddon—was, despite how little sense he was making. “Missing me?” She shook her head, hitching her tote a little higher on her shoulder. “I think you must be—”

He cut her off with a soft chuckle, and again, wild flutters of heat pulsed through her sex. “I am with
The Wicked Lynx
.”

Katrina rose her eyebrows.
The Wicked Lynx
was the casino the agent from Hidden Destinations in Sydney had booked her into.
A sinfully exquisite place to stay, with a unique theme unlike any you will experience elsewhere in the world. Very suited to your needs, I must say
, his email had stated. Katrina remembered wondering how he knew what the bloody hell her needs were. Maybe she should have called before taking off.

Gee. Ya think
?

She bit back a curse, glaring at the mysterious man before her. “I wasn’t aware my travel agent had organised shuttle transfer.”

A grin played on his lips. “I am not shuttle transfer, Ms O’Lauchlan. I—how shall I put it?—take care of
The Lynx’s
more special guests.”

Katrina’s eyebrows shot up. Again. “Special? I think you have me mixed up with someone else. I’m just -”

Abaddon shook his head, those blue eyes of his glinting with, what? Mirth? “I assure you, I have not, as you say, mixed you up with anyone. I am here for you, Ms O’Lauchlan. No one else.”

She narrowed her eyes, her cop’s instincts itching. Something felt wrong here. Or maybe it wa
s
jet-lag. Letting out a short sigh, she dragged her fingers through her hair and gave Abaddon a smile. “I’m sorry, Mr Abaddon. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m bugg—” She stopped, remembering the word ‘buggered’ had entirely different connotations in the States. “I’m exhausted.”

“Please.” He returned her smile, whiter-than-white teeth gleaming in the blazing sun. “There is no need to apologise.” His eyes flicked over her, and once more her nipples felt brushed by hidden fingers. “Your suite is waiting for you, a warm bath is already prepared—scented with irises, your favourite, yes?—a chilled bottle of Fosters sits on ice, and a current copy of the
Sydney Morning Herald
is laid out on the bed.” He turned and extended his hand toward a long, black limo hovering by the kerb, its back door open, cool air wafting from within, beckoning her inside.

Katrina looked into the shadowy interior, feeling its pull. A bath sounded good. Very good. But why the hell did a man who knew what her favourite flower was, as well as her preferred Australian newspaper
not
know Australians didn’t drink Fosters.

Bloody hell, O’Lauchlan. Does it matter? Get in the car, get out of the heat and get on the job
.

She climbed into the backseat, sinking into the luxurious leather. She had no idea where The Mouse was, but a bath would at least clear her head.
And
wash away the bizarre and disturbing feeling of sultry heat tingling her flesh since meeting the man from
The Wicked Lynx
.

Don’t you mean, since your dream on the jet
?

Katrina rolled her eyes and huffed at the strands of hair hanging over her forehead. She did not need this now.

Damn, she wished she had her gun.

***

The suite was beautiful. Not just beautiful. Divine. Thick, pure-white shag carpet from wall to wall, mahogany furniture polished so lovingly it almost looked like a deep, cherry-red pool of liquid, gilded mirrors that devoured the richly papered walls. Through one marble archway, she could see the corner of a bed so wide an entire cricket team could stretch out and still have room for the tea-lady.

Images and statues of wild cats were everywhere—tigers, panthers, leopards, lionesses and cheetahs. Above the bed, like a royal portrait, hung a massive oil-painting of the casino’s titular feline—a lynx, its beautiful structure captured so realistically Katrina felt sure if she touched the painting her fingers would sink into the cat’s glossy fur.

“It is the perfect suite for you, is it not. A beautiful homage to felines for a beautiful feline.”

She turned to Abaddon, ready to ask him to drop the corny charm and found him looking at her. Blue eyes seemed to glow in the muted lighting of the room, a liquid cerulean that threaded into her body and made her pussy clench. God, she never wanted to fuck so badly.