Southern Spirits (30 page)

In the end, she settled for: ‘Nice trip.'

Belle said nothing, of course.

‘Agent Montoya!'

She turned as Tara, the Olivers and Nathan approached, Tara beaming with barely-contained excitement. ‘Well, the papers are signed, and Belle's ours!'

‘Or we're hers,' Ben joked. ‘And yes, we'll get the cameras and microphones removed immediately.'

‘And then everything will be as it should be.'

‘You really believe that, Tara?' Cat asked.

‘How can you not, after all you've seen? Most practitioners of magic believe that there are no accidents. They believe that everything is intertwined with and interdependent on everything else. We're often just characters in someone else's story, we just don't usually see it.'

Cat shrugged. ‘Guess I just need a little bit more convincing.'

Tara laughed. ‘I've already thanked Mr Ames, but I wanted to thank you as well.' She leant in, kissed and embraced her. ‘And to offer you both lifetime memberships.'

‘Sounds good, huh, Wildcat?' Nathan winked.

Cat pulled back. ‘
Gracias
, Tara, but as Federal agents we couldn't accept gratuities from businesses that have been the subject of an investigation.' Then she waited a beat before adding, ‘I'll pay for my own.'

‘Agent Montoya!' All eyes turned to Wheeler, dressed for the road and carrying a shoulder bag, as he stopped at the
entrance into the station and waved to her, smiling. ‘I hope you don't think you've seen the last of me?'

She smirked. ‘I can still hope.'

Nathan drew up beside her, as if Wheeler would somehow reach out across the distance to them and grab at her. ‘The local police have left with the perps. We've got to get over to the airport.'

She sighed. They were set to fly back to Miami that evening, and be ready for work Monday morning, though they had a few more days to finish their reports. ‘
Si.
'

They said their goodbyes hurriedly. Cat glanced over to the empty spot where she'd seen Wheeler only seconds before.
Adios
, Jack. Try to learn something from all this.

Like Miami, New Orleans seemed built in and around water, whether it was the winding Mississippi feeding its way to the Gulf of Mexico, or the many large lakes surrounding. In the taxi ride from the station to the International Airport, Cat found it a sprawling city with architecture reflecting its centuries of French, Spanish and American influences, and with none of its beauty diminished by recent disasters or by a sky blanketed in billowy clouds of grey and black which occasionally fought with bellows of thunder and odd bursts of rain. It made Cat want to find some excuse to go exploring for a day or two.

Beside her, Nathan leant closer. ‘Penny for your thoughts.'

‘Oh, I'm just dreaming.'

‘Thought you'd have had enough of that this weekend.'

She looked to him, smiling, and then dropped her smile. ‘Nathan, I'm sorry I didn't let you in on what was going on sooner.'

‘Forget it.'

‘No more secrets, then?'

He paused, looked ready to say something serious, before settling for: ‘Agreed.'

Cat knew something was amiss when they entered the airport and found masses of people staring up at the electronic boards, many of which displayed the same two words:
DELAYED
or
CANCELLED
.

Nathan confirmed the worst with the check-in desk. ‘The storms surrounding the city are lingering. All flights east have been cancelled until at least tomorrow.'

He couldn't keep the grin off his face.

A grin she quickly matched. ‘We'd better beat the crowds and find a room in town.'

It proved a more difficult task than anticipated, with many having a head start, but Cat left Nathan to carry on with the quest, while she sat near the check-in section minding the luggage and calling the Miami office to inform them of the news. Visions of a night and morning in this city with Nathan danced in her head and made her pussy twitch, as she sat checking her phone's power, memory . . . Strange. There were several large audio files stored in her phone's temporary folder. She chose one and heard Nathan's voice. She smiled.

The smile evaporated as she listened to what he said: ‘Interim report on Agent Montoya, continuance: during the course of the investigation, she has made an informal acquaintance of the subject, engaging him in friendly dialogue while also utilising her natural charm and physical features. Her manner, while requiring polish that only experience can provide, proved efficacious in establishing a rapport with the subject.'

She felt a chill run through her as she stopped the recording, and checked another. It was another account from Nathan. About her.

Reports. He was secretly reporting on her. She checked the history folder, and found he had uploaded copies of the files to a number that looked like a secured voicemail box, like the one available to directors like . . . Hausmann.

Son of a bitch. Hausmann obviously didn't trust her to manage this operation, so he had Nathan secretly keep tabs on her. After all his condemnation of her this weekend for keeping secrets from him, he'd been doing this all along.

She thought she'd be screaming at this point. Instead, she felt a sadly familiar sense of betrayal.

And already her mind was working on her next course of action.

Nathan returned. ‘Found a room, down near the French Quarter. Don't know what it's like, but any port in a storm, right?'

‘Right.' She made a move for her bags, remaining silent and emotionally distant as they hailed and obtained a taxi, which under Nathan's guidance took them in a different direction than they had taken before.

‘Hope it's not on a steamboat or something,' Nathan joked. ‘I get seasick.'

‘Yes.'

‘You OK, Cat? Tired?'

‘Tired, yes.' It was true enough; they had been awake for nearly twenty hours and fatigue was gnawing at her. She stared out the window as the glass began steaming up, watching the sudden bursts of rain, the heavens finally opening up in full symphony, matching her mood.

The taxi took them into an older part of the city, one with narrower streets and buildings that were more regal: townhouses, French and Spanish colonial designs, and hybrids of two or more styles. She watched pedestrians dash here and there, their umbrellas and newspapers scant protection from
the rain. The heat was growing stifling in the taxi, but she dared not roll down the window and risk being drenched.

After an eternity, they appeared to arrive at their destination, a run-down looking three-storey red-white brick establishment, with decorative wrought-iron rail balconies on the second floor, hanging tropical plants swaying in the wind and a crowning tower resting on the angled slate-swathed roof. Absently she looked for the name of the establishment, but its sign was dark and kept rocking, and she wasn't ready to speak to Nathan unless necessary.

It was a quick dash from the taxi to reception, and the interior confirmed her fears that the run-down nature of the place wasn't just confined to the exterior: it was all hardwood floors or threadbare carpets, with dozens of pictures on the walls leading to a dark bar where patrons huddled in from the rain and blues played on a jukebox.

She carried her own bags up to the room on the second floor, a stark enclosure dominated by a large bed sitting high on a brass frame, with an old-fashioned chest of drawers and cheval mirror, a table with some fresh peaches, and glass balcony doors draped in gauzelike curtains. And, of course, more pictures. She had to admit the place had a sense of history. She just wished she were in a better mood to appreciate it.

Nathan closed the hotel-room door. ‘You go ahead and unpack first.'

‘No. Leave them.' She took off her jacket, calmer now that she'd made her decision, and not wanting to waste time packing up again later. ‘Get your clothes off.'

‘Excuse me?'

She'd stopped at the balcony doors, as if ready to step out of them, but instead began unbuttoning her blouse and slipping out of her pumps. ‘Take off your clothes. I want to fuck.' She looked back at him. ‘Is there a problem with that?'

‘Are you sure you don't want to eat first, or shower up –'

‘No.'

He stared in bemusement for a moment, and then smiled and began unknotting his tie. ‘OK.'

For a moment, there was only the patter of rain on the balcony and music seeping in through the floorboards, and the rustle of their clothes. Cat turned away as she continued undressing, steeling herself. Doing this was turning out to be more difficult than expected, so she forced herself to approach him when she was down to her bra and panties, and Nathan to his briefs. ‘Get on the bed.'

‘Cat.'

She turned to face him. ‘I want to fuck, Nathan. I want to fuck, and then –'

‘And then what?'

She looked down, saw his cock tenting his briefs, and reached out for it. ‘Nothing. Just do as you're told, and –'

He reached out, removing her hand. ‘No. I want to know what's going on. Why are you acting like this?'

Cat's face tightened, angry that he was going to deny her even this. ‘I know about your reports.'

He froze. ‘You do?'

‘Yes. You were sloppy, failing to check if the phone left copies in temporary folders of whatever you send. Maybe I should write up my own performance reports on you for Hausmann?'

‘Hausmann? What's he got to do with this?'

‘Stop playing the innocent!' Her blood boiled, and the feelings she'd contained since the airport now burst forth, not helped by her exhaustion. She took a swing at him, connecting with his jaw.

Nathan, however, rolled with the punch a little, saving his face and her fist too much pain, and was ready for her when she tried again, turning and slipping a restraining arm
around her, even as she struggled in his grip. ‘Fucking
puta
!
cabrón!
'

‘Cat, will you cut it out? Jesus! I wasn't reporting to Hausmann.'

‘Oh? Who was it, then? Internal Affairs? CIA?'

‘Alan Mortimer.'

Cat froze at the unexpected name. ‘Mortimer? The regional commissioner of the FBI?'

‘Ex-commissioner, or soon to be.'

‘What the fuck is this about?'

‘If I let you go, will you promise not to hit me again?'

‘No!'

The answer made him chuckle for a few seconds, and he released her, stepping back as she turned to face him, his hands raised towards her in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Mortimer's going to head Miami's new top secret Financial Intelligence Taskforce. He's recruiting the best from all the agencies – FBI, Homeland Security, the IRS, of course – for both office and field work. I was recruited six months back and, in that time, they asked if there was any suitable additional personnel in my department. You were among the top of my recommendations list.'

Cat's mind reeled at the revelations. She'd heard rumours about the taskforce, had even considered applying for it, but such was the secrecy and protracted news about it, that she assumed it had become another government project mired in focus group limbo. She still stood there, hands balled into fists, her knuckles aching. ‘Just “among the top”?'

‘Yeah, well, there was some question regarding your lack of field experience, which is why you were given a chance with the Wheeler assignment, and I was given a chance to provide covert reports on your performance. There was also some issue about your temper.' He touched his jaw. ‘Not that I've seen any instances of it.'

The news defused much of her anger, leaving only some mortification on her part. ‘So why the fuck didn't you tell me about what you were doing sooner?'

Now Nathan's voice and anger rose. ‘Because there's a reason they call them “covert reports”. Damn it, Cat, I wasn't delighted to do it, but it had to be done, and it was hardly the worst act I could commit. And if you can't accept that, then you can
besame el culo
for a change!'

‘OK, OK, down, boy.' Feeling embarrassed by her outburst, she offered him a conciliatory smile. ‘No need to lose your temper like that.'

‘Lose
my
temper?' Nathan snorted, though he was obviously not as outraged as he sounded. Then his brow creased with thought. ‘If you suspected something like that, why were we about to . . . Jesus, you were gonna pull a Cliff on me, weren't you? You were gonna fuck me and dump me like you did your boyfriend, right?'

‘Hound.'

‘Son of a bitch.' He turned and reached for his clothes.

And it was that image, of Nathan leaving, of leaving her, all because of a stupid misunderstanding, which filled her with an unprecedented dread, a fear that drove her back to him. ‘Nathan, wait, please. I'm sorry – really.' Her body shook as if from the cold, and she clung to him as if he were a lifeline. She held her breath, her whole being, until he responded, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. And her tension bled from her, leaving an intense relief, relief that the faith she had developed for him had not been misplaced, relief that he had been able to put aside his own anger.

After a while of just standing there in each other's arms, Cat murmured, ‘Do you think your report will be enough to sway Mortimer?'

He chuckled. ‘He's already swayed, the report was just a
formality. He should make the offer in a few weeks. You could be at the seminars with Gordy and me in a month.'

‘Gordy?
He's
been accepted?
Dios.
' She rolled her eyes. Of course, she didn't have to accept. She supposed she could stay where she was, working with Hausmann and Leewood and Chaney, maybe taking secondments, working her way up to assistant chief in ten years' time, assuming others with more seniority weren't ahead of her, while Nathan went off somewhere . . .