Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1) (19 page)

“Mr. Parkin, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Crispin said, rising and shaking hands, his grip firm and steady.

Alex hadn’t expected the warm reception. “Just Alex works. Thank you for keeping my sister safe.”

“Our pleasure. Call me Crispin.”

Alex hesitated, then moved to the desk where he scribbled out a question on one of the hotel notepads. Holding it up, he waited until Crispin had read it. A nod returned, indicating the room had been swept for electronic bugs recently.

Alex crumped the note and jammed it in his pocket.

“Good, because what I’m about to say the Russians don’t need to hear. Morgan told you I accepted their offer?”

“She did, and I understand why,” Crispin replied. “It’s my hope that we can free you of that obligation in the near future.”

“Mine as well.” Alex took a deep breath. “You should also know that they asked me to scout your security arrangements. Don’t know if they’re just being nosy, or if they’re planning a hit.”

Crispin didn’t bat an eye. “They’ve tried it only once before, and it went badly for them. Still, I appreciate your candor.”

“My contact, a guy named Vasily, claims to know where Miri is. The site he mentioned wasn’t right. Whatever smoke and mirrors you folks are using, it’s working.”

“That was Sanjay’s doing,” Lars said. “He’s really good at that kind of thing.”

“Damned good, if he’s fooled Buryshkin’s people.” Only now did Alex settle into a chair. “So what’s the latest?” he asked.

“The death toll keeps climbing,” Crispin said. “Given the size of the load, not all of it seems to be poisoned, or we’d have even more corpses lining the streets. You said you had a theory about all this?”

“I believe we’re after the wrong Buryshkin,” Alex said flatly.

“What?” Morgan said. “You never mentioned this to me.”

“I was still working it out in my head.”

“Why do you think that’s the case?” Crispin asked.

“I talked to a prostitute named Natalya. She was totally down with supplying me information about where that shipment might be, until she found out that Anya Buryshkin was the one who did this to me,” he said, pointing at the bandage on his neck. “She backed off so hard, she left skid marks on the pavement.”

“Anya’s known to be kinda crazy,” Lars said from his place by the door.

“It was more than that. Natalya willingly bailed on the deal of a lifetime, one that would have netted her a nice chunk of money and a new home in another city.”

“You offered her all that without talking to me first?” Morgan asked, clearly irritated.

“I didn’t have time to run it past you,” Alex replied sharply.

“Exactly what I would have done,” their boss interjected, letting Morgan know that he was taking Alex’s side on this.

Morgan pursed her lips, then gave a curt nod.

“Anya calling the shots? Makes more sense than anything else,” Lars said.

“It’s possible,” Crispin said, then took a sip of his tea. “Buryshkin’s tactics do seem to have changed recently. More erratic, for one.”

“He’s not on the ball, leaving those bodies in the warehouse,” Morgan added. “Allowing poisoned coke to make it to the streets, when the DEA would track it right back to him? Just doesn’t feel right.”

“You think there’s been a coup?” Crispin asked.

“Or maybe the old bastard is getting senile, losing his marbles,” Lars said.

“One way to find out,” Alex said. “Grigori will know what’s going on. I’d like to ask him to help us find the shipment.”

“Pit one Russian against the other?” Crispin said. “Interesting ploy, especially since he has always been loyal to his uncle.”

“Maybe, but I got the sense that his loyalty was wearing thin over the last year or so. It wasn’t anything he said, but some comments made between him and my cellmate. Something to do about someone within the organization.”

“Anya?” Morgan asked.

“No. A man. He was never mentioned by name.”

“You think Grigori will talk to you?” Lars asked.

Alex shrugged. “Consider it a test. If he refuses to help me, that means his uncle is still in charge.”

“It might work. Let me see if I can arrange it.” As Crispin walked into another room, he punched in a number on his cell phone, then closed the door behind him, making Alex wonder how many bigwigs he had on his contact list.

Morgan took that opportunity to walk to one of the windows, looking out. She seemed withdrawn. Perhaps she was still angry with him for taking the initiative, and that meant he’d have to smooth her feathers later.

He turned his attention back to Lars. “Have you heard from the Iceman recently?”

“About an hour ago. Everything is kosher on their end. Sounds like your sister is doing fine and needling the hell out of him.”

Alex grinned. “That’s Miri, all right.”

A knock came at the door, along with the mangled words, “Room service.”

“It’s legit. We ordered food,” Lars said, though he was still on alert.

Alex was closest to the door, so he opened it to reveal a beefy guy pushing a portable serving cart topped with covered dishes.

“Room service,” he repeated.

The guy’s uniform didn’t fit, meant for a smaller man. But of most interest was the nude tape across his nose.

Alex’s instincts took over. “
Ey, mudak
.”
Hey, asshole.

The guy started in surprise. Then dug under a pile of linen napkins. Alex grabbed a metal entrée cover off the cart and slammed it into the man’s face, aiming right at the recently broken nose. As he pushed the cart out of the way, the attacker reeled back. Furious Russian erupted just before Alex’s foot connected with his groin.

“
Eto dlya moyey sestry, svoloch
,” Alex said.
That’s for my sister, you bastard.

The man went down to his knees, clutching his family jewels, the gun no longer in his hand. Alex kicked it away. Lars supplied a zip tie from somewhere, and he secured the Russian’s hands behind his back, then shoved him all the way to the floor. A deep, pained groan made him smile.

“Nice takedown,” Morgan said. He looked up to find her returning her gun to her purse. Crispin was in the room as well, his weapon still out.

“Is this the guy from the bar?” Alex asked.

Morgan nodded. “Hi, Boris. Long time no see.”

The man swore in Russian, bleeding into the carpet.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“Something to do with you and farm animals.”

She rolled her eyes.

He patted the guy down, found a knife in an ankle sheath, and removed it using one of the linen napkins. “Knife’s got dried blood on it. I’m guessing it’s probably Calloway’s.”

Lars picked up the gun with another one of the napkins, setting it aside.

“I’m surprised they would make a move on me again. I thought they’d learned their lesson the last time.” Crispin shook his head. “Lars, please call the cops. They need to find out what this fellow did with the person who was supposed to deliver our food. Hopefully he’s not dead.”

“Ask for Detective Meyers,” Morgan added. “He handled Miri’s case.”

With a nod, Lars stepped away, initiating the process.

She frowned down at the man. “He doesn’t have a Russian accent, but he understood you just fine. Second generation?”

“Probably.” Alex knelt near Boris, watching as the blood poured out of the man’s nose. He wished he could do worse. Instead, he decided to run a bluff.

“Anya’s going to cut your throat for this, you know?”

The man’s eyes widened, and he began to tremble. It was as if he’d seen his own death in all its brutality.

“Damn,” Morgan replied. “He’s totally afraid of her.”

“Cops are on the way,” Lars reported.

Alex had an idea. “Ah, can I talk to you two in the other room?” he said, indicating Morgan and her boss.

“As you wish,” Crispin replied. He looked at Lars. “You good?”

“Yup. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

After they left the room, Crispin closed the door behind them. “So what didn’t you want our prisoner to hear?”

Alex pulled out his phone. “I’d like to use old Boris as a teaching moment, because I’m willing to bet money that Buryshkin didn’t send him to kill you. Or me.”

“How do you plan to find that out?”

“I’ll call my Russian contact. You can listen in. It might be very enlightening.” And a way to ensure that Veritas knew he was completely on their team.

“Just be careful not to tip your hand.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.” Alex pushed his contact’s number, and Vasily answered after a few rings.

“Sasha. What is the news?”

“The news is that your man Boris just tried to put a bullet in my brain.”

Vasily hesitated. “I do not understand.”

“Let me lay it out for you. I was in the
same hotel room
as Veritas’s boss, and your man shows up and tries to kill me. I’m sure that when he was done, he’d have gone after Wilder, too.”

Silence.

“Come to find out, he’s the same asshole who beat up my sister.” Alex paused for effect. “I thought we had a deal, Vasily. Instead, I start working for you people, and you try to kill me. What the fuck is going on?”

A sharp intake of breath came down the line. “There has been a . . . mistake,” Vasily said coolly. “A very big one.”

“Really? You’re saying your boss didn’t try to off me?”

“Mr. Buryshkin did not order this hit, nor the attack on your sister.”

That caused Crispin to smile.

“So who the hell did?” Alex demanded.

“That is not your concern. Good day, Mr. Parkin.”

The call was abruptly cut off. Alex whistled, shaking his head.

“How do you know he’s not lying?” Morgan asked.

“There would be no point,” Crispin said, rubbing his chin. Then he smiled. “That was very clever, turning it back on them. Well done.”

“Thank you,” Alex said. It
had
been clever, and right now he was feeling damned pleased with himself. “It seems we have two enemies, Buryshkin and his wacko daughter.”

“But why would she try to kill you?” Morgan asked.

“No clue. Why work against her own father?”

“According to the late Mr. Golov,” their boss said, “Anya hates Grigori, partly because he’s homosexual, but mainly because her father adores him. Buryshkin treats him like a son. Anya won’t tolerate that.”

“Then why did he allow Grigori to go to prison?”

“Grigori insisted on taking the fall for the young man who visits him every month.”

Alex conjured up the name. “Ruslan?”

“Yes. Grigori claimed that Mr. Kuznetsov would never survive prison.”

“He was probably right.” Now it all made sense.

“Are they lovers? Ruslan and Grigori?” Morgan asked.

“That’s the rumor,” Crispin replied.

“As Anya sees it,” Morgan said to Alex. “You’re one of Grigori’s people, so you’re an enemy. Especially since you didn’t go for her sick game at the bar.”

Crispin sighed. “I think, in light of this knowledge—and since Los Impíos also has you on
their
hit list—you two need to get out of town, at least overnight. That’ll give me time to try to level the playing field, so you can find those drugs.”

Alex nodded his agreement. “I might have a place we can go, if a friend of mine is okay with us using it. It’s in Plaquemines Parish, out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Good. Go there, keep your head down. No doubt, your contact will let you know when Buryshkin feels he has things under control.”

“There’s no way he’s going to take down his own daughter,” Morgan warned.

“It all depends on who is more important: her or Grigori,” Alex said.

“I wouldn’t want to be the one making that decision,” Morgan replied.

“Do not underestimate Anya Buryshkin,” Crispin added. “She’s a wild card. She isn’t rational, and that makes her more dangerous than her father.”

“Do you think he knows that?” Alex asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough. Just make sure you two are not included in the body count when the dust settles.”

Chapter Nineteen

Morgan put on her shoulder harness and holstered her gun. Purses were great, but it took too long to reach her weapon, and she needed to cut her reaction time. If Alex hadn’t been on the ball at the hotel, they all might have died.

Her phone rang. “Lars? What’s up?”

“Your buddy Boris is dead. He was taken down in a drive-by shooting as the police were escorting him out of the hotel.”

“Any of the cops hurt?”

“No. They got lucky. It was two dudes on a motorcycle. They were gone even before the smoke cleared.”

“Smooth. We’re headed out of here in a bit.”

“Good. Stay in touch, Valkyrie.”

She ended the call to find Alex watching her intently, and caught him up on the latest.

“They move fast,” he said. “I figured they’d get him eventually, but even before he reached the police station?” Alex sighed. “I know my call to Vasily got him killed. A sick fucker like that? That’s karma in action.”

She grinned. “Good, it’s not only me, then.”

He handed over a navy backpack, inside of which was his change of clothes. Morgan layered in a pair of jeans, a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and some carefully concealed underwear so he wouldn’t rib her about it.

It didn’t work. “No lace thongs?” he joked.

“Only if you’re wearing them,” she countered. “They’ve got some really sexy guy ones, you know.”

That caught him off guard. “I draw the line at that.”

“Figured.”

As they headed down the back stairs, Morgan cursed herself. Now, all she could think about was Alex in a thong. And nothing else.

He followed her down the steps and to the rear of the building, trading texts with someone. At her puzzled expression, he said, “Letting Miri know the good news about our dead buddy Boris.”

“How’d she take it?” Morgan asked, pushing open the door to a narrow garage.

“As she put it, ‘And there was much rejoicing.’”

Morgan chuckled. “I wish he’d stayed alive. Maybe he would have rolled over for us.”

“Not likely. The Russians take loyalty damned seriously. You saw him—he was almost pissing himself when I mentioned Anya.”

“She does that to people.”

“You sound like you know her personally,” he replied.

“I’ve seen the kind of hell she leaves in her wake.”

When they entered the garage, Alex looked around, surprised there was no car. Then his eyes lit on a sleek, black motorcycle. Leather jackets and helmets hung on pegs above it.

“Sweet!” he said, moving up to check out the bike.

“You been on one before?”

“Hell yes. I used to own one.” He grinned at her. “I didn’t know you were a biker chick. Damn, woman. That’s
hot
.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “The jackets are Kevlar lined, and the helmets have an intercom system. Watch our backs, okay?”

“You got it. Why the bike rather than a car?”

“Because we’ll have more options if we have to go off-road.”

It made good sense, and not for the first time, he wished he was armed. It wasn’t fair that she had to keep him safe all the time. Not that he hadn’t done a damned fine job at the hotel.

Alex touched her arm, and when she turned toward him, gear in hand, he swooped in and stole a kiss.

“What was that for?”

“For taking me on a ride, baby,” he said, winking.

With a tortured groan, Morgan tossed a helmet at him.

A few minutes later, they were rolling along Highway 46 through Faubourg Marigny. Alex looked over his shoulder, searching for any black sedans or motorcycles, but didn’t see one. They kept along the highway, skirting along the edge of the Lower Ninth Ward. He remembered the television coverage during Hurricane Katrina, the locals’ belief that the levees had been bombed to save the French Quarter, pouring the floodwaters into this area. No matter how those barriers had been breached, the water had ended up here and people had died.

Now the area was a mix of run-down houses, some new ones, and vacant lots where homes had been washed away. People loitered on the streets. The state’s unemployment rate sucked, so when there were no jobs, folks talked about how bad life was and sometimes figured out illegal ways to make it better for themselves.

That could be me.
If Veritas hadn’t offered him help, he would be trying to find a job and probably failing at it. Then what? Stay at home and drink beer? Or use those skills he’d picked up in Angola to feed his sister and keep a roof over their heads?

One thing he’d learned in prison: there was a very fine line between the law-abiding and the criminals. Often, that moral line was keeping your family fed and sheltered.

As they drove past the Chalmette National Cemetery, Alex marveled at how easily Morgan handled the bike. It seemed second nature to her. He hadn’t lied—he’d always had a weakness for women on motorcycles. He closed his eyes and savored the thrum of the engine beneath him. Maybe once he and Miri got settled, he’d save up and buy one. If Morgan and he were still friends after this was over, they could go out on the road together. Tour around a bit, go camping. Make love under the stars.

“You okay back there?” she asked, her voice coming through the speaker in his helmet.

“I’m fine,” he said.
Getting better every minute
. Nothing quite like being up close and tight with a pretty lady.

“You like to go camping?” he asked, knowing she’d wonder why he’d asked that out of the blue.

“Yeah, I do. I like being away from the city.”

Even better.

He tightened his arms around her waist, enjoying the feel of leaning against her as she took a curve. It took all his control not to let his hands roam. It would be stupid to mess with her concentration, even though that was exactly what he wanted to do. Yeah, he definitely wanted to unzip her jacket, run his hands underneath her shirt, touch her firm breasts.

He shifted on the seat, uncomfortable from the increasing pressure down south.

“Chill out, Parkin,” she said. Which meant that she’d felt just how turned on he’d become. Not unlikely, since his groin was plastered up against her butt.

“
Hard
to do when I’m with you, lady. Pun intended.”

“Just try, okay? I don’t need the distraction.”

“You could just help me deal with this . . . distraction.”

“Anyone following us?” she asked, her way of getting him back on track.

Alex did a quick check. “No, I think we’re good.” There was a dark-silver Jeep Grand Cherokee a few cars back, but that could be anyone headed to home or work.

“Let’s keep it that way. Where is this place, besides out in the damned nowhere, as you put it?” Morgan asked.

“On the bayou. It’s a cabin. Pretty modern. No one will know we’re there.”

“Got AC and hot water?”

“Sure does.”

“Good. After wearing this heavy jacket, I’ll need a shower.”

Just like that, his male brain went into overdrive again, thinking of water running over her naked skin as she bathed. Licking the droplets off her nipples. He sighed.
It’s going to be a long damned night.

Alex looked over his shoulder, and this time, the Cherokee had gained on them, having worked its way up so it was about thirty feet behind. “We’ve got an SUV on our tail, and he keeps moving closer to us. Might be something. Might not be. They’ve been with us since the Ninth Ward.”

“Let’s see if they’re for real, or just headed to grandmother’s house.”

Morgan slowed, then turned down a side street. She didn’t speed up, just went to the next street and turned right.

The SUV followed behind them, picking up speed now.

“They followed us.”

“Buryshkin’s people?” she asked.

Alex could see Mardi Gras beads hanging from the rearview mirror. That didn’t strike him as a typical Russian accessory. “I don’t think so. Might be Los Impíos.”

“How the hell did they find us?”

“No idea.”

Morgan executed another turn, more abrupt than the last, and the vehicle was right behind them.

“Yeah, we got trouble,” he reported.

“Okay,” she replied, not sounding particularly worried. “Hold on tight. It’s going to get intense.”

Just as she twisted the throttle to speed up, a tanned arm extended from the passenger window and the man opened fire. Alex instinctively hunched down as Morgan took a hard turn, and he leaned into it, hoping not to overbalance. When they came back up, the bike shot forward as it picked up speed, causing the houses and businesses to blur as they rode past.

Alex did a quick glance over his shoulder and swore. “They’re still there.” He gritted his teeth, hoping the next shot wasn’t going to blow out the back of his skull.

“I’m just warming up.”

The Cherokee kept on their tail, but was having trouble executing the sharp turns Morgan made as she led their pursuers in tight circles. When it lagged behind, she ran across an empty parking lot, down an alley, and onto Paris Road. There, she opened up the bike, flying past cars at top speed.

Alex wondered how long it would be before a cop spotted them, which might make their pursuers back off—or they’d just ice the officer and keep coming after them.

“Let me know when you can’t see them,” she said in his ear.

After a gut-clenching zoom around a minivan, Morgan cut back in, the van’s horn letting them know that the driver thought she was a jerk. She took the bike to its top speed, chewing up another half mile.

“Now!” he announced.

“Hold on!” He tightened his grip as Morgan rapidly decelerated. Spraying gravel, she cut right, barreling into a business parking lot. They finally came to a stop behind the building near a semi-truck.

Removing his helmet, Alex hopped off the bike. Sprinting back toward the road, he peered around the side of the business, his heart beating so hard it was difficult to catch his breath. The SUV flew past them, and he watched as it vanished in the distance.

“Yes!” he shouted. “You lost them!”

Morgan’s helmet was off, and it hung on a handlebar, her hair glistening in the sun, her face as sweaty as his. He trotted back, grabbed her and spun her around. Then he kissed her.

“You are awesome!” he said, giddy. “How did you learn to ride like that?”

“Motocross. I got pretty good at it.”

Alex reluctantly let her go. He unzipped his jacket and swore he felt steam rising off his skin. She did the same, and he couldn’t help but notice her T-shirt molded against her breasts.

“Jesus, lady, that was
one
helluva ride,” he said. He clapped a hand over his heart. “I think I’m in love. Marry me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She pushed damp hair off her face. “We’ll hang here for a while, then head back south. If we’re lucky, they won’t be waiting for us.” She sucked in a deep breath. “You get a plate number?”

“No, sorry.” His phone rang from deep inside a pocket. He pulled it out, not recognizing the number.

“Parkin.”

“
Dobriy den,
Sasha.”

Well, I’ll be damned.
“Good afternoon to you, Grigori. Thank you for calling me.”

Morgan’s eyebrow rose at the caller’s identity.

“I trust you are well,” the Russian said.

“Right now, yes. A few minutes ago, not so much. A couple dudes tried to kill me.”

There was a lengthy pause. “That was not my uncle’s doing.”

“Good to hear it.”

Another pause. “What is it you wish to speak to me about?” the Russian asked.

“We have a big problem. A large shipment of cocaine has arrived in the city, and some of it is cut with strychnine. The bodies are just going to keep piling up unless we locate that load and confiscate it.”

“I have heard this too. Why does this concern me?”

“You’re getting out of prison very soon.”

“
Da
.”

“Well, the poisoned dope is killing at least ten people a day. That many dead will ensure that the feds have no choice but to carpet bomb all your uncle’s businesses, taking everyone down in the process. You included, my friend, because you are his nephew. It won’t matter if you’re just getting out of the joint or not. You’ll be collateral damage.”

“Why would you care what happens to me?”

“Because you kept me alive, Grigori. You know what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in: I’d have been dead or fair game for every pervert inside those walls. You kept me safe all those years. Now I’m returning the favor, while trying to prevent more innocent people from dying.” Alex sucked in a breath, feeling sweat trickle down his back. “I don’t want those souls haunting me for the rest of my life, however long that might be. I don’t think you do either.”

He heard the scratch of whiskers as the prisoner rubbed a hand across his face. “I am not in a position to help, Sasha. I am truly sorry. I have been warned that if I become involved, someone I care about will die.”

Ruslan?

Alex knew it would be demeaning to beg. “Then all I can say is watch your back, my friend. We both know Anya is cleaning house, and you’re standing in her way.”

There was a deeper sigh now. “Anya is insane. Anyone else’s child, and she would have been sent to an asylum. Or put down like a rabid dog. Yet my uncle adores her.”

“He may, but she’s not going to stop until both of you are dead. Please, be careful. I count you as too much of a friend to lose you, even if we are on opposite sides of the law.”

“I am honored by that, but I still cannot help you, at least not yet. Go with God, Sasha.”

“And you as well, Grigori.”

Alex ended the call, staring into the distance, then shook his head.

“At least you tried,” Morgan said, lightly touching his sleeve.

He shrugged, then tucked the phone away. “We best get on the road so we’re at the camp before dark.”

Morgan gave a pensive nod, put her gear back on, and climbed back on the bike, deep in thought. He joined her, all thoughts of bantering with her gone now. Not with the resignation he’d heard in Grigori’s voice.

At that moment a Russian proverb came to mind, one Mikhail had taught him.
Eto surovoy zimy, kogda odin volk s’yedayet druguyu.