Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1)

by Chandler Steele

  “Jolly,” Alex said.

  “About damned time you got here,” Dennis said, his voice more highly pitched than usual. “Buryshkin is getting antsy. You get your ass in here, or they’re going to put a bullet in my head.”

  “Tell the old fart to take a chill pill,” Alex replied. “I’m coming in, and I’m unarmed. If he doesn’t want this house burned down around his ass, tell him not to be stupid.”

  He ended the call before Dennis could answer, and handed off the phone. “How many guards are inside the house?” he asked.

  “None,” Fredd replied.

  “What?” Morgan blurted.

  “None alive, at least. There are a few bodies outside, but we’re only picking up three heat signatures inside, probably Dennis and the Buryshkins.” Fredd sighed. “This whole thing feels hinky.”

  “You think?” Morgan said. “Buryshkin never does anything without a full contingent of bodyguards.”

  “Which means it might not be him in control of the situation,” Alex said. “This feels more like Anya’s doing than his.”

  “How did they get ahold of Simms?” Morgan asked.

  “I have no idea. We weren’t going to execute the Buryshkin’s warrant until this afternoon. And no, Dennis did not know about that,” Fredd added.

  “He found out somehow,” Alex said. “So, did he come out here to tell his boss, or did they just snag him off the street?”

  “Why the hell would he tell the Russian?” Weston demanded.

  “Because he’s the one who planted the coke to send me to prison.”

  “That’s—”

  “The truth,” Morgan said. “Buryshkin told us himself.”

  “You’re shitting me,” the agent replied. Weston and Dennis had been pretty tight at one time, but the man’s surprise looked genuine. Maybe he was still his own man.

  “Frankly, if he comes out of there in a body bag, I’m not going to weep,” Alex said, “but if I can get all three of them out of there alive, that’d be better. Then I can enjoy the Buryshkins spending the rest of their lives in prison.”

  “Good luck with that,” Fredd said. “For the record, I never believed you were dirty.”

  Alex smiled at her, then eyeballed Agent Weston. “Thanks. At least there’s one of you.”

  In the end, he refused the offer of a tactical vest. No real point. All it would take was a head shot and he’d be worm food. As Alex moved past the line of DEA vehicles, heading toward the house, Morgan caught his arm.

  Not caring that they had an audience, she pulled him close and gave him a kiss. There were wolf whistles and hoots, but they ignored them. When it ended, Alex touched her face with reverence. How quickly he’d come to love this woman.

  “If things go bad, please take care of my sister. That’s all I ask.”

  “Crispin promised he would,” Morgan said. “I’ll be coming with you.”

  “What? The hell you are.”

  “You think I’m going to stay out here, wondering what they’re doing to you, if you’re wounded or dead? Not happening. This thing between us isn’t just one way. I’m there with you, or you’re not going.”

  “Morgan, please don’t—”

  “Alex, this is the way it’s going to be. If you don’t like it, after this is over you go your own way. But right now, I’m at your side.”

  He stared at her, astounded. “Jesus, you are hardheaded.”

  She grinned at him.

  “I love you,” he added.

  “And I love you,” she replied. “Now let’s go bag ourselves some big, bad Russians so we can get back to the important stuff.”

  He laughed, and they set off, walking toward the house at an even pace, as if this were a date. She squeezed his hand, and he returned the gesture.

  More time. We just need more time together.

  When they reached the stairs, they climbed up to the second level. At the double doors that led into the house, Morgan turned back toward the cars, the agents, and the guns.

  “Lovely view,” she said. A second later, a buzz came from her pocket—Neil letting her know he was in place at the rear of the house, sniper rifle in hand.

  “We’re coming in,” Alex shouted, then turned the doorknob and pushed open the twin doors. The interior of the house felt sticky, as if the air conditioning had been off for a while. Three ceiling fans moved the humidity as best as they could.

  Alex and Morgan hadn’t been inside the house during their last visit. They the foyer empty except for a giant urn of flowers set on a pedestal and a guard’s body, his blood drying on the wooden floor. Curiously, the color matched a few of the roses in the bouquet.

  “Think there’s been a coup?” Morgan asked.

  “Real possible. But of the two, I’d rather deal with Buryshkin than his crazy-ass daughter,” Alex replied, keeping his voice low.

  “Amen to that.”

  The door at the end of the foyer was open. Alex led the way, his gut tight and his nerves strung out, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear himself think. He entered the main room first, Morgan right behind. His eyes bounced over the occupants: Buryshkin, his daughter, Dennis. His brain did the math, and it didn’t add up.

  “You’re freaking kidding me,” he said, shaking his head.

  Dennis Simms wasn’t the hostage, he was the one with the gun. A few feet away, Anya and her father were on the couch, secured in zip ties, their feet bound. She had a gag in place, her eyes furious over the obstruction. Buryshkin’s mood was hard to read, but there was both anger and resignation in his cold eyes.

  “What the hell is this?” Morgan demanded, looking back and forth between the Russians and their captor.

  Simms frowned at her. “Why’d you bring her along, Parkin? Are you an idiot?”

  Alex grumbled under his breath. “She insisted. Arguing with a woman is a lot like arguing with a solar flare. It’s a waste of time and always gets you roasted.”

  Morgan shot his ex-partner a glower. “I don’t get it. Why claim to be a hostage?”

  “To see what he’d do,” Dennis replied, the gun pointed at Alex now. “You surprised me. I didn’t figure you’d come in here to save my ass.”

  “I surprised myself,” he replied. “So what’s the deal, Dennis?”

  “This is suicide,” Buryshkin cut in. “I warned you what would happen if either of you crossed me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Dennis replied. “You’re going to kill me. You know, I don’t fucking care anymore.”

  His face was covered in beads of sweat, probably because he was wearing one of the DEA windbreakers, had it zipped up in a room that had passed ninety degrees a few hours ago.

  What’s up with that? Alex’s ex-partner appeared heavier than the last time he’d seen him, but he might be wearing a flak vest under the jacket. He took note of the man’s gray complexion, the haunted expression in his eyes.

  He’s gone over the edge.

  “So walk me through this, because I’m sure as hell confused,” Alex said.

  Dennis looked at him with a shuttered expression. “You’re not as arrogant as you used to be. You never would have admitted that you didn’t understand something when you were at the agency.” He shifted positions, careful to keep his distance from them. “Smartass Alex Parkin, always right, always there for the glory.”

  “I’ll admit to being a prick, but not to the glory.”

  His ex-partner shrugged. “That’s how I saw it.”

  “Doesn’t mean it was right. You still haven’t told me what’s up here.”

  “These people—and I use that term very loosely—destroyed both of our lives.” Dennis gestured toward Morgan. “Hers, too. Yeah, I knew they had your husband by the balls. I saw the video of him and that girl.”

  Morgan colored. “So let’s take them in. They’ll go down for life.”

  Dennis shook his head. “Not good enough. I want payback. I figured you’d be good with that, old buddy.”

&nbs
p; “Me? I want to see these assholes serve time.” He looked over at Buryshkin now. “Of course, with Mikhail watching your back, you’ll probably serve the full term. He’s very good at keeping people alive. I owe him. You, on the other hand, will come to hate that because it means every fucking day you’re still breathing and behind bars.”

  “It will not happen,” the Russian said, shaking his head.

  “Yeah, it will.” He turned his attention back to his ex-partner. “Why’d you screw my wife, Dennis?”

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “It just sorta happened. She’s . . . a beautiful woman. I wish we could have stayed together. I really liked her a lot.”

  It appeared that Dennis had cared more for Alicia than he’d realized.

  “It’s because of her you’re here. Once the coke was confiscated, that bitch,” Simms said, angling his head toward Anya, “wanted me to kidnap Alicia. She figured that would flush you out.”

  It would have. Even if he didn’t love her anymore. “So how did you get the better of them?”

  “I had some good luck.” Dennis unzipped his coat with his free hand. The reason he looked heavier became apparent: He was wearing a suicide vest.

  “Jesus Christ, are you nuts?” Alex said.

  “Probably. You’d be surprised what a little outfit like this and a Taser can accomplish. Especially when I got here and found out that Anya’s guards had killed her daddy’s. Then it was just a matter of mopping up.”

  Anya finally maneuvered her gag down, and outraged Russian spilled out.

  “Pipe down, will you?” Alex said.

  She shouted a single sentence at him.

  “No!” he shouted. “Y nikogda ne budet lapu kto-nibud koshku snova.”

  I will never be anyone’s cat’s paw again.

  Anya spat at him. “You are no better than my father.” Buryshkin glowered at her now. “He refused to let me marry the man I loved, but I did anyway. Then he had Pietr killed.”

  “Ne pravda,” her father said, shaking his head. “Not true.”

  “I heard you killed him,” Morgan said to Anya, moving closer. “That you butchered him like a pig because he dared look at another woman.”

  “You lie!” Anya said. “I will kill all of you. And your sister, Parkin, she will be a whore in a seraglio.”

  Alex shook his head. “You had your crack at Miri. You were playing all of us. You knew I was working with your father, but you kept screwing with us. Had us confused for a time, but then we got it.” He smiled at them both. “All I want to see is your perp walk and the expressions on your faces when you’re sentenced to life in prison.”

  “It will not happen,” Buryshkin repeated. “I own too many judges in this state.”

  “You see why I like my solution better?” Dennis said. “They’ll get off. They’ll decide she’s a nutcase and bang her up in an asylum for a couple of years, and then she’ll be out to raise hell again. Him? I doubt he’ll even see the inside of a prison cell.”

  Anya’s bizarre smile grew wider.

  “Look, let’s call the bomb squad and get that thing off you,” Alex offered. “You can testify against them. It’ll work this time.”

  “No. You see, I’ve been a flunky for these assholes for seven long years, and today I’m handing in my resignation.”

  The man’s emotionless response told Alex that his ex-partner wasn’t expecting to come out of this alive.

  “No need to go that far,” he said. “You’ll get the credit for the bust.”

  “Not what I’m after. All I want is a chance to make it right,” Dennis replied solemnly.

  “So how do we resolve this?” Morgan asked, her voice calm, though Alex could see the tension running through her body.

  Dennis shook his head. “We don’t. I’d be sent to prison with them.” He looked over at Alex now. “I’m not like you. I’d die there. I don’t have the balls to tough it out.”

  “How’d they get their hooks in you?” Alex asked.

  “My sister. Yeah, strange, isn’t it? You’d do anything for yours, and I gave up everything for mine. Even though they paid her medical bills, Theresa still died from the brain tumor. By then, these bastards had me by the balls, and I’ll never be free.”

  He pulled a small plastic bag from under his jacket and tossed it to Morgan. “That’s a key to a safe deposit box at the Bank of New Orleans on Magazine Street. It’s in my name. You’ll find photos, documents, audio tapes, everything from the last seven years.”

  He gestured toward Alex. “It should be enough to clear your name and for the DEA to clean house. I’m not the only dirty one they’ve got on their payroll.”

  Alex’s mouth fell open. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because one of us should walk away from this mess in good shape. And it’s not going to be me.”

  That sounded too final.

  Dennis held up a cell phone. “The vest is rigged to blow when this rings. Nothing can stop it once I push the number.”

  “Come on, we can work this out. They’re not worth it,” Alex said, taking a step closer.

  “I will give you money, anything you want,” Buryshkin said, his eyes wide and sweat rolling down his face now. “What do you want? Name it. I will give it to you.”

  “All I want is revenge,” Dennis said. He gave a sad grin. “No money involved.”

  Anya began to cackle. “See, old man, see what it is like to skate the edge of death? Is it not glorious?”

  “Laugh all you want, you crazy bitch. You’re dying too,” Dennis said.

  “Go on! Do it!” she said, still laughing. “You are too weak.”

  Alex dove at him, but Dennis had already pressed the call button.

  “Get out of here,” he ordered. “Or you’ll end up in hell with the rest of us.” Alex staggered back in shock. “Go!”

  Morgan grabbed Alex’s arm and dragged him toward the double doors. His survival instincts kicked in, and they ran toward the entrance.

  Behind them, Anya began to sing an old Russian lullaby, caught deep within her own madness. Her father’s pleas grew louder now, his voice cracking in desperation. “You cannot do this! You are insane!”

  Dennis’s resigned laughter followed them out the front door. They pounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time, then sprinted across the open ground. Alex’s lungs and ribs protested, but still he pressed on.

  They’d made it only fifty feet or so before an explosion rocked the earth underneath them. As they fell, he covered her body with his. The concussive force of the blast roared over them, raining down pieces of timber, glass, and roofing. Underneath him, Morgan cried out. He felt something heavy hit his legs. At first, there was nothing, as if they’d been sheared off. Then the pain bitch-slapped him into oblivion.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  September 22nd

  Tulane Medical Center

  The low murmur of voices, accompanied by the beep-beep of a heart monitor, called Alex back from the darkness. As his mind began sweeping out the cobwebs, he parsed the sounds. The first voice, he knew as well as his own.

  Miri. His sister was safe. Then he heard her voice and knew his prayers had been answered.

  “Mmmm . . . ” he managed, unable to form Morgan’s name on his lips.

  When his eyes opened, Alex found two faces within his field of vision: his sister’s and his lover’s. Both wore an exhausted “thank God he’s alive” expression.

  “Hey, look, he’s awake,” Miri said, a smile busting out. “I told you he wasn’t going to give up.”

  Morgan blinked away tears. “What is it with you, Parkin? First you nearly drown. Then you get blown up. You got a damned death wish or something?” Her voice held an edge that spoke of the fear that she might have lost him forever.

  “I’m a damned white knight, don’t you know?” he said. Then coughed hard, which proved not to be a smart idea. Sharper points of pain came from his right leg and thigh. Given all the debris the expl
osion had generated, he was lucky he hadn’t been staked to the ground like a vampire.

  “So what’s the damage?”

  Morgan leaned back, somber now. “Your right leg got speared by a piece of wood. It was a mess, but they got it cleaned up, and so far there’s been no infection, which is pretty amazing, since we were both covered in a lumberyard.”

  “And you?”

  “A mild concussion and some cuts and bruises. Nothing big.”

  Like hell. Anything that harmed this woman was huge in his eyes.

  “They kept you under to let you rest. They wanted to ensure that you weren’t suffering from any side effects from your near drowning.”

  He remembered waking up every now and then, ever so briefly, but then he’d go down again. Considering all they’d been through, they’d both been more than lucky.

  Miri gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I love you, bro,” she said, her eyes brighter now. “Glad to see you’re back among us.” She studied the pair of them. “I’m . . . going to get . . . something to drink. I’ll be back.”

  Then it was just the two of them.

  “Not subtle at all,” he mumbled.

  “She gets that from her big brother.”

  “Dennis and the Buryshkins are dead?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Morgan replied. “Forensics found some body parts, and they’re still figuring out who those belong to.”

  “So one of them could still be alive,” Alex said. Like crazy Anya. Because those kinds of people seemed to have nine lives.

  “No one came out of the back of the building. Neil made sure of it.”

  Then it was over, and Dennis was truly dead.

  “Damn,” Alex muttered. Now he understood what Crispin had meant when he said Alex didn’t know the whole story. Apparently Veritas’s head honcho had suspected that Dennis had his own reasons for working with the Buryshkins.

  A sister. Alex had made a deal with those bastards for the same reason: keeping Miri alive. He’d just had a stronger team on his side.

  “I want to know when Dennis’s funeral is. I need to be there. And Alicia should know too. Whether she attends is her decision.”

  “I’ll find out for you,” Morgan said. “The district attorney and one of the bigwigs from the DEA opened the safe-deposit box yesterday. Lars was there too, just to make sure everyone was being above board. They’re still going through all the evidence. Initial word is that there’s enough to get your conviction overturned.”