Lion's Quest

by Eve Langlais

His hands flexed at the scuff of a shoe on pavement. He had nothing to defend himself with. A gun would have done the trick, but laws had tightened in recent years for this state. There was a waiting period now to own a legal weapon. He’d applied already, but these things took time. If he wanted something sooner, he’d have to make contact with the underworld where cash was king and the selection not always USA approved.

  Not that he needed anything big or hardcore. Simply a revolver he could slip under his jacket. With a caliber big enough to take down an elephant. Enough to make him feel safe.

  He passed by a closed electronics shop. The big window had televisions flashing, playing some kind of show with a bleach blond, mullet-wearing guy in a Hawaiian shirt hugging a tiger. Terrifying. He couldn’t help but shudder as he walked faster.

  He could have sworn he heard steps shadowing him. When he stopped, so did the echo.

  Probably his imagination, yet he quickened his stride.

  A car parked along the sidewalk, dark and engine off, suddenly popped its trunk. It might as well have been a gunshot.

  Heart suddenly pounding, Peter darted into an alley, where a thick miasma of garbage hit him. Gag worthy but he soldiered through. Having memorized the routes to his apartment ahead of time, he knew this dark corridor led to a bright thoroughfare and a donut shop popular with the boys in blue.

  Thump. Thump. Familiar meaty sounds of violence that only made him run faster.

  He hit the street at the far end, saw the red and blue lights on a cruiser, and heaved a sigh of relief before looking over his shoulder to see…no one there. Another false alarm. Would he forever live his life looking over his shoulder?

  He hoped not. Reaching his apartment, he shut his door and deadbolted it. He wanted to check the windows even though they had no means of being reached. Resisted the urge to drop to his knees and look under the couch.

  Couldn’t let those watching see how close he teetered on the edge.

  It wasn’t late enough for bed, so he texted his sister.

  Rather than reply, she called. “Peter, peter, pumpkin eater,” she sang, sounding so happy.

  “How’s my favorite sister doing?”

  “I’m your only sister.”

  “Are you implying you need competition to be the best sister there is?”

  She laughed. “Still an idiot.”

  “Love you too,” he teased. “Any particular reason why you’re calling?”

  “Actually, yes. It’s about that stupid key we found in your apartment. Lawrence’s aunts were bugging me about it again.”

  “Did you tell them I don’t remember anything?” It was the line he kept to over and over.

  “I have, over and over, but they seem to think if maybe they could talk to you in person, you might remember something.”

  Like fuck. He’d met enough of Lawrence’s family and friends to know there was something a little off about the group. Not appearance wise. He’d never seen a fitter, more attractive bunch. But something in the way they moved and eyed the world and people around them freaked him the fuck out.

  “I wish I could help. I didn’t even know there was a key hidden in my apartment. It must have been left there by the previous occupant.” He lied his ass off and felt a twinge at deceiving his sister. However, in his defense, if he told her what he knew, she’d tell her husband, and then shit would get tense.

  “If you say so,” was her doubtful reply.

  “Gotta go. Work in the morning.” More like he hated lying to Charlie. He hung up. Then, because of those fucking cameras, had to pretend he wasn’t agitated.

  Problem being, he was fucking agitated. Only one thing to do.

  He went looking for kittens.

  Which might sound odd until tried. Something about the cute little furballs was relaxing and soothed him. Maybe one day he’d adopt one and not have to leave his house for calming. Today was not that day.

  He found a lapful of furballs in the alley not far from the dry cleaners. He stroked the little rumbling bodies and couldn’t help thinking of the key found in his apartment in Russia. Everyone wanted to get their hands on it.

  Let them. By the time they figured out the truth, he’d hopefully already have the treasure in hand.

  Chapter Three

  Nora didn’t find out about the attempted Montgomery kidnapping until the next morning. Night-shift Zach, who’d taken over surveillance so she could sleep, didn’t think to wake her.

  He told her about it over the protein shake he’d made her for breakfast. Something gross and full of stuff that belonged in a rabbit cage, making them fat for eating. He ended up wearing some green goo as she spat it out and exclaimed, “What the hell? Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Didn’t see the point since I thwarted their attempt.” Zach dabbed at the slime rolling down his shirt.

  It didn’t appear to be chewing through fabric. Yet. Her stomach, though…it rebelled against all that healthy stuff in one shot.

  “Are you sure they were after him?” she asked.

  “Sure seemed like it. The trunk on that car opened just seconds before Montgomery would have passed it. There were two guys in the car, one in the front, one in the back. The guy in the rear seat is the one who jumped out the second our boy went into the alley.”

  “The same alley you were hiding in?”

  He nodded. “Good thing I was already watching from the fire escape.”

  “Where did you stash the perps? I want to talk to them.”

  “I don’t have them.” His lips turned down. “I knocked out the backseat guy and would have taken front seat out, too, if a patrol car didn’t turn onto the street.”

  Since getting arrested was a big no-no, Zach had darted back into the alley and watched as the driver hauled his friend off.

  She inadvertently took a swig of the toxic green stuff and managed to swallow rather than gag. She had an ex-boyfriend who would have been impressed. “Did you get the license plate?”

  “Yeah. And I already ran it. It’s a fake.”

  “What about Montgomery? Is he aware of what happened? Did he see you?”

  “No and no. He made it back to his apartment safe.” He pointed to the screen.

  Montgomery was just getting out of bed, wearing nothing but black briefs. Much sexier than those baggy shorts some guys wore as underwear.

  If Montgomery followed his routine, he’d be in the bathroom for about forty-five minutes and would emerge showered and wrapped in a towel from his waist down. For a human, he had a decent body. Lean. Too lean, actually, and more muscled than a sedentary guy like him had any business owning.

  Almost as intriguing as the vee leading below the towel’s edge were the scars. White stripes all over his body. Old scars healed, but caused by what? They indicated he’d not spent the last six months in a luxury situation, but no one knew where he’d been.

  Nora had pored over his file. It painted an interesting picture.

  Peter Montgomery had a rap sheet. Theft being highest on his list. Nothing violent or truly depraved. He did like antiques, though. Not as a collector but as a person who acquired and then resold them for what the art world claimed they were worth. He’d had two lawsuits filed against him in the past for not disclosing the fact he knew something was valuable and giving the owners peanuts for it. Not exactly a crime if morally unethical, as one judge claimed before tossing the case.

  In the case of the jail time he’d done, it was a heist gone wrong with him left as the fall guy. He got out and was later suspected of a few crimes, nothing concrete. Then about six months ago, he’d traveled to Russia on business. What business was never gleaned. He’d gone missing long enough that his sister went over to look for him. She didn’t find Montgomery, but she did get embroiled in a mystery that involved a key recovered from his apartment in Russia.

  A key he supposedly didn’t remember. A disappearance that left him with amnesia. And scars…

  Didn’t need to be curious to realize
there was something hinky about the whole thing.

  “What are you hiding?” she muttered before getting ready to go to work.

  She got into place just in time and was checking the mailbox when he emerged from the elevator onto the ground floor. She leaned into the metal array of locked boxes, peering as she reached for nothing. He left without a word of greeting, and thirty seconds later, so did she. In bright daylight with people around, an attack was less likely. Especially since Zach had thwarted one just the night before. Whoever was targeting Montgomery would need to regroup.

  Her subject didn’t have to go far before he entered a bookstore that matched his nerdy pastimes since they’d started spying, but not his portfolio of crimes. Which was the real man? The guy who’d pulled off some clever heists or the one who probably owned a set of dice and a wizard’s robe?

  With him at work, it was time for her to start her new job. She entered the butcher shop that dealt in deli meats along with the fresher stuff. It resided across from the bookstore. Owned by some panther shifters under Pride protection, they’d agreed to let her pretend to work for them. It provided opportunities to go outside to wash the big display window. An hour later, she swept the sidewalk, watching who stayed parked too long. Who loitered. Every time someone entered his store, an alarm pinged her, and she also got notice if the door on the alley opened. Melly had installed special security to help Nora keep track of those coming and going. Brisker traffic than she would have expected for such a small shop. Nora wasn’t big on the whole reading thing, but she did like video gaming. First-person shooter and fighting scenarios being her faves.

  Which happened to be what her target played.

  Not that she cared about his likes. He was a job.

  When he left the shop around noon, she started untying her apron, only to realize he was crossing the road. Shit, he was coming into the shop.

  Why? Had he pegged her? How should she handle it?

  Probably by pretending she actually worked here. She busied herself behind the counter, straightening the cheese slices, because you know, a good sandwich needed them tidy?

  He’d think she was an idiot for sure. Next she’d be aligning the slices of meat.

  She tucked her hands behind her back. “Hello and welcome. Can I help you?” The standard greeting she’d heard many a time when entering a place of business.

  “Hey. Don’t I know you?”

  Given they’d seen each other a few times around the building, lying was out of the question. “Maybe. You live around here?”

  “That’s it.” He lifted his finger in an aha moment. “You’re the new neighbor.”

  “Am I?” She played it nonchalant.

  “You like to jog, and your boyfriend is into computers.”

  So he’d noticed. “Do you stalk all your neighbors, or am I just special?” she crooned, leaning forward on the counter.

  The query threw him off balance, but not for long. “You exercise and make food. Of course, I noticed.”

  She laughed. “You assume I can cook.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Not much. But I do make a mean toast.”

  “You’re scaring me about the lunch special.”

  “We have a special?” she blurted out. She’d studied it, and yet she couldn’t remember what it was. His presence oddly frazzled.

  He pointed, and she turned her head to see a chalkboard. Written on it in big letters was the name of the special and what it contained: basic sandwich, drink, and a side.

  “Oh, you mean that special.” Way to cover. She kept her hands laced behind her back. “What will it be?”

  “I’m not sure. What do you recommend?”

  He wanted a suggestion? Shit. Did they have a menu? She glanced behind her. Saw nothing.

  He cleared his throat. “I take it you’re new.”

  “How can you tell?” was her sarcastic reply.

  “Then let me help you out. I tell you what goes on the sandwich, you make it.”

  “You, a man, want me, a woman, to make you a sandwich? I see the patriarchy is alive and well.”

  He choked and covered it with a hand. “I just assumed that was part of your job description given you’re behind the counter and health laws forbid a customer from serving themselves.”

  “I guess in this case, it’s okay,” she said begrudging, because she really didn’t want this expectation of her making food to persist. She liked her stuff readymade.

  “Thank you? I think,” was his bemused reply. He took a moment to eye the deli meat selection, hands shoved into his pockets, hair askew as if he’d been in a strong wind. Maybe the flapping of book pages?

  “I’ll have a pastrami on rye, easy on the mustard, with cheddar, please. And a bag of chips.” He pointed.

  Seemed easy enough. As she went to grab the bun, she remembered to wash her hands, mostly because there was a sign right above the bread screaming, Wash First. Right over the little sink was a box of gloves. Ick. She wasn’t rectally probing a sandwich, just making it.

  The knife-wielding part she had fun with, tossing the bun in the air and trying to slice, only the dull blade failed. The bun fell, hit the edge of her counter, and hit the floor. She eyed the bun and then Montgomery. “Guess I should get another one?”

  He sounded quite choked as he said, “Yes, please.”

  She kept a firm grip on the bun this time and sawed it jaggedly into two. Made a mental note to bring a sharper knife.

  “That’s not rye.”

  “Get over it.” She eyed the whole-wheat interior. Now what? She glanced at the array of bottles, hand hovering until he said, “I like it with mustard in a zigzag first.”

  She grabbed the yellow bottle, hoped she guessed right, and to be contrary, did a big circle on each bun. Then for good measure, added an N with a flourish.

  “What does the N stand for?” he asked.

  “Nora.”

  “Good to know. Next, let’s add some veggies.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You really want to ruin it that way?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Cheese. Then meat. Don’t take away from the meat!” She tossed on some orange cheese slices, layering it three deep. Who cut them too thin?

  He talked as he watched her layering on the pastrami—which had a label!—like she’d enjoy eating. Thick to reduce the ratio of bread.

  “So you like to jog.”

  “Guilty,” she said, adding even more meat since the bread was the poufy kind. Eyed a pickle and wondered if she dared add it. It counted as a vegetable, which he might like. As if she cared. Still… She threw a line of pickles into it then lifted it to hand over.

  “Are you going to wrap it first?”

  “You’re difficult,” she grumbled as he added yet another step to the process. Who knew food took so long? No wonder she preferred having it made for her.

  As she placed the sandwich in the paper, she wondered where they kept the larger pieces, since it wasn’t big enough to wrap around.

  “Where did you move from?” Wasn’t he just a Chatty Cathy today?

  “East End.” Technically true, the false part being she’d not really moved. All of her stuff remained in her condo, like her bed, which she really missed.

  “And you’re on the floor below me with your boyfriend.”

  It might have been the boredom that made her purr, “Why are you asking? Interested?” She leaned forward and batted her lashes. It would have worked better with a lower-cut shirt, and maybe not having the stench of meat stuck to her as she handed him his sandwich, mummied in several pieces of paper.

  “Interested?” He appeared startled. “Fuck no.”

  “That’s a little harsh.” She couldn’t help a moue of discontent.

  “Not because of you. A man would have to be stupid to get in the way of your refrigerator-sized partner.”

  Her lips twitched. He had a valid point. “Lucky for you Zach isn’t the jealous type.” All
the jobs they’d done together and not once had there been the slightest spark.

  “You’d cheat on your boyfriend?” He, the career criminal, sounded shocked.

  She rolled her shoulders. “We have an understanding.”

  He snorted. “Yeah. I’d never be into that.”

  “What are you into?” She gave it a husky note.

  “I’m into getting the rest of my lunch. I’ll have those barbecue chips and a bottle of iced tea.”

  “Everyone knows salt and vinegar is the best,” she said as she grabbed the items and handed them over.

  “I’ll remember that for next time. See you later, Nora.” He tossed a ten on the counter and walked out.

  She almost went after him.

  Chapter Four

  That afternoon Nora wondered what he meant by later. Today? Tomorrow? Maybe he just said it because it was the thing to say. Not because he meant it.

  She’d screwed up royally. How could she get close to him if he wanted nothing to do with her?

  His replacement arrived at five o’clock. Rather than head home, Montgomery again crossed the road for the butcher shop!

  “Back so soon?” she said lightly as he entered.

  “What can I say, the service is impeccable.”

  She almost snorted. “You want another sandwich?” Which she’d learned wasn’t supposed to have a proper three inches of meat. The owner, Pamela, had almost fainted when she saw the size of the sandwiches Nora kept making.

  “That sandwich was epic. But I’m thinking something different for tonight. I’m in the mood for some steak.” He pointed to a bacon-wrapped filet mignon. “Two of those, and two of the double-stuffed baked potatoes.”

  Enough to make a snack for her, but for a human? Two portions could mean, “Hot date tonight?” she asked.

  “Nope. Just really hungry.”

  “Maybe you should get a sandwich, too, just in case.”

  “That one you made me for lunch was pretty big. But good. Maybe another for a snack.”

  Pamela emerged from the back with a snarl. “You’re done. I got this. You can go.”

  “Sweet. See ya,” she said to Peter, pulling off her apron.