Vendetta, Page 2

  “What did happen to you today?” she asked worriedly. “Were you caught in a fire? Is J.T. all right?” J.T. Forbes had protected Vincent for the ten years that he had remained in hiding from Muirfield, the secret government organization that had turned him into a beast. Now that Vincent was a fugitive again, J.T. was also at risk.

  “J.T. is fine,” he assured her. “And I wasn’t caught in a fire. I ran into one. A little girl was trapped in a tenement and it would have taken the firefighters too long to get to her.” He shrugged. “So I went in.”

  Although he was standing directly in front of her, a frisson of anxiety skittered up Cat’s backbone. Fire could claim Vincent’s life. When her father had turned Vincent into an apex predator, Vincent had lost his ability to heal himself. To stave off her growing panic, she reminded herself that she had seen no burn marks on his naked body, and he seemed fine. Still, she couldn’t shake her instinctive reaction. If anything happened to Vincent, it would be worse than if it had happened to her.

  “Was she all right?” she asked as she threw on fresh work clothes. “The little girl?”

  “She was a little shaken up. Smart kid, lay on the floor below the smoke. I heard her telling the fire captain that an angel saved her.” His grin was lopsided. “Good thing he didn’t look up. He would have seen that angel dangling from the side of the building after the floor gave way. Without any wings.”

  “That was risky,” she said, and he shrugged. They locked gazes and laced their hands together. She knew they were both thinking the same thing: there were things in this world worth risking everything for—their relationship, his freedom, even their own safety—and a human life was one of them. For all the suspicion and fear cast Vincent’s way, and all his protests that he wasn’t Batman, he was definitely a hero.

  “You should leave a change of clothes here. ” She cupped his cheek, taking time to appreciate just how wonderful he was. “For all the other daring rescues you’re sure to undertake.”

  He laid his hand over hers. “So far we’ve been able to convince everyone that you had nothing to do with my escape from custody. If you suddenly stockpiled men’s clothes in your apartment, that’d look pretty suspicious.”

  “I could say I’m collecting things for a charity drive,” she argued. “With a few on hand that aren’t your size, my excuse would be more plausible.”

  She could tell he was thinking it over, and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Even though she’d become a cop instead of a lawyer, which had been her original career goal, she could still argue the finer points of any position she took. She loved that Vincent could hold his own against her, and did when it mattered to him. They were two opinionated, driven people, taking life head on, ready to fight for what was important, but learning to back off when harmony between them was more important.

  A siren blared down Bleecker, which was on the south side of her building. She shifted back into work mode, zipping up her jeans, putting on her coat, and slipping on her black gloves and a charcoal-gray knitted cap. It was bitterly cold out tonight. Hopefully that would keep less-motivated would-be looters from venturing onto the streets.

  “Anyway, think it over,” she asked him. She rose on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye, wondering how long it would be before she saw him again. This part was always so difficult. Too difficult, and tonight it was veering on painful when she considered that he would have sacrificed his life willingly today to save that little girl.

  “I have to go,” she said unnecessarily. What she meant was, I never want to let you go. The soft expression on his face assured her that his heart heard her unspoken words, and that he felt the same way.

  “I’ll patrol, see if I can keep NYPDs crime stats down,” he said. “Help out a few folks.”

  “Thanks. But please be careful. It’s dark, but people aren’t blind. If someone spots you…”

  “I’ll lay low. I was Special Forces, remember? Covert ops?”

  “And a fireman, and a doctor,” she said. A protector. A healer. And the man I love.

  “And a candlestick maker.” He kissed her once more. Despite her captain’s urgent summons, she savored that kiss. They never knew when it would be their last.

  “Will you be here when I get back?” she asked, but that was a question he couldn’t answer, and they both knew it. In fact, since she was a cop, there’d be no guarantee that she would come back, either.

  “I want to be.”

  “That’s the best answer I can hope for.”

  He had dimples when he smiled. Beautiful dimples. She lost herself for a couple more seconds.

  Then she was out the door.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was 2 a.m. and the 125th precinct was buzzing like a beehive: phones ringing off the hook, overtaxed emergency generators causing the overhead fluorescent lights to flicker. As she entered the bullpen, Cat’s body responded to the call to arms, blood pumping, the last vestiges of sleepiness evaporating.

  Tess was leaning over her desk on the landline with a steaming travel mug glued to her hand. She took a swig and grimaced, then hailed Cat over with the mug. Her brown eyes flashed with the thrill of the chase and Cat knew she was taking down the details of a crime report.

  Tess, said, “We’ll get right on it.”

  She hung up just as Cat reached her desk, then took another gulp from her mug and shuddered from head to toe, a total body roll of disgust. She shook her head like a wet poodle drying off and smiled her best, most mischievous smile.

  “Whoa. You are not going to believe this,” she said in a hushed, excited voice. She looked furtively around. “This is our case. Ours, okay? We deserve it.”

  Cat raised her brows. “It’s clearly juicy. Let me guess. We’re going undercover in Florida? At a spa resort?” She took off her gloves and hat and gave her hair a shakeout. A scattering of snowflakes had kissed her loose waves and the tip of her nose. It was January, and it was cold.

  Tess smirked. “Almost as good. Angelo DeMarco has been kidnapped.”

  Cat blinked. “DeMarco? As in those DeMarcos? Tony DeMarco, mob boss?”

  “The DeMarco DeMarcos, yes,” Tess said. “Angelo is Tony’s son.” She got as close to squealing as a badass like Tess could get. “Captain Ward’s got to agree that we get to keep this one. We just put Justus Zilpho away.”

  “Kidnapping cases are FBI jurisdiction,” Cat pointed out.

  Tess’s eyes sparkled. “And that was the FBI. They’re asking for an assist.”

  That made sense. The DeMarcos were one of New York City’s most prominent families. The FBI was a federal agency, but the DeMarco Building was in 125th’s jurisdiction, and the DeMarcos prided themselves on having been in New York for seven generations. Originally from Sicily, they were incredibly wealthy and powerful, and although occasionally a DeMarco would be brought in on racketeering charges, no one had ever made a case against them stick. For cops—good, honest cops—the thought of taking the DeMarcos down was the equivalent of winning the lottery.

  Get to know them, help them with a legitimate issue, and you’re closer to that goal, Cat thought with relish.

  A family kidnapping would be a high-profile case, and even though Zilpho had paved the way back into Captain Ward’s good graces, Tess and Cat still had a lot of unproductive months to make up for—the partners had spent most of their time solving beast-related crises that they couldn’t tell NYPD about. Rescuing Angelo DeMarco would raise the 125th’s street cred even higher.

  “Beats Florida, eh?” Tess said.

  “Well, we are never happy when one of the citizens we are sworn to protect goes missing,” Cat said somberly. “We’re both highly motivated to find this… boy?”

  “Only son and heir. He’s twenty,” Tess said. “They’ve already received a ransom note.”

  “Oooh,” Cat said appreciatively.

  “See? It’s gonna be a good one. Zilpho plus DeMarco equals job security. Heck, maybe even promotions. Let’s go tell Ward we
want this.”

  “In a nice, polite way,” Cat added.

  “Of course.” Tess took another swig from her travel mug and made a face as if she had just swallowed battery acid. “I’m telling you, J.T. makes the worst coffee I have tasted in my life. I’m getting him one of those fancy machines with the little pre-measured cups. You can’t screw that up.”

  “J.T. made you coffee?” Cat chuckled. “At your place or his?”

  Tess scoffed. “Are you kidding? This coffee was destroyed on-site at nerd central.” Tess went a little pink, but just a little. “The conditions of my man-cleanse require that no one stays at my house. Staying at my house is messy. In more ways than one.”

  Tess and J.T. had a complicated relationship: Tess had told J.T. to his face that he was all wrong for her. Shortly after that, she had leaped on top of him in his rolling desk chair and planted a long, passionate kiss on him. Cat hadn’t been a witness to this, but J.T. had told Vincent, and Vincent had told Cat.

  As for the other definition, for a neat freak like Tess, “messy” meant that one of the many framed photographs of her and Cat was a centimeter askew. J.T. had no housekeeping skills whatsoever. Give him a place to set down a bag of gummi worms and a beer and he was happy as a clam.

  “Does J.T. mind that you never have him over?” Cat asked as they trooped together toward Captain Ward’s office. The door hung wide open and plain-clothes and uniformed officers were racing in and out. Beyond, the windows were broad rectangles of ebony.

  “The Bronx is down,” a uni said as he sailed past Cat and Tess.

  Rikers, Cat thought. Former FBI Special Agent Robert Reynolds, her biological father, was incarcerated there. Her stomach did a flip, but she put thoughts of him on hold. As she so often did.

  “What on earth is happening?” Tess said. In a lower voice meant for Cat’s ears, she added, “Are you kidding? J.T. mind that I’m staying over at his place? He’s having sex on a regular basis. He’s in heaven.”

  “A regular basis?” Cat echoed.

  Tess closed her eyes and grimaced—as if to admit that she’d said too much—and looked past Cat.

  “Captain,” she called.

  Their harried boss glanced up. When he saw them, his expression grew very somber, and Cat swallowed hard. Her cop instincts told her that he had bad news for one or both of them… and that it had nothing to do with the DeMarcos.

  It can’t be Vincent. Vincent is safe. He’s fine.

  “Chandler, Vargas,” he said, by way of greeting. His manner was very grave, even stern, as if they hadn’t partied together hours before, toasting Zilpho’s demise. “The entire city’s in chaos.”

  “Are they suspecting terrorism?” Cat asked. The tragedy of 9-11 was never far from any New Yorker’s mind. Vincent had lost both his brothers in the Twin Towers, and their deaths had prompted him to drop out of medical school and enlist in the army. From there, his own tragedy had occurred—being experimented on by Muirfield, then hunted like an animal so that Cat’s own father could put him down.

  “Unknown,” Ward replied. “But we have plenty to keep us busy while that’s under investigation.”

  “Speaking of which, we have a case,” Tess said. “It’s a case we deserve. Right, Cat?”

  Tess looked over at Cat for confirmation. But Cat was staring straight at Captain Ward. “What is it?” she asked slowly.

  He returned her serious expression. “Chandler, let’s take a minute.” He looked expectantly at Tess.

  “I’m her partner,” Tess said. “You want me to butt out, Cat?”

  Cat shook her head. “If it’s all right with you, sir, I’d like my partner to stay.”

  “Very well.”

  Just then Pamy, one of the civilian secretaries, poked her head in, assessed the situation, and smoothly exited the room, shutting the door behind herself.

  “Have a seat,” he invited the two detectives.

  Cat kept a lid on her nervousness. “If it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’ll stand.”

  “Me, too,” Tess said.

  “Chandler, it’s your father, former Special Agent Reynolds.” Ward paused.

  “My father.” That lid was threatening to blow. “Who’s at Rikers.”

  Captain Ward said, “He’s missing.”

  The room tilted like a ship at sea. A panic reaction, pure and simple, she told herself, but there was nothing simple about her father. Reynolds was a man she despised and mistrusted, and she had risked Vincent’s life to save his. And just when she thought she was done with him, another tornado of his making tore through her life.

  “As in, out of his cell,” Tess said.

  “As in, no longer at Rikers,” Captain Ward said.

  “Whoa.” Tess slid a glance in Cat’s direction. “He escaped?”

  And then Cat was back, swallowing a flood of stomach acid so she could ask questions. But the most important question could not be voiced: Is he coming after Vincent?

  Ward said, “As to if it was voluntary or not, we don’t know yet. They had a blackout same as us. Generators didn’t come on right away and the disappearance took place in that window of opportunity. Witnesses say the guards were overpowered by armed assailants in ski masks. But no shots were fired and there were no injuries.”

  “Rikers guards? Overpowered?” Tess echoed. “That place is like the Fort Knox of prisons.”

  “So it’s said,” Captain Ward replied.

  “Any leads on the assailants?” Cat asked.

  “We don’t know yet. FBI’s at the scene. Early reports say it looks like an inside job.” He waited a beat as he studied Cat’s face, and then the tornado landed on top of her:

  “A job orchestrated by you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  We carved out a little time, Vincent reminded himself as he put on his scorched ball cap and kept his head down, quietly departing Cat’s building. We got to be together.

  But it was never enough time. And he hated how he put Cat at risk whenever he visited her apartment. When they had first met, Cat had come to the abandoned chemical factory he and J.T. had turned into a sanctuary. Her trespassing had sent J.T. into a spiral of dismay, and as J.T. feared, Cat’s initial investigation into Vincent’s supposed death had put Vincent back on the radar of the clandestine organization that had changed him into a beast—Muirfield. In Afghanistan, his superiors had received orders to wipe out his unit of experimental super soldiers, and he had used every bit of Special Forces training to elude the shock troops, survive, and get back to the States.

  J.T. had been terrified that Cat’s repeated visits to the factory would lead Muirfield right to their door. Unfortunately, he had been right, and the chemical factory was now gone, blown up to convincingly stage the death of “the Vigilante”—Vincent’s nickname in the press. Now J.T. lived in a vacated gentlemen’s club and Vincent stayed on a houseboat in the 79th Street Boat Basin.

  It would have been easy for someone as loyal as J.T. to resent Cat for all the danger and tumult she had brought into their lives. But thanks to her interference, they actually had lives. Before Cat, they had essentially existed in stasis, and she had been right when she had insisted that he and J.T. couldn’t spend another decade in lockdown.

  And anyway, I was the one who exposed us in the first place, when I went out at night to help victims.

  Like I’m doing tonight, actually.

  It had been inevitable that he would leave trace DNA and the occasional fingerprint when administering CPR or wheeling a wounded victim into the receiving bay of the local hospital’s ER. He had always risked discovery because of his insistence on helping humanity… even though back then he had ceased thinking of himself as human. Muirfield had turned him into a monster, a beast. It had taken Catherine’s love for him to see himself not as hopelessly damaged and beyond redemption, but as someone whose life had value.

  Someone who was worthy of love, worth risking everything for.

  I was dying inside, and she
brought me back to life. J.T., too. All those years, all he was doing was treading water. Sooner or later, he would have drowned.

  He surveyed the streets and buildings of her neighborhood, as impenetrable to the naked human eye as the streets of Afghanistan on those terrible, violent nights of the war and its aftermath for him and the other beasts. Lights were coming on in Greenwich Village—candles, lanterns, flashlights. Errant, handheld light sources would be harder for him to avoid. He kept the collar of his pea coat up high and his cap down low. He did not move furtively, for that would attract attention, and the street he was walking down was empty. It was the middle of the night, when most people were indoors, and civilians were wisely barricading themselves in their homes. New Yorkers would be terrified tonight. So much misery had rained down on their heads: the destruction of the Twin Towers, Hurricane Sandy. It was not lost on him that he lived in a city every bit as resilient as he was. He would do everything he could to increase NYC’s odds of survival against anything that came at it—be it opportunistic criminals, a terrorist group, or a natural disaster.

  He heard approaching footsteps and kept his head down. One block up, a pair of large men turned the corner and approached. Vincent could smell the metallic tang of concealed weapons and stayed loose. He was not afraid, just ready.

  The men spotted him. He sensed their interest in a stranger, a potential target. He heard one murmur to the other, “Whatcha think?”

  “Naw,” said the other. “That guy’s too strong. He works out.”

  Wordlessly, they passed Vincent. He waited until there was some distance between him and the two men, and then wheeled around to follow them. They were on the prowl, and he wasn’t about to let them harm anyone.

  Behind him, glass crashed and someone shouted, more out of anger than fear. He heard more shattering glass, and then a siren, and a man’s voice shouting, “Police! Freeze!”

  Vincent maintained his position, glad that there was a police presence in Catherine’s neighborhood despite the fact that he would have to be more cautious as a result. With every news outlet in the city broadcasting his image as New York’s most wanted, he had decreased his covert visits to Cat’s apartment until he went half-crazy from missing her. He wondered if Gabe Lowan had possessed the nerve to attend the precinct party at Rosie’s tonight, or if he had respectfully kept his distance. Gabe’s misguided desire to “protect” Catherine from Vincent was the reason Vincent was being hunted down… again.