Read Online Cat's Paw (Veritas Book 1) by Chandler Steele - Free Book Online
Authors: Chandler Steele
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me . . . ” Then the girl shuddered. “My brother . . . he’ll kill him . . . go back . . . to prison . . . ”
“No, he won’t. You have my word on that,” Morgan said.
Because if I find that bastard first, I’m going to take him out before Parkin has a chance. And I’m going to smile when I do it.
Chapter Seven
By the time the cops and paramedics arrived, Miri had stopped talking and fallen unconscious, which wasn’t a good sign. As the paramedics began their initial assessment of the victim, a few of the bar patrons wandered out to check on the commotion. The bouncer promptly earned his pay and herded them back inside.
Still seated on the ground, Morgan leaned back against the building. Her throat and shoulder ached in time with her heartbeat.
“Ma’am?” a city cop asked, kneeling next to her. “You hurt?”
“Nothing an ice pack and a stiff belt of whiskey won’t cure,” she replied. Compared to the gunshot wound earlier in the year, this was nothing.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Morgan laid out the details of the assault step by step, though some of it was pure fallacy. She could hardly talk about the Russians and Alex Parkin, so she claimed to have stepped outside to get some air when she found the girl being attacked. She noted that Sam was nearby, listening to every word. He gave a short nod, indicating he’d spin his tale the same way if asked.
Fortunately, the cop seemed to buy her story.
It pissed her off that she’d only gotten a couple numbers from the Dodge’s license plate, but it was that or get flattened like an armadillo on a state highway.
“Description of the guy?” the cop asked, taking notes.
“Closely cropped brown hair, cuts on his face, probably from the girl’s nails, and his left ear sticks out a bit more than his right. He has a scarred face. And now he has a broken nose.”
The cop cracked a smile. “That your doing?”
“Nope. The girl did the nose job,” Morgan replied, wanting Miri to get the credit.
“Sweet. Sounds like the bastard deserved it.”
“No argument there.”
After giving the officer her contact info, she rose to her feet in slow motion, waving off his help. Sam was talking to another cop, and she knew he’d claim that they’d just been hanging together in the bar before the incident.
Morgan made her way over to Miri. The girl’s eyes were closed, an oxygen cannula in her nose and an IV line in her right arm, pumping in fluid at a steady rate. The blood had dried on her face and clothes now, making her look like the victim of a multi-car pileup.
“How’s she doing?” Morgan asked, kneeling next to her.
The lady paramedic looked at her. “Still unconscious. Vitals are pretty decent. We got the head wound to stop bleeding, so that will help. They’ll check out her skull and the rest of her when we get to the ER.”
“Which hospital?”
“Tulane Medical Center.”
“Thanks.”
“You need us to check you out?” the other paramedic asked.
“No, I’m good.”
Morgan rose and stepped away, hitting a contact number on her phone. This was the kind of major screw-up you reported directly to the boss before he heard it from the cops. Because he would hear about it soon enough.
“How bad is she?” Crispin asked without saying hello.
How do you do that? “She got pretty badly beaten up.”
“Russians?”
Morgan thought back to the man’s voice, his speech pattern. “I don’t think so. She thinks he’s some sort of stalker, and right now, I’m inclined to agree. Especially with what happened to her cat this afternoon.”
“Another complication,” her boss said. “Give me your report.”
Ensuring they had privacy, she brought him completely up to speed.
“I’ll have Neil get with you for support,” Crispin said. “You did good tonight, Morgan.” Then he ended the call.
“Not from where I’m standing,” she said, watching the paramedics and their patient.
If she’d been on the
“No, he won’t. You have my word on that,” Morgan said.
Because if I find that bastard first, I’m going to take him out before Parkin has a chance. And I’m going to smile when I do it.
Chapter Seven
By the time the cops and paramedics arrived, Miri had stopped talking and fallen unconscious, which wasn’t a good sign. As the paramedics began their initial assessment of the victim, a few of the bar patrons wandered out to check on the commotion. The bouncer promptly earned his pay and herded them back inside.
Still seated on the ground, Morgan leaned back against the building. Her throat and shoulder ached in time with her heartbeat.
“Ma’am?” a city cop asked, kneeling next to her. “You hurt?”
“Nothing an ice pack and a stiff belt of whiskey won’t cure,” she replied. Compared to the gunshot wound earlier in the year, this was nothing.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Morgan laid out the details of the assault step by step, though some of it was pure fallacy. She could hardly talk about the Russians and Alex Parkin, so she claimed to have stepped outside to get some air when she found the girl being attacked. She noted that Sam was nearby, listening to every word. He gave a short nod, indicating he’d spin his tale the same way if asked.
Fortunately, the cop seemed to buy her story.
It pissed her off that she’d only gotten a couple numbers from the Dodge’s license plate, but it was that or get flattened like an armadillo on a state highway.
“Description of the guy?” the cop asked, taking notes.
“Closely cropped brown hair, cuts on his face, probably from the girl’s nails, and his left ear sticks out a bit more than his right. He has a scarred face. And now he has a broken nose.”
The cop cracked a smile. “That your doing?”
“Nope. The girl did the nose job,” Morgan replied, wanting Miri to get the credit.
“Sweet. Sounds like the bastard deserved it.”
“No argument there.”
After giving the officer her contact info, she rose to her feet in slow motion, waving off his help. Sam was talking to another cop, and she knew he’d claim that they’d just been hanging together in the bar before the incident.
Morgan made her way over to Miri. The girl’s eyes were closed, an oxygen cannula in her nose and an IV line in her right arm, pumping in fluid at a steady rate. The blood had dried on her face and clothes now, making her look like the victim of a multi-car pileup.
“How’s she doing?” Morgan asked, kneeling next to her.
The lady paramedic looked at her. “Still unconscious. Vitals are pretty decent. We got the head wound to stop bleeding, so that will help. They’ll check out her skull and the rest of her when we get to the ER.”
“Which hospital?”
“Tulane Medical Center.”
“Thanks.”
“You need us to check you out?” the other paramedic asked.
“No, I’m good.”
Morgan rose and stepped away, hitting a contact number on her phone. This was the kind of major screw-up you reported directly to the boss before he heard it from the cops. Because he would hear about it soon enough.
“How bad is she?” Crispin asked without saying hello.
How do you do that? “She got pretty badly beaten up.”
“Russians?”
Morgan thought back to the man’s voice, his speech pattern. “I don’t think so. She thinks he’s some sort of stalker, and right now, I’m inclined to agree. Especially with what happened to her cat this afternoon.”
“Another complication,” her boss said. “Give me your report.”
Ensuring they had privacy, she brought him completely up to speed.
“I’ll have Neil get with you for support,” Crispin said. “You did good tonight, Morgan.” Then he ended the call.
“Not from where I’m standing,” she said, watching the paramedics and their patient.
If she’d been on the
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