Catwalk: Messiah (29 page)

She turned her gaze from the cleaner to the redhead sitting in the chair next to him, her hand resting softly on his head. “Honestly, Delilah, you can do better.”

“Hey!”

“Well, she can.”

Delilah’s laughter was a symphony to his ears. “Well, I know he’s good at babysitting phones, at least. It’s a good thing I went for the newer line with the global positioning software or…”

Cat replied, “I’ll show you positioning.”

Delilah laughed again. “I don’t know, Angela. There’s something about this one worth keeping, I think.” Her eyes glistened at him as she spoke.

Eva’s hands stopped their procedure, and she turned her gaze to the model. “You know, I think I prefer Eva.”

Cat was puzzled, while Delilah remained as gracious as if she was being asked to join a formal party. “If that’s what you would prefer, dear.”

Eva muted the news feed, leaving the bizarre manifestation of the cross evidence on the screen. With a nod, she began working again. If Cat could jump up and beg her for an explanation he would have. Instead, he blurted out the question. “Why?”

Eva paused for several moments, her eyes traveling across the room to the decorative vase on the mantle that held her father’s remains. “Angela was the name my father gave to me, his daughter, his ray of sunshine, his ‘guiding light for the future’.” A warm smile crossed her lips at the thought of him. With another sigh, it was gone. “It was also the name of that unnatural creation Messiah unleashed on the city. I’d rather not have that invade my mind every time I’m addressed.”

“Besides,” she said, leveling her gaze on Cat, “I’d prefer a fresh start. We’re going to be partners after all.”

EPILOGUE

The desert horizon blurred in the heat and velocity as the Honda-Suzuki raced along. For the briefest of moments, it left a shadow on the fallen sign that identified Highway 40. Then it thundered away. Catwalk’s chest was against the tank with Delilah holding on to him tightly.
 

Her voice invaded his helmet’s speakers. “I thought you said this thing was fast?”

“Oh, niiiiiice. That was almost convincing, except you’re grippin’ on me as if I’m yer parachute.”

“That a complaint, mister?”

“No way on this planet or any other I’m gonna complain about you holdin’ me, Red.”

He eased the bike around the obstacles in the road, swerving a few additional times when the landscape was clear. She had asked earlier why he was moving the bike when he didn’t need to. His response about knowing where the mines were planted invoked almost four minutes of silence.

For now, the odd pairing, the orphaned half-human killer and the glamorous fashion designer, escaped the city. This was the closest thing to Eden that he could imagine. The feel of the motorcycle brought a peace deeper than mediation or drugs. Delilah’s voice woke him from an internal daydream.

“You know every millimeter of this road, huh?”

“Yeah, like I know every millimeter a’ this bike.”

“Anywhere that’s absolutely private?”

He thought for a moment, then answered, “a couple.”

“Good, find the next one.”

“Alright, whatcha got in mind, Red?”

“We need a little time to ourselves,” she tightened her grip on his chest. “I intend to leave marks this time.”

COMING SOON

Stay Tuned for more of the Leon “Catwalk” Caliber Series

Coming Soon

Lineage

Mercy Killing

Obedient

For more information, visit Nick Kelly at:

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A SUREFIRE WAY
 

J.T. Bock’s

An UltraSecurity Novel

PepperLip Press

www.jtbock.com

Available on
Amazon.com
 

Chapter One

Bad guys should never be this hot,
Surefire thought before she slipped on the crossbeam hanging high above the warehouse floor.

Her next thought, she vocalized. Repeatedly.
 

“Shit . . .”

She was running along the rafters, jumping from beam to beam in close pursuit of Raven—the annoyingly hot thief—when her knee gave out. Her outstretched foot missed its landing by inches.
 

Time stopped. Her stomach lurched and her heart screeched to a halt. For a nanosecond, she seemed to float. But that was only an illusion.
 

She was falling. Fast. Her heart pumped out a last-ditch beat. She flailed her arms and stretched her upper body, groping for the next beam.
 

“Oof!” Her chest caught the edge, knocking the breath from her lungs. She wrapped her arms around the beam and hugged it tight to her now throbbing chest.
 

Surefire looked down at her feet, dangling forty feet above the floor below.
 

Big mistake.
 

“Oh, God,” she uttered.
I can’t fail now.
 

“Need help?” Raven called out from a few beams over.

Surefire’s mouth fell open. She must have misheard him.
 

Raven jumped, as if on springs, from crossbeam to crossbeam back in her direction. He stopped on the beam across from her and stood with his head cocked, waiting, it seemed, for her reply.
 

Surefire’s gaze trailed up his body from his rock-climbing shoes to his rock-solid abs.
 

No, she decided, a transhuman baddie needed a bizarre deformity—metal teeth, yellow skin, neon eyes, a joker face—something. Not a second-skin black suit that showed off the body of a Grecian athlete.

It was way too distracting.
 

Not that she was distracted one bit. She was an UltraAgent—a trained law-enforcement professional. She was always in control and always focused, and she always completed her mission. In this case, capturing the thief directly across from her.

Her falling had nothing to do with being distracted. Her bad knee had buckled. That was all.

His eyes locked on hers from behind the two holes in his Zorro-like mask, and he asked again, “Do you need help?”

Under her own mask, she blinked, registering his question. Did he think she was an idiot?

Surefire repositioned her arms for a better grip. Anger now replaced her fear. “Isn’t this the part when you run away? Or toss me to my death?”

“I can’t and won’t have blood on my hands,” he replied.

“Glad you have some principles. It’ll help you in court.”
 

He shook his head as if she didn’t get it. “I can give you a hand—”

“Stay where you are.” She emphasized each word so he didn’t mistake her meaning.
 

Never moving her eyes from his, she hauled herself back onto the beam, inch by painful inch. Swinging her leg over, she pulled herself up onto unsteady feet but remained in a squat for better balance. She took a deep breath then winced as pain sliced through her ribcage.
 

Just great. A bruised rib.
 

If Raven noticed she was hurt, he didn’t give any indication. He casually stood on the beam across from her. Over his shoulder, he held the burlap sack containing the statue he had stolen from the museum.
 

Surefire raised her right arm and aimed the small dart gun attached to her wrist. She concentrated on keeping her hand from trembling as she locked on the masked space between his eyes.
 

Then she hesitated.
 

She couldn’t shoot him this high up off the floor. He’d fall, and the priceless artifact he had slung over his shoulder like a bag of dirty gym clothes would crash to the ground.
 

Surefire lowered her gaze, and the bastard grinned.

“You okay?” he asked, not fazed by the weapon pointed at him.
 

“I’m fine.”
 

He snorted as if he didn’t believe her. Her finger tensed on the trigger button hidden in her palm.
 

“The police and the FBI will be here any minute.” She swallowed to strengthen her voice. “I suggest we climb down and—”
 

His lips puckered into a kiss before he dropped onto the concrete floor as if it weren’t a forty-foot fall but a leap off a balance beam.

Dammit!
 

Not hesitating again, she flicked her wrist toward the ground and depressed the trigger.

Click. Click. Nothing.
 

She inspected the tiny dart gun, shook it, and tried again.
 

Click. Click. Again, nothing.
 

Oliver was so dead when she got back to the UltraSecurity office. She hadn’t had time for a weapons check this evening, and Oliver had sworn he had tested her weapons earlier in the day.
 

“Having a wardrobe malfunction?” Raven called up to her.

Surefire glared down at him. He stood below her with his hands on his hips and his face tilted up at her. Moonlight filtered through the smudged windows lining the top of the building and cast a dim spotlight on his infuriating grin.
 

She rolled her eyes. He had something up his tight sleeve, or he would have escaped when she slipped.
 

Then again, maybe he wanted to see what else she’d mess up.
 

Hands down, he was the most arrogant criminal she’d been assigned. Not that she had encountered many. He was only her fourth assignment since joining UltraSecurity, known as U-Sec, over three years ago. And the first assignment she headed up since her elevation from rookie to full-time agent. The last two agents on the case had been reassigned. Inferno had lost his cool and seared a museum’s storage center trying to stop Raven. They had found the last agent, Tara Kard, tied up on Marie Antoinette’s bed at Versailles, a priceless vase missing.
 

So by now, Raven probably thought UltraAgents were pathetic amateurs, and he had become cocky.
 

Hence, the not running away part.

Either that or he hoped to win her trust and disable her as he had done to Tara.

Whatever his motive, she’d show him.

Surefire grabbed a metal tube the size and width of her index finger, hidden in a small pouch on her belt. She aimed it at him and depressed the release button on its side. A net shot out but didn’t deploy evenly. It drifted onto the ground next to him, a limp parachute.

He nudged it with his foot. “Cute. Should I throw this over my head?”
 

“That would be helpful.”
 

Surefire sighed. Between the weapon malfunctions and her slipping, he deserved to get away, and she deserved to have her U-Sec badge revoked.
 

“Nah, I’ll let you work for it. I don’t want you to think I’m easy.” He darted away into the shadows of the aisles.
 

Surefire spun around, straining to hear his fleeing steps in an effort to pinpoint his location. But the building housed metal crates, which bounced sound around like a pinball, making him nearly impossible to track.
 

“You know . . .” His voice sounded from down below to her left. Or was it from behind? “I don’t think you want to catch me. I’m probably the most excitement you’ve ever had.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Surefire yelled, angrier than she intended.

“Then why all the mistakes? Are you trying to screw up?”

She threw down the empty metal tube with a clang.
 

How long had she been on this case? Three months. And how many times had she almost caught him? Three near misses. And how often had he tried to provoke her? Three times, of course. Three signified the final strike, the final out—the charm. She had begged her bosses for this case. If she wanted to make a name for herself at U-Sec—and if she wanted a raise—then she needed Raven.

Well, she needed to
catch
him.

She scanned the boxes below for one stacked high enough to jump onto but found none nearby. She was a sure shot and a trained gymnast, but she was only human, well, a transhuman. She hated that label the media used for people with extraordinary abilities. She could hit any target—when her weapons worked. But that was the extent of her talents. Looking down at the long drop to the floor, which Raven had taken with such ease and no broken bones, she wondered whether he was something more than a transhuman.
 

Most transhumans were gifted with one ability. Very few had two distinct talents. Raven possessed several that U-Sec was aware of. Bullets slowed but never stopped him. He toted off statues weighing three hundred pounds as if they were plastic mannequins. Then, during his previous heist, he had walked through the walls of a sealed vault, adding “phasing out” to his list of talents.

Why he didn’t use that skill now, Surefire couldn’t guess. However, she was grateful. She was close to capturing Raven or at least uncovering his thefts, and failure was not in her family’s genes, as dad loved to remind her.