Page 40 of Catnapped

“No time for your old pal?” he wheedles.

“We aren’t pals.”

“Who’s the chick?” He gives a lascivious grin. “She looks like she knows how to treat a man with–”

Before I even think, I have my forearm on his windpipe as I shove him against the wall. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

His eyes go wide, and he sputters. “C-carson, what the–”

“I don’t want you to even think in her direction, motherfucker. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes!” He gasps and tries to wrench my arm away. He doesn’t move me. If I wanted to snap this weasel’s neck, I could do it. If he says another word about May, I will.

“Go easy, man!” His face is turning red.

I shove off him and stare him down, rage still simmering in my blood. I’m not a hothead, at least not historically. If anything, I’m cold. Methodical. I don’t take risks, and I don’t rush into anything unprepared. But when it comes to May, something in the logical part of my brain seems to have shut down completely, because I want to hurt anyone who even so much as hints at disrespecting her.

He tries to adopt a casual air as he rubs his throat. “What case are you working?” He glances down the hall.

“Don’t.” I grit my teeth.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look for her.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re one wrong move away from a vagrant finding pieces of your body along the Jersey turnpike.”

He swallows hard. “So it’s like that, is it?”

“Out.” I step up to him. “You don’t want a replay of what happened in Buenos Aires, do you?”

He holds his hands up, palms out. “No violence necessary. I was just stopping by to give you a tip.”

There’s no way Lennie the Skeez has come to my place to help me. That’s not in his nature. There’s a reason I beat the ever-living shit out of him on our last assignment where we crossed paths. His loyalty goes to whomever pays him, not to any code or country.

“That cat–you should look at the maids. One of them has a gambling problem. Got into some trouble.”

I slam the elevator button. The doors open, and I shove him backwards. He stumbles, then rights himself.

“Jeez, Carson. So touchy.” He shrugs his shoulders to straighten his suit coat. “I was just trying to be a buddy.”

“If I see you here again, you’re dead. Understand?” I don’t think I can make it any clearer.

“The maid,” he says as the doors close, and I lose sight of his shit-eating grin.

I check the bag. There’s no way for me to tell if it’s been tampered with beyond Lennie’s greasy hands on it. I open it and pull out a box of perfume,Have the Affairwritten across it in swooping script.

Returning to the bedroom, I have to wonder who put Lennie up to coming to my place. Whoever it was must’ve paid him a mint, because like I said, the last time we met, I almost ended him. He’d betrayed another one of our operatives, claimed it was part of his mission, and the top brass believed his bullshit. I didn’t.

“May?” I call when I see she’s not in bed. The bathroom door is closed. I go to it and knock. “The perfume’s here.”

“Okay.” Her voice sounds strange as it wobbles through the door.

It feels like a bucket of cold water has just been dumped on my head. She sounds … hurt. “Are you all right?” I toss the box onto my dresser and press my hands to the door. “What’s wrong? Can I come in?” What could it be? Did I hurt her earlier?Fuck! I must’ve been too rough.

“I’m okay,” she calls, clearly lying.

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