Night of the Lions (Lions of Manhattan 1)

The man’s name was Danielson. First name, unknown. Cat preferred to call him The Terminator because he had the bulk of Schwarzenegger in his glory days, minus the accent. Danielson was a man of few words. He didn’t talk to her unless he absolutely had to. And, despite his appearance, he moved like a ghost and seemed very knowledgeable about his firearms. Cat guessed he must be ex-military. He looked highly trained to kill in a thousand different ways. Danielson was Gabriel’s head of security and the person in charge of keeping her ass in one piece, unspoiled.

Cat thought the personal detail was overkill.

Sure, that slime bag Oliver Duval had drugged and wanted to take advantage of her, but it wasn’t like her life was being threatened by terrorists or assassins or anything like that. She’d just had an unfortunate run-in with some sleazy smut peddler. No biggie. The risk came with the job as a private investigator.

Gabriel had taken her to see Duval, but it hadn’t been much use. Duval wouldn’t talk to her. Then Gabriel had done something crazy, like giving Duval a high-voltage Taser zap. And suddenly Duval had morphed into a big, scruffy lion, snarling. His clothes had torn apart when he’d shifted. Just like the Incredible Hulk’s, only Duval was a lion. And not a very good-looking one, at that. But Cat had almost fainted when she’d seen the transformation. It had been freaky, yet awesome. God, she’d still been shaking with the revelation as Gabriel had taken her back to his penthouse. He’d repeatedly asked if she was okay. She was okay. Now she got why Gabriel wouldn’t show her proof that he was a werelion. He hadn’t wanted to spook her. She knew he liked her very much and he probably thought the sight of him turning into a lion would freak her out.

Maybe a normal woman would be freaked out.

But she wasn’t a normal woman.

And, after a series of threats, Gabriel finally allowed Cat to go to her apartment to get some clothes, check her mails and feed her fish. To her dismay, Gabriel ordered Danielson and Alexandre to come with her as bodyguards. Which meant she couldn’t continue sleuthing. Gabriel wanted her to drop the investigation and let him handle everything. She was in too deep. There was no way in hell she would let Judith Rossi—or whatever that bitch’s name was—go free without Cat giving Judith a piece of her mind. No, sir. Not after the way she had tricked her into taking a fake case because Judith had a beef with something Gabriel had done in the past.

Danielson drove her to her apartment. Alex rode shotgun. Neither of them spoke. Danielson took his job overly seriously, while Alex seemed to think she was amusing. Each time she stole a glance in the rear-view mirror, she saw a faint smile curling the corners of his lips. Alex was watching her through his dark-tinted sunglasses. Maybe Gabriel had ordered him to pay close attention to her, and that was exactly what he was doing.

Danielson didn’t allow her to open her own door. He did it, treating it as if the apartment had been booby trapped with an IED. Cat wanted to crack a joke so Danielson wouldn’t be so highly strung, but the head bodyguard looked like a humourless man. She bit her tongue to refrain from commenting.

Danielson went in first, checking everything. When he’d judged it safe, he nodded to Alex to let her in. She flounced through the door. A sense of relief surged through her. Gabriel’s house was nice, but there was no place like home.

Alex helped himself to her sofa, sitting with one leg crossed and his body relaxed, looking as if he owned her place. “Pack a week’s worth,” he told her.

“Why?”

“So we don’t have to go back and forth between Manhattan and Newark just for clothes.”

“It’s only a temporary arrangement. I’m not moving into your brother’s house.”

“You think so?”

“I’ve started regretting I didn’t take your cheque.”

“Hmm. You should have.”

Cat went to feed the goldfish in the aquarium, then checked her voicemail. The answering machine on her nightstand blinked red. There were five messages waiting for her. Three from Judith Rossi—that bitch—wanting to know how the investigation was progressing. One from her landlord about the leaky sink she had complained about last week. The other was from the credit card company. She had missed a payment. Cat sighed and deleted all the messages. It seemed she’d have to get a real job after she’d sorted out the problem with Rossi. Just to tide her over until she’d settled the agency’s bills. Jon would be disappointed

in her if he knew she had driven the agency into the crapper. She wasn’t much of a private investigator. Took a case from a fake client. Got drugged by a pervert. What was up with that?

“Need help?”

Cat jumped. Alex was leaning in her bedroom doorway. His arms were suavely folded across his chest. She hadn’t heard him sneaking about. The man was as silent as a cat. “Jesus. You gave me a heart attack,” she said, after she’d let out a hearty squeal.

“Here I thought private investigators possessed nerves of steel.”

“Quit making fun of me. I’m just a rookie, okay?” Cat dragged a wheeled suitcase from under the bed. She dusted it off as best she could and hoisted it on the bed. She went through her drawers and closet, packing some clothes and necessities.

Alex studied her with interest. “What did you do before this?”

“I was a secretary.”

“Before that?”

“I was also a secretary—for a lawyer. He was a real dickweed and couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

“So you quit and worked for Jon.”

“How do you know about Jon?”

“Background check.”