Night of the Lions (Lions of Manhattan 1)

The woman still wailed. Neither he nor Alex understood Spanish.

Danielson rushed to the kitchen. “Sir, there’s something you have to see. It’s in the master bedroom.”

Gabe followed Danielson.

It looked as if a tornado had visited the master bedroom. Clothes littered the floor. Drawers had been upended and their contents were strewn on the floor. Somebody had packed in a hurry.

Danielson pointed to the TV screen. It played a looped scene: Catherine had been bound and gagged and shoved into a large wooden crate. A yellow note was stuck on the screen.

It began at the Night of the Lions. It will end there.

Gabe snatched the note and crumpled it in his fist. He met Alexandre’s hard gaze. Without a word, he strode out of the room.

It felt like a dream. She had seen blurry faces. The men’s and woman’s voices she had heard. At one time, she thought she had woken up in a wooden box. Then this dim room, which was hot, like a Turkish sauna. She felt sluggish and thirsty as hell. She also had to relieve herself.

When she was finally able to focus her mind, she found herself in cuffs, lying on a dirty cot. Her forearms were red with rope marks. Her ankles were free. No shoes. She was still dressed in the two-piece summer pantsuit she’d worn the day she’d escaped from under Alex’s and Danielson’s noses. She remembered Judith Rossi and the way she’d turned into one pissed off lioness.

Well, you have done it, she chastised herself. Curiosity killed the cat. But she hadn’t been able to help it. It was her job as a private investigator to see things through until the end. Except this one most certainly looked like her end.

Light from a yellowed bulb illuminated the room. The place only had one door. The window was barred shut with wooden planks. A toilet perched in the corner of the room. Beside it was a sink.

Where was she? Was she in some kind of jail cell? How had she ended up in this mess?

She shambled to the door and banged on it. “Heeeeyyy. Anybody there? Let me out of here!”

Deep inside, she knew what she did was a wasted effort, but she couldn’t sit still and do nothing. Tired and parched, she retreated to the cot in defeat and slumped. Her kidnappers hadn’t left her any water, and she sure as hell wouldn’t quench her thirst from the sink. Five minutes later, the door creaked open. A really big, ugly man grimaced at her as he shoved a tray of food down.

Cat inspected the tray. It held a bowl of porridge. It looked disgusting, but it was still warm. And there was a bottle of mineral water. She unscrewed the lid and drank thirstily. She remembered to save a third of it in case the kidnappers decided to be stingy with water.

One problem solved, but she was still hungry. She poked her finger in the porridge. They hadn’t given her any eating utensils. She tasted the goo. Not too bad. She h

ad lost track of time and didn’t have any idea when she had last eaten.

What the hell. Cat shovelled another fingerful of porridge into her mouth.

His personal jet had been given clearance to take off, but Gabe wasn’t ready to depart just yet. He was waiting for a last-minute arrival. Alex hadn’t thought he would come, but Gabe had put his faith in him. In the business world, everyone had their own price. You just had to present the person with an offer he couldn’t refuse.

The pilot appeared in the cockpit doorway. “Sir. How much longer should we wait?”

Gabe glanced at his wristwatch. “Five more minutes should do.”

“Yes, sir.” The pilot retreated back to his lair.

Ren took a seat across from Gabe and busied himself with his laptop.

Alex pocketed his cell and leaned over. “Danielson and the team boarded ten minutes ago.”

Gabe nodded. He had chartered a jet for his personal security team, plus a dozen extra highly trained personnel from a trusted security company, to retrieve Catherine. Judith Rossi a.k.a. Sophie-Marie Veron had taken Cat to South Africa as leverage for the unfinished business they’d started fourteen years ago. It began at the Night of the Lions. It will end there.

Alex stared at the window. “Son of a bitch. He’s coming.”

Gabe cut his gaze. On the tarmac, celebrity illusionist Gustav Angelo, along with his entourage, strode towards Gabe’s jet. The ground staff and the flight attendant opened the hatch and welcomed them in.

Gabe rose from his seat. Gustav Angelo was a twenty-nine-year-old magician at the height of his career. He was a lanky man with black hair and a stylish goatee, famous for his street magic performances. Angelo had a TV show and all his Vegas shows always sold out. He might be a person who could help Gabe perform a miracle during Cat’s daring rescue.

Angelo climbed the hatch like a cat and entered the jet. “It’s an honour to meet you, Mr Larousse.”

“Mine as well. Please have a seat.”