Catwalk: Messiah by Nick Kelly Read Free Book Online

pony tailed hair feel ratty and had blown up one side of his collar. He ignored it. He left the shotgun and SMG’s under lock and key, opting for the baton and pistol as he entered what was supposed to be friendly territory. Punching in the key Delambre had provided, he was whisked downward by the elevators. He slipped the plain brown envelope from one hand to the other while he waited for the descent to end.
    Several floors below ground, the doors opened to a room of artificial light with a pale blue glow that reminded Cat of hospitals, morgues, and his old PD. He recognized medical equipment in organized fashion along the walls, and the steady hum indicated more computers than were readily visible.
    The figure that greeted him wasn’t Delambre. Instead, the click of heels and startling, warm tone of a voice caught him by surprise. “You must be Mr. Caliber.”
    Cat raised his gaze to the hostess, his mind instantly in spin-cycle. Her features betrayed a heritage that was equally African, Latin, and American. Her skin was a light, mocha brown. Her straight, black hair was pulled up into a bun with ebony chopsticks keeping it in place. Her brown eyes were framed with black-rimmed glasses. She wore a white, clean lab coat over a black pair of pants and black shoes. Cat recognized that he was staring, but couldn’t stop until Delambre’s voice drew him away.
    “It’s admirable that you found us, Catwalk, and early, too.”
    Cat replied, still unable to take his eyes off of the surprising new person in the equation. “I always aim for a few minutes ahead a’ time. Gives me some leeway in the event of an undisclosed road closure.”
    “Ah, and were there any today?”
    “One. But I jumped it and left a few shells behind ta assist with rush hour.”
    Delambre grinned. “Such a humanitarian.” His eyes trailed to Cat’s hands, “something in the envelope I should know about?”
    Cat nodded, tossing the brown envelope to Delambre. “Sure. Passport and ID ta match up with yer cover here in Nitro. Might as well have you able ta shop an’ walk among the legit crowd if yer gonna be helpin’ me out.”
    Without opening it, Delambre placed it on a table. “Passport and ID only? What about an Off-World credential? If I’m a legitimate scientist, I’ll need an Off-World registration. Scientists are in-demand in the colonies, after all.”
    Cat’s smile stretched across his face. He reached into his jacket pocket and tossed the card into Delambre’s hands. “Nicely played.”
    The geneticist’s smile mirrored the one he had displayed in the club. He was again grateful to have passed the hitman’s unspoken test.
    Without a word, the woman who had been studying them both spun on a heel and left the room. Cat knew his eyes were on her figure as she left, but he didn’t bother to be discreet.  
    “’Ta’ assist with rush hour?” Delambre asked.
    “Huh?”
    The geneticist squinted, studying Cat. “You said ‘ta’ assist. Hmm. I was curious last night if your definitive east coast accent was the product of alcohol, or if you always had it. I think I’ve had my question answered.”
    Cat scowled. “You suddenly my vocal coach, too?”
    Delambre shook his head, his eyes confirming the younger woman’s exit.
    “You must forgive my daughter,” he said, thickly accenting the last two words. “She hasn’t learned the necessity or promise of dealing with someone in your less-than-legal profession.”
    Cat chuckled, acknowledging the inflection of a concerned father. “I’ve been on the legal side, hombre. I like where I am now a shock-of-a-lot more.”
    Their eyes met briefly, the geneticist and the killer. Delambre spoke first, gesturing to a clean, metal table before him. “Shall we begin, then?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

    The scientist’s laugh crept in pitch and volume until it grew to a cackle bounding off the laboratory walls. He laughed until breathing became a chore. He nearly regained composure, but one more