Vigilante 01 - Who Knows the Storm by Tere Michaels Read Free Book Online Page B

Street—began just past the old circle; it looped in from the Freck Memorial Highway, which was commonly traveled by cabs bringing visitors in from the ferry station. Planes landed at the newly built Manhattan Memorial Airport on what was left of Staten Island; tourists took the rest of their trip by boat, an ironic mode of transportation considering how many people had died trying to escape on them.
    It made locals crazy: one bridge to ferry goods in and out, boats to cater to the tourists. The rest of the people? Stranded as much as they were seventeen years ago.
    Sticking to the shadows, Nox walked along the road. It was newly repaved and a slick black, well lit for the most part, but Nox knew how to avoid the light. A cab—its top flashing green, which meant it was free—approached, most likely heading for downtown to see if it could pick up random fares.
    Nox stepped onto the thick white line delineating the road from the shoulder and raised his hand as the cab’s headlights fell on him.
    The driver slowed, then stopped as Nox came into view. He opened his window as he coasted to the side.
    “You lost?” the man asked, his dark suit and tight tie the standard uniform for drivers in this town.
    “My date didn’t show—I’d be upset, but it was a favor to my sister, you know? I was going to head to the casinos for a little consoling.” Nox let his face relax into a friendly smile as he winked.
    The guy’s gaze narrowed; he was fifty, maybe older. His inflection told Nox he wasn’t from around here originally—maybe another Midwesterner come to make a buck amongst the ruins.
    Nox broadened his smile, willing the man to trust him. “I have cash, if that’s okay….”
    Most people didn’t bother with it, but a few enterprising individuals were trying to bring it back into fashion. Easier to keep the government from tracking it. Or you.
    A quick nod and the driver gestured to the backseat, disengaging the automatic lock. “Get in.”
    Twenty minutes later, Nox stared out the window at the blinding lights of the District. Hotels took up four or five city blocks. Casinos sprawled like small cities across eight or nine more. In the center, a slender tower of glass and steel—only thirty stories, but the oldest and most exclusive of all the establishments.
    The Iron Butterfly.
    The first. The best, or so their advertising claimed. Electronic billboards flashed all around the hotels, reflected back in their dark mirrored windows.
    Gambling.
    Dancers.
    Shows.
    Food.
    Sex.
    No such flair for The Butterfly—no. They simply unveiled their wares in brief bright pictures on their very walls.
    Blackjack.
    The most beautiful company in all of New City.
    Faces illuminated as if by magic, each more attractive than the next. Nox watched them change and flicker until—
    There he was—the lying piece of talent he’d had under him just a few hours before.
    Cade Creel read the flowery script a second later.
    “Stop here,” Nox said to the driver, who eased the vehicle to the nearest median. Traffic crept past them as Nox slid over a wad of neatly pressed bills through the opening in the Plexiglas divider.
    “You have a good night, now,” the driver said as Nox slid out of the cab.
    Nox straightened up, smoothing his tux as he looked up at the Iron Butterfly. As if by design, Cade’s face appeared once again.
    “Let’s find out more about you, young man,” Nox murmured. He stuck his hands in his pockets and set off for the Butterfly.

Chapter Five
     
    C ADE ’ S DRESSER was named Killian, a whiz with a needle and thread, capable of turning any suit or tux into a slightly sluttier version. He loved working for Cade—at least that’s what he told him all the time—because his body was made perfectly for the current trend of menswear.
    Lightweight material, body conscious, and all tucks and corners to accentuate the male form. Between Cade’s broad shoulders and slender waist, his alterations were mostly just to