Lion’s Quest by Eve Langlais
Chapter Two
He was only human.
Peter stopped and stared at the nice ass. Firm and round, encased in a pair of those black leggings everyone was so fond of. Perfect height for tapping, if he was a perv.
He walked past it. He knew better than to get involved with someone living in the same building. He’d made that mistake years ago. An ex-girlfriend, drunk out of her mind, pounding on the door at three a.m. while the new girlfriend was blowing him meant he didn’t get to finish.
Nice Ass Lady caught up to him just as he opened the entrance door. A sense of politeness ingrained in him even after more than three decades on this Earth meant he held it and gestured. “After you.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a small smile and a dismissive glance as she shoved earbuds into her ears. Then off she went, jogging up the street, those tight glutes hypnotic.
He followed at a slower rate, hands in pockets, alert to everything around him. Paranoid as fuck despite his sister’s boyfriend assuring him he had nothing to worry about.
As if Lawrence knew for sure. He might have found Peter in that hospital and gotten him off the drugs they were pumping him with, but once they cleared his system, the memories of why they’d drugged him returned. He couldn’t even look at a box of the original and only Frosted Flakes without getting a shiver.
There was a time the mere recollection of orange and black stripes would send him into a screaming fit, the kind that brought men in white coats to lock him away. In that padded room he was safe. The tiger surely couldn’t get at him in there.
Eventually the panic stopped. He started to sleep. Remembered his name. Then he was found. Rescued at last, and while aware he’d suffered trauma, he told his sister, the doctors, everyone, that he didn’t remember a thing.
He told Charlie, his sister, he was fine. She nagged him to go see a doctor to discuss possible post-traumatic stress. One screaming nightmare and she thought he had a problem. Was it any wonder after Charlie’s honeymoon cruise—which he got dragged along on—he found himself an apartment far from his sister?
He loved her, but he couldn’t stand the hovering. And then there was his lying. He felt guilty about that most of all. She’d uprooted her life and gone to Russia looking for him. Had put herself in danger. That more than anything made him wish he could rewind the clock.
But spilled milk and all that. There was nothing to do now about it. He’d survived. Charlie met the man of her dreams as a result of his actions, so silver lining. His sister was going to have a happy life.
As for him… He had to lie low. At least for a little while until he was sure his troubles were all over. So far, so good. He’d not seen a single tiger since arriving in the United States.
His neighbor pivoted at the corner and jogged back, barely acknowledging him as she ran past.
He briefly turned to watch her go.
The view was nice.
She passed him again. Apparently, she preferred to stick close to home when she ran. He saw her sweep past yet again as he entered the tavern for dinner. Just watching her exercise made him hungry.
As taverns went, it fit the standard bill; dark, dingy, the booths high-backed and private where they sat bolted along the wall. The meals were actually more decent than the décor suggested. He shouldn’t be picky given what he’d eaten recently. The institution where he’d spent a few weeks catching invisible butterflies was particularly fond of runny, flavorless gruel. As he learned, though, a stomach wasn’t picky when it came to survival.
Only after he’d placed his order did he pull his phone from his pocket, VPN enabled to hide his activities. Most of it was innocuous shopping. Extra gaming remote, more coffee for his machine, random stuff that amounted to lots of tiny packages from multiple places, including two mailboxes he’d rented a while ago. Via a secured bitcoin account, he paid to have the mail forwarded. It and his purchases should arrive around the same time, muddling the two things he really wanted to get his hands on, despite those who might be watching.
Given his new brother-in-law helped him get the apartment, he had to wonder if his sister knew about the cameras inside. He’d spotted them the first day. Nicely hidden. Comprised of newer, camouflaging models. But they made the mistake of wireless transmission.
Signals could always be spied on, or hijacked. Knowing someone was watching, Peter spent some time being very mundane. So far, he’d created hours of gaming, reading, and other boring stuff. Never knew when he might need to make a virtual copy of himself for watchers.
As to who was spying on him? Perhaps it was Lawrence, who had connections but wouldn’t talk about them. Had his sister married into the mob?
Kind of cool if she had, so long as he didn’t get on their bad side.
His gaze flickered to the tavern’s main door as a huge guy walked in. Close-cropped hair and trimmed goatee, built like a linebacker. Peter stared a moment, trying to place why he seemed familiar. Hadn’t he seen him from his living room window a few days ago, unloading boxes with the woman he’d seen jogging?
One of his new neighbors. He wondered if they got the same deal as him. Fully furnished apartment for less than he would have expected because his BIL knew the landlord.
Peter figured he was paying at least five hundred dollars under market, but he wasn’t complaining about that or the job Lawrence found him working in a bookstore. Mind-numbing work that gave him a cover to hide his other activities and bide his time.
A few hours later, when he paid, he noticed the neighbor had already left. Obviously not spying on him. Just like he doubted the pair of barflies—who’d arrived around the same time he did and were nursing their umpteenth beers—gave a fuck.
Paranoia was a step in the direction of the padded white room and the little pills that made him drool. Just like giving in to the urge to flinch every time he thought he saw the flick of a tail was giving in to the nightmares that plagued him.
He would be brave. There were no tigers in the city. No one left to hurt him.
He hoped.
Upon leaving the bar, he hit the sidewalk with a long stride and lost the few other pedestrians within the first block. He trudged along, hands in his pockets, head down. Both sides of the road were empty, and yet he felt watched. The skin between his shoulders prickled.
His hands flexed at the scuff of a shoe on pavement. He had nothing to defend himself with. A gun would have done the trick, but laws had tightened in recent years for this state. There was a waiting period now to own a legal weapon. He’d applied already, but these things took time. If he wanted something sooner, he’d have to make contact with the underworld where cash was king and the selection not always USA approved.
Not that he needed anything big or hardcore. Simply a revolver he could slip under his jacket. With a caliber big enough to take down an elephant. Enough to make him feel safe.
He passed by a closed electronics shop. The big window had televisions flashing, playing some kind of show with a bleach blond, mullet-wearing guy in a Hawaiian shirt hugging a tiger. Terrifying. He couldn’t help but shudder as he walked faster.
He could have sworn he heard steps shadowing him. When he stopped, so did the echo.
Probably his imagination, yet he quickened his stride.
A car parked along the sidewalk, dark and engine off, suddenly popped its trunk. It might as well have been a gunshot.
Heart suddenly pounding, Peter darted into an alley, where a thick miasma of garbage hit him. Gag worthy but he soldiered through. Having memorized the routes to his apartment ahead of time, he knew this dark corridor led to a bright thoroughfare and a donut shop popular with the boys in blue.
Thump. Thump.Familiar meaty sounds of violence that only made him run faster.
He hit the street at the far end, saw the red and blue lights on a cruiser, and heaved a sigh of relief before looking over his shoulder to see…no one there. Another false alarm. Would he forever live his life looking over his shoulder?
He hoped not. Reaching his apartment, he shut his door and deadbolted it. He wanted to check the windows even though they had no means of being reached. Resisted the urge to drop to his knees and look under the couch.
Couldn’t let those watching see how close he teetered on the edge.
It wasn’t late enough for bed, so he texted his sister.
Rather than reply, she called. “Peter, peter, pumpkin eater,” she sang, sounding so happy.
“How’s my favorite sister doing?”
“I’m your only sister.”
“Are you implying you need competition to be the best sister there is?”
She laughed. “Still an idiot.”
“Love you too,” he teased. “Any particular reason why you’re calling?”
“Actually, yes. It’s about that stupid key we found in your apartment. Lawrence’s aunts were bugging me about it again.”
“Did you tell them I don’t remember anything?” It was the line he kept to over and over.
“I have, over and over, but they seem to think if maybe they could talk to you in person, you might remember something.”
Like fuck. He’d met enough of Lawrence’s family and friends to know there was something a little off about the group. Not appearance wise. He’d never seen a fitter, more attractive bunch. But something in the way they moved and eyed the world and people around them freaked him the fuck out.
“I wish I could help. I didn’t even know there was a key hidden in my apartment. It must have been left there by the previous occupant.” He lied his ass off and felt a twinge at deceiving his sister. However, in his defense, if he told her what he knew, she’d tell her husband, and then shit would get tense.
“If you say so,” was her doubtful reply.
“Gotta go. Work in the morning.” More like he hated lying to Charlie. He hung up. Then, because of those fucking cameras, had to pretend he wasn’t agitated.
Problem being, he was fucking agitated. Only one thing to do.
He went looking for kittens.
Which might sound odd until tried. Something about the cute little furballs was relaxing and soothed him. Maybe one day he’d adopt one and not have to leave his house for calming. Today was not that day.
He found a lapful of furballs in the alley not far from the dry cleaners. He stroked the little rumbling bodies and couldn’t help thinking of the key found in his apartment in Russia. Everyone wanted to get their hands on it.
Let them. By the time they figured out the truth, he’d hopefully already have the treasure in hand.