Cat and Mouse (New York Mafia Syndicate #1)

Chapter 3 - Elizabeth

The balcony is silent now, the distant hum of the city filtering through the air. I work to get the cuffs off, feeling the metal bite into my wrists.

I glance around, desperate for anything useful. My eyes catch sight of the keys he tossed earlier, lying just a few feet away. Perfect. I shift closer, maneuvering my body to reach them. It's slow and painful, but determination fuels me.

I finally grasp the keys and work them into the lock, my hands shaking slightly. After what feels like an eternity, the cuffs click open. I rub my sore wrists, replaying the encounter in my mind. He got away, but this isn't over. Not by a long shot.

That bastard. The audacity to one-up me. I'm embarrassed, angry, and something else I don't want to think about.

His expensive suit, his scent—like cedar and something darker—and those fucking blue eyes. If he's the Phantom, why not run? Why not kill me? I can't tell Captain Harris that this man bested me again. More than that, I'm pissed because all my research on Moretti must have been a waste of time. What the hell is his actual name?

I pick up my gun, tuck it in, and then hear footsteps. A couple of seconds later, Mike and Matteo show up. How did they not notice I was gone? I must have been up here with that man for close to seven minutes. I don't blame them, though. They're new to NYPD.

"Everything alright?" Mike asks, his eyes scanning the balcony.

"Yes," I say, trying to steady my voice. "I thought I heard someone up here."

He nods. "I've got a list of all the patrons in the club tonight and the other dancers. Maybe we can go to the station and go through them."

"Good idea," I say. I'm rattled, but I don't want them to see that. I never react well to men, especially after that day, and having a potential killer stroke that scar has made me completely uneasy. I need to solve this once and for all.

As we head back inside, I can't shake the feeling of his touch, the way he traced the cut on my eyebrow. "What happened here?" he'd asked. I flinch just thinking about it. And then he called me occhi verdi, gorgeous eyes. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Matteo falls into step beside me, his green eyes full of concern. "You sure you're okay, Kane?"

"I'm fine," I snap. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't push it. He's practically a rookie, and I don't need him worrying about me right now.

Back at the station, we spread out the list of names. I focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to that balcony. I can't believe he had the nerve to mess with me like that. And his parting words, so damn cocky: "Next time, detective, bring a warrant, and make sure the right name is on it!"

Mike leans over my shoulder, his sandy blonde hair falling into his eyes. "You seem distracted."

"I'm not," I lie. "Let's get to work."

Hours pass as we go through the names. Nothing stands out. No connections, no leads. Frustration gnaws at me. I'm not getting anywhere.

Matteo hands me a coffee, his scruffy beard making him look even younger. "You look like you need this."

"Thanks," I mutter, taking a sip. It's bitter, but it keeps me awake. "We need to find something. Anything."

"We will," Mike says, his voice steady. "We just need to keep at it."

But I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something. I glance at my reflection in the window. My hair's a mess, my eyes tired. And that scar, a constant reminder. I touch it lightly, remembering his touch.

God, what is wrong with me?

The room is quiet except for the rustling of papers. I force myself to focus. There's no way I'm letting him win. Not again. Not ever. I stare at the list of names, willing something to jump out at me.

"Hey, Kane," Matteo says, breaking the silence. "What's our next move?"

I take a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of him aside. "We interview the patrons, the dancers. Someone has to know something."

Mike nods, jotting down notes. "We'll get him."

I look at them both, determination setting in. "Yes, we will. And when we do, he's going to regret ever crossing paths with us."

As the night drags on, I keep replaying our encounter. His confidence, his arrogance. The way he made me feel—angry, embarrassed, intrigued.

No. I can't think like that. He's the enemy. And I'll do whatever it takes to bring him down.

By dawn, we have a plan. It's not perfect, but it's a start. We pack up our things, ready to hit the ground running. As I walk out of the station, I can still smell his scent, feel his touch. But I push it all away, focusing on what's ahead.

This isn't over. Not by a long shot. And when we finally meet again, I'll be ready.

I head home, shower, and collapse in bed with files of all six victims. Amy Carson is the latest one. She led me to the club, and her tox results show she had traces of drugs in her system. Maybe this isn't just a serial killer targeting random victims. Maybe this is all tied up with drugs. I'll need to check on the reports. Maybe there's something I missed.

The Phantom has killed two people this year, three last year, and one the year before. Same M.O.—nine slashes to the chest. None of the cases seem connected, but using a UC might be our next best option. I stare at the deceased's files until I doze off, dreaming of very blue, intense eyes.

*

I wake up with a start, the files scattered around me. Groaning, I push myself up and grab a cold coffee from my nightstand. The faces of the victims stare back at me: Amy Carson, found in an alley; Jessica Davis, found in a park; Mark Thompson, found in a different alley; Lisa Moore, found in her apartment; Ryan Bell, found in a dumpster; and Samantha Green, found in an abandoned building. All of them in different places, with different backgrounds.

But Amy's tox results might be the key. Drugs. Could it be connected? I need more information.

I glance at the clock. It's 8 a.m. No point in going back to sleep. I shuffle the files, trying to make sense of it all.

Amy's case file sits on top, open to her photo. Her smile feels like a plea for justice. My mind keeps drifting back to last night. That man, his touch, his eyes.

Damn it, Elizabeth, focus.

He's the enemy. Nothing more.

I head to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee. I need to be sharp today. We need a break in this case. The coffee brews, filling the kitchen with its bitter aroma. I take a deep breath, letting it ground me.

This isn't about him. This is about getting justice for the victims.

Mike texts me updates on the club investigation. No leads yet, but he's hopeful. Matteo's checking surveillance footage. Maybe we'll catch a break today.

I pour over the tox reports, comparing substances. There's something here, a thread I can't quite grasp. I need fresh eyes, a new perspective.

The phone rings, startling me. It's Captain Harris.

"Kane, any progress?"

I give him a rundown of where we stand, careful not to show my frustration. "We're working on it, sir. It's just... elusive."

"I trust you'll crack this, Kane. Keep me posted."

I hang up, feeling the pressure mount. This case is personal now. Those victims deserve justice, and I won't rest until we find it.

Hours pass. I've made some headway—potential links, theories to explore—but nothing solid.

I stretch, my back protesting from hours hunched over paperwork. A glance at the clock tells me it's late afternoon. Mike and Matteo should be back soon with their findings.

My phone buzzes again. It's Mike.

"Kane, you need to see this."

I rush to meet them at the station. Matteo has pulled up security footage from the club. We huddle around the screen, watching patrons come and go. There—a glimpse of Amy, laughing with friends. Moments later, she disappears into the crowd.

"Who's that?" Mike points to a figure lingering in the background, watching Amy closely.

Matteo zooms in. "Enhance."

The figure comes into focus—a man in a dark suit, his face partially obscured. But there's something about him, an aura of confidence and danger.

"That's him," I whisper, feeling a chill down my spine. "The Phantom."

"We need to find out who he is," Mike says, jaw clenched.

Matteo nods, already cross-referencing the footage with our suspect database. "I'll run facial recognition."

I pace, heart racing. This is it. The break we've been waiting for.

Minutes tick by like hours. Then Matteo curses under his breath.

"No match."

My stomach sinks. "Keep searching. There has to be something."

And then, a ping. Matteo freezes, eyes wide. "I've got a hit. His name is—"

The door bursts open. Captain Harris strides in, a grave look on his face. "Kane, we have a lead on the Phantom. Get your team ready. We're moving in."

Relief floods through me. "Yes, sir. Let's go." I glance back at the files on my desk. Amy's smile seems brighter, urging me on. I won't let her down.

As we head out, the city buzzes around us, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath its surface. This is our city, our responsibility. And tonight, justice will be served.

We arrive at the scene, sirens wailing, lights flashing. The place is cordoned off, officers everywhere securing the perimeter. Mike and Matteo are with me, their faces set with grim determination.

"Alright, let's move," I say, leading the way. The building is an old warehouse, decrepit and reeking of decay. We move in, weapons drawn, clearing room by room.

"Clear!" Matteo shouts from the left side.

"Clear!" echoes Mike from the right.

We converge in the center, eyes scanning for any signs of the Phantom. The air is thick with tension, every creak and groan of the building setting my nerves on edge.

"There," Mike whispers, pointing to a door at the back. It's slightly ajar, and a sliver of darkness beckons us.

We approach cautiously. I push the door open, and we step into a large, dimly lit room. The sight that greets us is both chilling and infuriating.

A man lies on the floor, his body contorted in a grotesque display of violence. He's middle-aged, with graying hair and a weathered face. His suit, once pristine, is now stained with blood, the dark fabric clinging to his lifeless form.

"Damn it," I mutter, crouching down to examine the scene. "He's been dead for hours."

Mike and Matteo stand guard, their eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. I spot a piece of paper pinned to the man's chest, the handwriting neat and deliberate.

My hands tremble as I read the note aloud. "My name is Moretti. I heard you were looking for me."

"Son of a bitch," Mike growls, his face a mask of fury. "He's taunting us."

I rise, stuffing the note into an evidence bag. "This changes everything. We need to find out who this guy is and why the Phantom left him here."

Matteo nods, already snapping photos and cataloging evidence. "I'll run his prints, see if we get any hits."

The room is a mess, signs of a struggle everywhere. Broken furniture, scattered papers, blood splatters. This wasn't just a killing; it was a message.

"Why leave him here?" I ponder aloud, frustration bubbling up. "What's the point?"

"To show he's always one step ahead," Mike replies, his voice low and hard. "He wants us to know he's watching."

We continue to comb through the scene, piecing together the puzzle. The man's wallet yields a name—Frank Roselli. I jot it down.

"What do you think, Kane?" Matteo asks, his green eyes meeting mine. "Is this connected to the other victims?"

I nod slowly. "It has to be. The Phantom doesn't make random moves. This is calculated."

We finish our sweep, securing the scene for the forensics team. As we step back outside, the night air hits me like a slap. I breathe deeply, trying to clear my head.

"We need to get back to the station," I say, my voice steely with resolve. "There's a lot of work to be done."

The ride back is silent, each of us lost in our thoughts. The city whizzes by, a blur of lights and shadows. I replay the scene in my mind, looking for missed clues, hidden meanings.

Back at the station, I spread out the new evidence alongside the old files. Amy Carson, the other victims, and now Frank Roselli. The connections are there, I just need to find them.

I dive into the reports, checking and rechecking if there was something I might have missed.

Mike and Matteo join me, their presence a steady anchor.

"What's the plan?" Mike asks, leaning over my shoulder.

"We dig deeper," I reply, my eyes scanning the pages. "There's something we're missing."

The night wears on, the station quiet except for the hum of our work. Coffee cups pile up, evidence bags multiply. But we push through, driven by the need for answers.

Finally, I hit a breakthrough.

"Guys, look at this." I point to a pattern in the tox reports. "All the victims had traces of the same drug in their system. Cocaine."

Mike leans in, squinting at the reports. "Wait, what? All of them?"

"Yeah, but it's not obvious at first glance. The traces were barely detectable—negligible, really. It was easy to overlook unless you were specifically looking for it." I pull up the first victim's report on my tablet. "The first victim had meth as the primary substance, but there were traces of cocaine, too. It's like a fingerprint."

Matteo nods slowly, processing the information. "So, what does this mean? A connection between the victims?"

"It could be," I say. "It's definitely worth investigating further. Maybe the drug was a secondary factor in their deaths or a clue about the killer's pattern. We need to dig deeper into their backgrounds, their connections, find out if they were exposed to the same sources of cocaine or had similar drug-related associations."

Mike taps his pen on the table, thinking. "We'll need to get more details on their drug habits, any common places they might have frequented. This could lead us to the source."

I nod, feeling a spark of hope. "Exactly. Let's track down any connections. I'm betting this isn't a coincidence. The Phantom isn't just a serial killer. He's involved in something bigger. A drug ring, maybe."

Matteo leans in, studying the files. "We need to get an undercover in there, find out what's really going on."

"Agreed," I say, my mind already racing with how we can do it. "We'll brief the captain in the morning."

The fatigue is starting to hit, but I can't stop now. The faces of the victims flash in my mind, their pleas for justice echoing in my ears.

I grab the file on Amy Carson, flipping through her details again. Her life, her dreams, all cut short. I owe it to her, to all of them, to see this through.

As dawn breaks, we're still at it, piecing together the tangled web of the Phantom's crimes. But now we have a direction, a purpose.

I stand, stretching out the kinks in my back. "Good work, team. Let's call it a night and regroup in a few hours."

Mike and Matteo nod, gathering their things. "We'll crack this, Kane," Mike says, a determined glint in his eye.

I nod, exhaustion mingling with hope. "We will. One way or another, we'll bring him down."

As I head home, the city waking up around me, I can't shake the image of those blue eyes from my mind. He's out there, watching, waiting. But so am I.