Cat and Mouse (New York Mafia Syndicate #1)

Chapter 7 - Elizabeth

The moment Leo's out the door, I bolt after him, grabbing my gun from floor in the living room. My hand's steady, but my heart's racing. I swing the door open, eyes darting left and right, searching the dark street. Nothing. Not a single sign of him. Damn it. He's already gone.

I step out, scanning the shadows, my gun raised, ready to fire if necessary. But the street's empty, eerily quiet, like he was never even here. My teeth clench in frustration. That slick bastard is like a ghost.

I grab my phone and dial Officer Bennett. He's on patrol tonight, and if Leo's still lurking around, Bennett might spot him.

"Bennett, it's Kane," I say as soon as he picks up.

"Kane? What's going on?" His voice is alert, a mix of concern and confusion.

"I need you to keep an eye out for the Phantom. He was just at my house."

"Wait, the Phantom? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. He's in the area. If you see him, don't approach—just call it in."

"Got it," Bennett replies, all business now. "I'm on it."

"And Bennett?"

"Yeah?"

"If you find nothing, let's keep this between us."

He's quiet for a beat before saying okay.

I hang up, still scanning the street. There's no way in hell I'm letting him get away that easily. I start a sweep of the neighborhood, moving swiftly but cautiously, checking every corner, every alley. But it's like he's vanished into thin air.

By the time I get back to my house, I'm seething. How the hell does he do that? How does he just disappear? I lock the door behind me, double-checking that every window is secured. My hand drifts to the corner of my mouth, where his lips had barely brushed against mine. It's still burning, an irritating reminder of just how close he was, of how easily he got under my skin.

"What the fuck is your deal, Leo?" I mutter to myself, pacing the living room. This sick fascination he has with me—it's unsettling. And now I have his name. Leonardo. It sounds almost noble, but there's nothing noble about that man.

I think about calling Captain Harris, but what the hell am I supposed to tell him? "Hey, Cap, remember that serial killer who left me cuffed and who the whole department needs to be looking for? Yeah, he just broke into my house to chat." Not happening. Besides, Harris doesn't know everything that went down in Milwaukee, and I'm not about to dredge up that mess tonight.

No, I'll handle this myself. I'll run his name through the database first thing in the morning, see what I can dig up on Leonardo. Maybe, just maybe, I'll get something solid on him. Then I can tell the Captain about it.

I head upstairs, my mind still racing, and grab the gun again, slipping it under my pillow. I've never been one to sleep with a weapon, but tonight, I'm not taking any chances.

I climb into bed, the sheets cool against my skin, but I can't shake the tension coiled in my muscles. I close my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep, but my mind keeps replaying the night's events. His touch, his voice, the way he looked at me. It's all too vivid, too real.

Fuck, Elizabeth, stop. You're not some lovesick teenager. He's a killer, and you're the cop who's supposed to take him down. That's all there is to it.

But sleep doesn't come easy. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to think of anything else. But my mind keeps drifting back to him, to the way his voice dropped when he said my name, to the way his eyes darkened when he realized what I was trying to say about Milwaukee.

I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself to just sleep. I just need rest. Tomorrow's another day, another chance to get him.

Eventually, I drift off, but my mind doesn't let me off the hook. The dream starts innocently enough—just me in my bed, the same bed I'm lying in now. But then he's there, standing at the foot of it, watching me with those intense eyes.

"Leo," I murmur, half asleep, half awake. I can almost feel him there, in the room with me.

He moves closer, climbing onto the bed, and I don't stop him. My body betrays me, arching toward him, craving his touch. He's on top of me, pinning me down, just like earlier, but this time there's no gun, no fight. Just heat.

"You're always making things so damn difficult," he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear, sending a shiver through me.

"I hate you," I whisper back, but the words lack conviction. My hands reach up, grabbing on to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

He smirks, that infuriating cocky smirk, and leans down, his mouth capturing mine. This time, there's no hesitation, no resistance. I kiss him back, hard, my fingers digging into his back, my body pressing up against his. His hands slide under my tank top, fingers grazing my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Why do you always have to be so difficult, Liz?" he murmurs against my lips.

"Why do you always have to be such a prick?" I shoot back, but I'm breathless, my words coming out in gasps as his hands explore my body, as if he owns it, as if he owns me.

His mouth moves to my neck, and I tilt my head, giving him more access. God, this is so wrong, but it feels so fucking right. His lips trace a path down to my collarbone, and I moan, unable to hold it back.

"You taste so damn good," he growls, his voice rough, filled with something dark and primal.

"Leo…" I gasp, my nails digging into his skin as he moves lower, kissing down my chest, his hands sliding up my thighs, pushing them apart.

"Say it again," he demands, his voice husky, full of need.

"Leo," I moan, my body arching toward him, desperate for more.

He pins me down, harder this time, his grip possessive, almost bruising. "You're mine, Liz. You fucking know it."

And in that moment, I believe him. I want him, need him in a way that terrifies me. But it's just a dream, I tell myself. Just a dream…

But it feels so real, so vivid, like he's actually here, his hands on my skin, his breath hot against my neck. I'm lost in it, drowning in him, in the heat, in the need that's consuming me.

He kisses me again, rougher this time, and I respond with equal hunger, my body moving against his, desperate for more, for all of him. I feel him everywhere, overwhelming me, drowning me.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stops. I wake up, gasping, my body still thrumming with need, with the aftershocks of the dream. I'm tangled in the sheets, my skin damp, my heart racing.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. But it lingers, the feel of his hands, his lips, the sound of his voice still echoing in my mind.

"Fuck," I mutter, throwing an arm over my eyes.

I've had dreams before, sure, but nothing like this. Nothing that felt so real, so intense. It was like he was actually here, like he was actually touching me.

I sit up, running a hand through my hair, trying to clear my head. This is bad. Really fucking bad. I can't be dreaming about him like this, not when I'm supposed to be catching him, supposed to be stopping him.

But I can't deny how much I want him, how much I want that dream to be real, how much I want him to come back, to finish what we started.

"Get it together, Liz," I mutter to myself, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I reach under the pillow, my fingers brushing against the cool metal of the gun. It's real. That part, at least, is real.

I hold it in my hands, staring at it, trying to ground myself. I need to focus, to keep my head on straight. But all I can think about is him, the way he looked at me, the way he touched me.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, but it's no use. I'm too wired, too keyed up. I stand up, pacing the room, trying to shake off the dream, trying to get my mind back on track.

But it's useless. Every time I close my eyes, I see him. Every time I breathe, I can still smell him, still taste him. It's like he's everywhere, in my head, under my skin, and I can't get him out.

I sit back down on the bed, dropping the gun onto the nightstand. I'm not going to sleep tonight, not after that. I'll just lie here, replaying the dream over and over, torturing myself with what I can't have, what I shouldn't want.

But I do want it. I want him. And that scares the hell out of me.

I lie back down, pulling the covers over me, but I don't close my eyes. I can't. Not with him still so fresh in my mind, not with the memory of his touch still burning on my skin.

I don't know what's happening to me, don't know why I'm feeling this way. But I do know one thing: I'm in deep, deeper than I ever thought possible. And there's no going back now.

I'm in too deep with him, with this sick fascination, this twisted attraction.

***

New York has way too many Leonardos. The database just keeps spitting them out like it's some kind of sick joke. Every time I type in his name, I get a different set of results, but nothing that connects to my Phantom. It's been two days, and I'm nowhere closer to figuring out who the hell he is. My patience is running thin, but the thought of his lips burning into mine still lingers, and that pisses me off even more.

I slam my laptop shut and lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer some divine answer.

"Damn it, Leonardo, who the hell are you?" I mutter to myself.

My phone buzzes on the desk, startling me. I grab it, half-expecting another dead-end lead. But no, it's Captain Harris's name flashing on the screen.

Shit.

My stomach knots up because every time he calls me, it's never good news. Did he somehow find out about the secrets I've been keeping? About what happened in Milwaukee? If he did, I'm screwed. For my career's sake, I hope he's just calling to ask about a case, though that seems like wishful thinking.

"Detective Kane," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Kane, I need you in my office. Now."

His tone is somber, and my anxiety spikes. "On my way."

Hanging up, I push back from my desk, my mind racing. What the hell does he want now? I can't think of anything specific, but the fear of my past catching up to me has my pulse kicking into overdrive. Milwaukee... Damn it, I don't want to go back there, not in my head, not in reality.

The walk to his office feels like the longest trek. I try to push down the panic rising in my chest, but it's like trying to hold back a flood with a paper dam. His door's slightly ajar, and I knock twice before stepping in.

Captain Harris is sitting behind his desk, looking... sad? I can't read him fully, but there's something off in his expression.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

He nods, motioning for me to sit. I do, trying to brace myself for whatever's coming next. The silence stretches on for a few seconds, and it's killing me.

"Kane," he finally starts, his voice low. "I've got some bad news."

I feel like I've been punched in the gut. This is it. This is when everything comes crashing down.

"Two of the men you were working with... they're dead."

For a second, I just stare at him, trying to process his words. Did he just say dead? As in not alive? No, I must've heard wrong. But his eyes tell me I didn't.

"Dead?" My voice comes out more like a croak.

He nods, and my world starts to spin. "Detective Tom Harrison and Captain Roberts from Milwaukee. They both died in separate incidents."

My mind flashes back to those men, the way they'd been tangled up in all that mess. But dead? This can't be real.

"What... what happened?" I ask, my voice barely audible.

"Harrison died in a car accident. His vehicle went off the road, crashed into a ravine. Roberts... well, he fell from his balcony. A freak accident, they're calling it."

But it doesn't feel like an accident. It feels like a warning. It feels like my Phantom's hand is all over this.

The captain leans forward, his eyes searching mine. "I know this must be hard to hear, especially with everything that went down. If you need some time off..."

"No." The word shoots out of me before I can think. "I'm okay. I'm good."

He looks at me, concern etched into his features, but he doesn't push. "If you're sure..."

"Yeah, I'm sure." I force a tight smile. "Thank you."

The captain nods, leaning back in his chair, looking like he's aged ten years in the past few minutes. "Has there been any progress on the Phantom case?"

The question catches me off guard. For a second, I consider telling him everything—about Leonardo, the kiss, the way he's been haunting me. But then I think better of it. He doesn't know about Milwaukee, not everything. And I'm not in the mood to rehash any of that right now.

"Not yet," I say, trying to keep my tone even. "But I'm chasing a lead. If it pans out, I'll share it with you."

He nods, but there's a weight in his eyes, like he knows I'm holding back. "My door's always open, Kane. If you need to talk."

I force another smile, standing up. "Thanks, Captain. I appreciate that."

He watches me for a moment, like he's waiting for me to say more. But I don't, and he finally nods, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.

I walk out of his office, feeling like I'm on autopilot. Everything around me blurs into the background as I head back to my desk. My mind is stuck on those two men. Harrison and Roberts. They're dead. And if my suspicions are right, they're dead because of me. Because of Leonardo.

What the hell does it all mean? Why would he target them? And more importantly, why the hell is he so obsessed with me?

I slump into my chair, staring blankly at my computer screen. The cursor blinks at me, taunting me with its indifference. I've got nothing. No leads, no answers, just a growing sense of dread.

What if Leonardo's not done? What if he's planning something worse? And what if... no, I can't think like that. I need to focus. I need to figure out who he is before anyone else gets hurt. Before he gets to me.

But for now, I'm stuck with a name and a whole lot of questions. And every time I close my eyes, I see him. Those intense eyes, that smirk, the way he made my skin burn with just a touch.

Why is he doing this? And why the hell can't I stop thinking about him?