Cat and Mouse (New York Mafia Syndicate #1)

Chapter 11 - Elizabeth

I'm sitting at my desk, staring at the computer screen, feeling like I've been in this same damn position for days. I scroll through old case notes, search logs, and crime scene photos for the thousandth time, hoping something new will jump out at me. Spoiler alert: Nothing does.

Nothing has for weeks.

Luca's trail? Cold as ice. It's like the bastard vanished into thin air. We traced money, connections, offshore accounts—all the usual shit—and nothing. Nada. No new leads, no fresh tips. It's been radio silence since the last break in the case, and the frustration is eating me alive.

My eyes are burning from lack of sleep when I hear footsteps approaching. I glance up just in time to see Matteo slide into the chair across from me, holding two cups of coffee like he's some kind of savior. He's been out for a week dealing with family stuff, and now he's back with a tired smile and the same look in his eyes I've been wearing all week—defeat.

"Thought you might need this," he says, pushing the coffee toward me.

I take it, grateful for something strong and hot that isn't another dead-end case file.

"You're a saint," I mutter, taking a long sip.

Matteo chuckles, settling back in his chair. "So, any new leads while I was gone? Or is the Phantom still doing his Houdini act?"

I snort into my coffee. "Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. It's like he vanished off the face of the earth. Every lead we had on Luca dried up. Bank records, contacts… I've been going in circles."

He takes a sip from his cup, watching me with that careful, assessing look he always gives when he knows I'm about to hit my breaking point. "Maybe you're overthinking it. You've been running non-stop since this case started. Sometimes stepping back helps."

I slam the coffee cup down harder than I intend to, the liquid sloshing over the edge. "I've stepped back. I've stepped forward. Hell, I've even sidestepped. None of it matters. We're missing something, Matteo. Something big. And I don't know what the hell it is."

Matteo doesn't flinch at my outburst, just nods slowly like he's used to me losing my shit in the middle of the station. Which, let's be real, he probably is by now.

Before he can respond, my phone buzzes on the desk. I glance at the screen.

Captain Harris.

Of course.

I sigh and grab the phone. "Gotta go see what Harris wants. You sticking around?"

"Yeah," Matteo says, leaning back. "I'll hold down the fort. Good luck."

I stand, feeling the weight of the conversation already settling in my gut. "I'll need it."

Captain Harris sits behind his desk, flipping through paperwork like he's too busy to look up at me. He always does this. It's his power move, his way of making you feel like he's got a million more important things to deal with than whatever shitstorm you're walking into his office with.

"Sit down, Liz," he says, still not looking up.

I take the chair across from him, folding my arms, waiting for whatever bad news he's about to drop. I don't say anything, just watch him scan through papers like I'm not about to crawl out of my skin.

Finally, he looks up, eyes narrowed. "I think it's about time we put the Phantom case on the backburner."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"You've been chasing this case for months, Elizabeth. The leads have run dry, and, frankly, we're wasting resources at this point. The Phantom hasn't struck in weeks. It's time to shift focus."

I stare at him, the words not really sinking in. "Are you serious? We're just going to drop it?"

"We're not dropping it," he says, sounding annoyed. "We're setting it aside for now. If something new comes up, we'll pick it back up. But until then, you need to start focusing on cases that have actual movement. We've got a major drug bust going down tonight. I might need you on that. Stay alert."

I sit there, simmering. It's like a slap to the face, like I've been chasing a ghost this whole time for nothing. But what else can I say? He's right, in a way. The case has gone cold. Still, the idea of putting it aside... it feels like giving up, like letting the Phantom win.

I nod slowly. "Fine. Whatever you say."

Harris leans back in his chair, watching me. "You've done good work, Liz. But sometimes, you have to know when to stop digging. Not every case gets solved in one go."

"Yeah, sure," I mutter, already standing. "I'll be ready for the bust tonight."

He dismisses me with a wave, and I leave the office, slamming the door behind me a little harder than necessary.

Back at my desk, Matteo raises an eyebrow as I drop back into my chair with a groan.

"What'd Harris say?" he asks, already looking like he knows the answer.

I stare at my now-cold coffee. "He wants me to put the Phantom case aside. Focus on other things."

Matteo nods, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Case has been cold for a while now."

"Yeah, well, I don't like it," I snap, the words coming out sharper than I mean them to. "It's like playing a goddamn game of cat and mouse, and I'm the idiot mouse that keeps running into the same walls."

He shrugs. "Maybe the cat's just gone quiet for a while. Doesn't mean it's over."

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "I know. I just hate waiting. It's like I'm hoping for another case to land on my desk just so we can pick this one back up. And that's fucked up, right? Hoping for more bodies to drop."

Matteo doesn't respond to that, just gives me a sympathetic look that makes me want to punch something. He knows how this job gets to you. He's been here long enough.

The rest of the day is a blur of frustration and dead ends. Matteo tries to get me to take a break, but I'm too wired, too pissed off at everything to even consider it. Instead, I dive into paperwork for the upcoming drug bust. It's a big one, apparently. Major players involved, but it's hard to give a damn when the Phantom is still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike again.

Later that night, I'm standing in the cold dark alley, my gun strapped to my side, ready for the bust. Matteo is beside me, sipping a thermos of coffee like this is just another routine operation. But I can't shake the nagging feeling that I'm missing something, that this drug bust—big as it is—is just a distraction.

The call comes in. It's go time.

I nod to Matteo, and we move into position. The adrenaline kicks in, and for a moment, I let myself get lost in the action. We breach the warehouse doors, guns drawn, shouting commands. It's chaos, like it always is, but it's controlled.

In the back of my mind, though, there's still that itch, that unsolved case, that shadowy figure lurking just out of reach.

Even as we haul in the drug dealers, even as the cuffs click and the evidence piles up, it's not enough.

It never is.

Back at the station, Harris congratulates the team, pats on the back all around. But all I can think about is how it's just another case. Another box checked off. The Phantom's still out there, and I'm no closer to catching him.

I'm about to head home when Matteo stops me at the door.

"Hey, we did good tonight."

"Yeah, I guess," I mutter, reaching for my keys.

"You know this isn't over, right?" His expression is serious as he looks at me. "The Phantom. He'll make a mistake. They always do. And when he does, we'll be ready."

I nod, but the words don't really hit. They're just words. Empty promises. I'm not sure when the Phantom will make his move or if he even will again. For now, it's all just a waiting game.

And I fucking hate waiting.

The next day, I walk into the station, exhausted and on edge.

"Detective Kane, Captain Harris wants to see you in his office," a voice calls out from across the room. Great. Just what I need.

I push through the glass door, stepping into the familiar cramped space. Harris is sitting behind his cluttered desk, looking more serious than usual. The tension in the air is thick, something's off. He looks up at me and says, "Shut off your radio."

"What?" I frown, confusion etching its way onto my face.

"Just shut it off. This can't leave this room, Kane," he repeats, eyes dark and focused.

I do as he says, switching off the radio clipped to my belt. My heart ticks a little faster as I take a seat. "What's going on?"

He leans forward, elbows on the desk. "We caught someone last night. A drug dealer, low-level guy. But... there's something different about him."

"Different how?" I ask, leaning forward slightly. I'm suddenly more alert, curious.

Harris taps his fingers on the desk. "He was caught in the middle of a cartel deal. Big players. But this guy… he doesn't belong. He's small-time. Doesn't make sense why he was there."

I narrow my eyes. "Has he been questioned?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah. Won't talk to anyone except you."

"What?" That catches me off guard, and I almost laugh. "Why me?"

"I don't know, but he's adamant. Says you're the only one he'll speak to." Harris rubs his face like he's as confused as I am.

"Do you think it has something to do with the Phantom?" I ask, my stomach twisting. That name never stops digging into me.

"Maybe," Harris shrugs, but the look in his eyes says he's leaning toward "yes."

I sigh, pushing my hair out of my face. "Alright. Let's talk to him."

We walk to the interrogation room together. The lights in the hallway flicker as we pass, casting shadows along the walls. It's fitting—this whole case feels like walking through darkness, groping for something solid. When we reach the room, I spot the guy through the window.

He's scrawny, dark hair slicked back, wearing a dirty white tank top and jeans. His skin is a little too pale, probably from sitting in the cell all night. Miguel—his file says that's his name.

I push the door open and step inside. He looks up from the table as I enter, eyes darting around nervously. There's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"I'm Detective Kane. You wanted to talk to me?" I say, keeping my voice calm but direct.

Miguel looks past me, straight at Harris, then back at me. "Only you. Alone," he says in a thick Mexican accent, his voice shaky but firm.

"Not happening," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "This isn't some back-alley deal. You talk with both of us here."

He shakes his head, eyes wide. "No. No. You don't understand. It's not safe. I need to talk to you alone. Just you."

Captain Harris cuts in, his tone hard. "Look, you're not calling the shots here. You can cooperate, or we can toss your ass back into holding. You might even get a shot at working as a CI. But if you keep this up, you get nothing."

Miguel shakes his head even faster, his eyes wide with desperation. "I want immunity. I want out. I want a new life, far away. Only then I'll talk."

Harris laughs, a dark, humorless sound. "Immunity? For a low-level peddler like you? You better give us something big. Real big."

Miguel swallows hard, looking down at the table. "I can give you something big."

I glance at Harris, who raises an eyebrow, then turns back to Miguel. "Alright. You've got one chance. If it's worth it, we'll talk. Now spill."

Miguel looks at me, then glances around the room nervously. "Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere safe?"

I sigh. "Captain's office, now. You talk there."

Harris nods at the officers standing outside. "Cuff him and take him up to my office."

They cuff him, and I follow them upstairs. Every step feels like a countdown to something I can't quite place. Something's wrong, I can feel it in my gut. But what?

Once we're in the office, Harris shuts the door behind us. Miguel shifts uncomfortably in the chair, his cuffs jangling against the wooden armrests.

"Alright. Talk," I say, sitting across from him.

Miguel licks his dry lips, stalling. "Water."

I roll my eyes. Harris crosses his arms, glaring.

"We don't have time for games, Miguel. Take him back to holding."

The guy panics, his face going paler. "No! No! I'll talk. I'll talk!"

Harris pauses, staring him down. "Then start talking."

Miguel sucks in a breath, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I was supposed to deliver a batch of product for Jose Herrera."

"Herrera?" I ask, confused.

Miguel nods. "He was in charge of the Mexican gang here. Ran deals between us and the Italians. But Jose, he fucked up. Got in over his head, made a deal with the wrong people."

"Who?" Harris snaps, stepping closer.

Miguel glances at me, eyes filled with fear. "The man he crossed? He killed everyone in the operation. Every single one."

My stomach twists. I lean forward, my voice low. "Name. Give me a name."

Miguel's eyes dart around the room, panic settling in. "You'll protect me?"

Harris answers for me. "Yeah. We'll protect you. Just give us something we can use."

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. "Leo DeLuca. But everyone… everyone calls him the Phantom."

Everything inside me stops. My breath catches, my mind spinning. It's like hearing a ghost speak your name. The Phantom. Leo DeLuca.

No way. It's impossible. But something deep inside me tells me it's true.

"Why would Leo kill the Mexicans?" I ask, forcing the words past the knot in my throat.

Miguel's voice is shaky now. "They… they killed his father."

I feel something claw at my insides—pity? No, anger. Maybe both. The pieces are clicking together in my mind, and I don't like where they're leading.

"Why are you talking to me?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

Miguel shifts in his seat, glancing at the Captain nervously. "Jose said... said the NYPD is crawling with moles. But you—you're the only one trying to take the Phantom down. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

Captain Harris lets out a long breath, looking at me with something like disbelief.

"Well, that's convenient," he mutters before calling an officer. "Take him down to holding."

Miguel starts to freak out, screaming in Spanish, "You lied! You said you'd protect me!"

I raise my hand, trying to calm him down. "We didn't lie. We just need to work this out first."

The officer drags him out. He's still screaming as they disappear down the hallway. I turn back to Harris, my mind racing a mile a minute. In the silence of Harris's office, it hits me. The whole damn time, I had the clues. I had them.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, sinking into the chair. I feel... dumb, like every moment I spent chasing my tail was a fucking waste.

Harris looks at me, his voice low. "You alright?"

I shake my head. "No. No, I'm not."

Because Leonardo DeLuca—the Phantom—is real. And he's been pulling the strings all along.

I'm still processing what Miguel just told me when an alarm blares through the station, cutting through the tension like a knife. My heart races, adrenaline kicking in.

"What the hell is that?" I shout over the cacophony, glancing at Captain Harris.

"Shit," he says, springing to his feet. "Let's move."

We dash down the narrow hallways, my boots pounding against the tiled floor, echoing off the walls. A knot of anxiety twists in my gut as we round the corner, heading toward the holding cells. My mind races—could it be another escape attempt or something worse?

As we burst into the holding area, the scene is chaos. Officers are struggling to break up a brawl, a flurry of limbs and shouts filling the air. My eyes dart around until they lock on to a crumpled figure on the ground. My stomach drops.

"Miguel!" I scream, rushing forward, but it's too late. Blood pools beneath him, soaking into the cracked linoleum. His eyes are wide and unseeing, the life completely drained from his body. It's clear—he's been murdered.

"Get back! Everyone, get back!" Captain Harris barks, his voice cutting through the chaos. He pushes me aside, and I watch as the officers wrestle the other inmates back into their cells. The air is thick with panic and anger, but all I can think about is Miguel, my only link to Leonardo.

"Miguel was our informant," I say, shaking my head in disbelief. "He was just about to talk!"

Captain Harris runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his features. "We don't even know where Jose's house is. Without that, we can't verify what Miguel said. We're back at square one."

I swallow hard, trying to process the loss. "But he mentioned collusion. The Mexicans were in bed with someone, and that's what got them killed. We need to figure out who."

Harris nods, his eyes scanning the room. "I'll send the fingerprints down to DNA. Maybe we can track down Miguel's family, find out what we can."

I can't shake the feeling of dread as we step back from the chaos. The implications of Miguel's death sink in like lead. Someone in the station is working against us.

"I need to take the files home. It's clear we can't trust everyone here."

"Good idea," he agrees, urgency lacing his tone. "You can't let this slip away from you, Kane. Keep your head down and watch your back. I don't want you caught up in any of this. As soon as you get the results, take them and work them out away from here."

I nod, though the pit in my stomach deepens.

I drive home, each bump in the road reminding me of how precarious everything feels. Once inside, I kick off my shoes and drop my gun and badge on the table. I need to study Miguel's file, figure out what clues I'm missing.

The folder is thick, filled with pages of information about Miguel. I flip through them, my eyes skimming over his criminal record, the notes on his connections to the cartel, and a few scribbled observations from previous interrogations. My stomach churns as I read.

"Miguel was a low-level peddler, nothing more," I mutter to myself, frustration boiling. "He was in over his head."

My phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. I glance at the screen—an ad for pizza delivery. I'm starving. I toss the folder aside and place the order, waiting impatiently for the food to arrive.

Ten minutes later, I hear a knock at the door.

"Finally," I say, sliding my wallet into my back pocket as I stride to the door, ready to chow down.

But when I open it, my stomach drops.

Standing there is a man I know all too well, tall, with dark hair slicked back and those piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through me. Leonardo DeLuca. The Phantom. And he's pointing a gun right at me.

"I heard you were looking for me," he says, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I have to say, Lizzie, I'm disappointed. You don't even check before you open the door? Haven't you heard there's a serial killer on the prowl?"

"Fuck!" I exclaim, my heart racing for all the wrong reasons. "What do you want, Leo?"

He presses the gun against my chest, cold metal digging into my skin, and I take a step back, my mind racing. "Let's go inside. Now."

"Like hell I will!" I shoot back, crossing my arms defiantly. But he walks me backward anyway and closes the door behind him. "You can't just barge in here, pointing a gun at me. That's a quick way to get yourself shot."

He chuckles, that low, dangerous sound making my skin crawl. "Oh, sweet Lizzie, you really don't want to go down this path. I'm not here to play games."

"Then what do you want?" I demand, keeping my voice steady despite the pounding in my ears.

"I want to talk," he replies, his tone shifting slightly, that smirk still lingering. "But only you. So let's make this easy."

"Not a chance," I reply, my voice firm. "You can't hold me hostage, you bastard. This isn't how this works!"

He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

I glare at him, the anger bubbling inside. "Why are you here, Leo? I don't have time for your bullshit."

He leans closer, and I can see the glint in his eyes, a mix of mischief and something darker. "Let's just say I'm interested in what you're digging into. I'm curious about what you know."

"Why would I tell you anything?" I ask, the fear creeping back in. "You're the enemy here. You're connected to all of this."

He grins, a flash of sharp teeth. "And yet, here I am, right at your doorstep. What does that tell you about my intentions?"

I swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "What do you really want?"

His eyes flicker, as if he's weighing his next words carefully. "We have to work on your listening skills, detective. I'm just here to talk."