Catalyst: A Women's Adventure Thriller (Cat's Crusade Book 1), page 1
Catalyst
Cat’s Crusade
Book 1
Nik Morton
Catalyst
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2023 (As Revised) Nik Morton
Rough Edges Press
An Imprint of Wolfpack Publishing
9850 S. Maryland Parkway, Suite A-5 #323
Las Vegas, Nevada 89183
roughedgespress.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.
eBook ISBN 978-1-68549-236-6
Paperback ISBN 978-1-68549-237-3
Contents
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Terms
1. Cat Among the Pigeons
2. Cat and Mouse
3. Bradbury & Hood
4. Cat’s Tail
5. Cat’s Fish
6. Catch Up
7. Worrying a Bone
8. “Cat got your tongue?”
9. Cat On a Tin Roof
10. “Let slip the dogs…”
11. Catalyst
12. Catananche
13. “Fit for what?”
14. Dante
15. Extinguished
16. Becoming a Habit
17. Gut Feeling
18. Bear This Worthily
Author’s Note
A Look At Book Two:
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About the Author
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To Jennifer, with love, as always, for always.
And to Hannah, Harry, Darius and Suri.
cat•a•lyst (ˈkæt-l-ɪst)
n.
1. a substance that causes or speeds a chemical reaction without itself being affected
2. a person or thing that precipitates an event or change
Ananke
The name of a primordial deity in Greek mythology, the personification of necessity and fate. She was present when the universe began, with her consort, Chronos (time). She was said to rule over fate. Being the mother of the Fates, only she could control their decisions.
Catalyst
Chapter 1
Cat Among the Pigeons
June 2014—London
Rock climbing was much easier than this, Cat Vibrissae thought. She did free climbing for a hobby—though only in daylight—and enjoyed it. But climbing the outside of a modern building at night was something else entirely. She was used to the adrenaline rush of climbing with bare hands and feet on cliffs above rugged rocks and aggressive waves. But this was so very different. Tonight, her physiological responses seemed more pronounced: she was sure that she could sense her increased heart rate and her gut constricting. And her mouth was exceedingly dry. Still, if she was going to fulfill her vow to her late father, she had no choice. This was the only way to penetrate the seventeenth-floor office of Rick Barnes.
Finding handholds on the face of a modern building was not easy at the best of times but, at night, it was worse and had to be done by feel alone. Street lighting and advertising signs didn’t help this high up—but at least the darkness ensured she wouldn’t be visible. Here, she would find no holes made by burrowing animals or nesting birds. Simply rigid straight edges of concrete and marble and no potentially unsafe cladding, fortunately. Clean lean lines as envisioned by the architects. God, how she would dearly love to hammer pitons into the stone facade and secure a few karabiners and snap-rings and rope, but that would make an unacceptable amount of noise and, besides, it would take far too long. But the ropes would have eased the strain on her fingers, wrists, arms, and legs.
Stop moaning. Just get on with it.
If she hadn’t also done plenty of free climbing, she’d never have contemplated this. Her coach had used the phrase, “Make the geckos jealous.” Unfortunately, she didn’t have suction-pad feet. At least her soft Five Ten Anasazi climbing shoes acted like “magic fingers” and enabled her feet to cling to the narrowest of ledges and feel the features she stepped on.
When she started this climb, the air had been quite calm, not too balmy, an ideal June evening, with hardly a breeze disturbing her long auburn ponytail. Refreshing, even. But now, fifteen stories up, the swirling air currents tugged at her slim-line backpack and black cat-suit and threatened to blow her off the side of the building. Specks of dust and leaves flicked against her cheeks; she was really glad she wore wrap-around goggles.
Toe tips only. Using her toes and not her instep allowed her hips a broader moving range to allocate her gravity center as needed. The technique required her to move her hips over her feet. “Follow gravity”, her coach had said. “The hip is the center of gravity.” Simple, really. Placing her hip over one foot relieved both her other foot and her hands for the next move. And so on.
Keep calm.
She passed behind the huge metal sign for ANANKE CORPORATION which, thankfully, wasn’t illuminated at this time of night.
Here, she decided to rest for a few minutes and looped a leg over a stanchion and suddenly she gave a start as two disturbed pigeons flapped their wings and flew out and away, leaving behind a stomach-churning stink of bird droppings. At least the bird-flu scare had long since petered out; and since pigs can’t fly, there was no risk of swine flu either. Ha, ha…
The inane joke didn’t calm her, though. After that shock, her heart was fluttering more than ever.
Two days ago, it had been pounding for a different reason.
Cat’s heart quickened as Rick Barnes let her into his Richmond apartment and shut the door behind them. She brushed her slightly clammy hands down her maroon pleated skirt. This was the culmination of two weeks’ dating, waiting for the right time to accept his invitation to stay overnight.
His gray-blue eyes glinted in the light from the chandelier. He seemed particularly dashing tonight in his black tux and bow tie. “Yet another wonderful meal—thanks to your company, of course.”
“Of course,” she said playfully.
How gallant. He smiled with slightly moist thick lips, lips she’d tasted on several occasions at her own rented apartment’s threshold. She had refrained from commenting on his rather large beaked nose, even though it was difficult to avoid. He almost gave her a black eye when they first kissed. It gave him a predatory aspect, but it was she who regarded him as her prey.
The wall-mounted telephone by the door rang. “Cathy, can you pour us brandy while I get that?” he said and moved toward it.
“Love to.” She strode over to the drinks cabinet and fingered her elaborate Victorian-style signet ring. This was too good an opportunity to miss, she reasoned.
He lifted the phone, listened, and spoke briefly. “I won’t forget, Loup,” he said. “Don’t worry. No, of course you don’t. The land purchase is going ahead, as planned.” He replaced the receiver and sighed.
At hearing the mention of Loup, Cat felt her legs tremble ever so slightly. So near… She removed the stopper from the Courvoisier bottle. Her stomach was involved in some kind of African tribal dance, she felt sure. What she was about to attempt was high-risk. Was it anticipation or fear that sent her senses scattering haywire?
As Rick walked over to her, Cat smiled and turned her back to him. Deftly, she placed her signet ring over his glass, opened the lid, and spilled the fine, powdery contents, and then shut the lid. She poured a generous measure of the liquor into both glasses, swirling it around to dissolve the powder in his glass.
She turned to face him. His glass, she reminded herself, was in her left hand.
“It’s nice to see you have a good appetite,” he said, walking toward her, “not like most models I’ve met.”
“I don’t subscribe to that size zero nonsense.”
“So I see.”
She chuckled, liking his forthright appraisal of her. “I find that constantly walking up and down and quickly changing into fresh clothes burns enough calories.” She handed him his glass.
“Thanks. It was a good show,” he said.
“It was. Not too hectic. February was murder, fashion weeks in both Madrid and Milan! Do you go to many clothes shows?”
Exasperatingly, he didn’t bother drinking from it but eyed her, instead. “I like beautiful women, so sue me.”
She said nothing, simply sipped her brandy. The fiery liquid burned her tongue and sent tiny prisms of pleasure cascading around her mouth. She licked her lips, and they tingled as she looked at him over the glass rim. “All week, you’ve flattered me. I’ve never been chased before.”
His thick dark eyebrows arched. “I’m surprised. Anyway, I also invest in a few clothes designers if I like their stuff. I noticed a few there tonight. Christopher Bailey from Burberry—and also Julien MacDonald and Matthew Williamson.” He grinned. “I like to spread my portfolio, you know?”
“Models aren’t part of your portfolio, are t
hey?”
He laughed, a warm deep sound, and ran a hand through his thick black hair. “No, of course not. I took a liking to you. A strong liking.” He clinked his glass against hers but didn’t drink. “It seems to be mutual. Call it fate or chemistry, if you like.”
“Oh, definitely chemistry,” she said.
“Yes. I think we get on really well, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
“Just so.”
Infuriatingly, he still hadn’t taken as much as a sip from his glass.
“That’s a delightful perfume you’re wearing tonight, Cathy.”
“You like it?”
“Oh, yes.”
Rick sipped his brandy. At last! She willed him to drink all of it.
“Manifesto Rossellini,” he announced, “if I’m not mistaken.”
“I’m impressed.” She was amused, despite herself. “Most men haven’t got a clue about fragrances.”
“My secretary, Mandy, she always uses L’instant de Guerlain.” He tilted the glass back, downed its contents, and put the glass on the cabinet. Finally.
Then he shrugged out of his jacket and slung it on the back of a chair by the mahogany desk.
She wondered if she’d find what she wanted in his desk’s drawers. Doubtful. “Really?”
“Yes.” He loosened his black bow tie and then fumbled with his waistcoat buttons. “I haven’t come across Rossellini in a long time, actually.” He moved near and she didn’t falter, her rump pressed against the edge of the drinks cabinet.
Rick leaned his head forward so that his nose was just above the hollow of her neck. Her ultramarine designer blouse was opened to show off her cleavage, but she noted he was enough of a gentleman to close his eyes as he sniffed delicately. “Hmm, it suits you.”
“Thanks,” she said, gratified. She’d been diligent in preparing for this night’s seduction, starting with a shower and body spray then applying the perfume on her lower body and working her way up to her wrist, neck, and cleavage, where it would stay warm longer and be more effective. That’s what customers paid for: the aroma of expensive perfume lingered longer than cheap varieties.
He stepped back a pace and opened his eyes. “Allow me?” he asked, reaching out to the topmost fastened button of her blouse.
Cat put down her nearly full glass, the corners of her mouth twitching in anticipation. She studied his face as he unbuttoned the blouse. His lashes were long and fine. The touch of his hands as they brushed against her seemed to send electrical charges through her entire body.
“Should I stop?” he asked. “I haven’t got my signals crossed, have I?”
“No, don’t stop. Me, I never got my Girl Guide semaphore badge…” She raised a hand and ran it over his craggy features. It made a faint rasping sound. His firm jaw was already prickly with fresh stubble.
His steely gaze was penetrating. “I’m not quite the Boy Scout tonight, am I?”
Cat shook her head and smiled. “Maybe I can award you a badge of some sort.” She eased her arms out of the blouse and gently threw it on top of his jacket. Its sheer luminosity had evoked some gasps from the side of the catwalk earlier in the evening, she recalled. “We’ll see, later.”
“No hurry for later. I like now.” Rick kissed her neck, his big hands brushing over the lace cups of her ivory Lise Charmel bra.
She felt her nipples respond, becoming hard nubs against the fabric.
“You’re good,” she whispered.
“I’d rather be bad.”
She pulled his bow tie free and discarded it behind her. “The night’s young yet.” She kissed him, her nose knocking against his.
“Sorry, it’s me,” he whispered, tapping a big finger against the side of it. “As you’ve found already, it’s rather large,” he confessed, “but it means that I’m blessed with an acute sense of smell.”
“Like that fellow in the book Perfume?”
“I hope not. He murdered virgins to obtain the perfect scent, didn’t he?”
He not only reads books but remembers what he has read, she thought. Cat almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Well, I’ve got nothing to fear, since I’m not a virgin.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “I won’t respond to that—save to say, you’ve been divine all week, just like your scent.”
“Thank you. But why are you a company lawyer, when you could work for any perfume conglomerate you fancied?”
“Actually, I offer my services to the Ananke chemists in Barcelona when they come up with a new fragrance.”
I know. That’s why I’m here! “Big nose, big hands,” she said in an amused tone, glancing past the noticeable bulge in his trousers to his patent black leather shoes.
“Yes, big feet too.” His eyes shone, amused. “It’s true what they say, Cathy.” He embraced her with powerful arms, his body’s firmness enticing.
Her fingers unfastened his shirt buttons, and they slid inside, brushing his chest hair. With immense effort, she resisted the overwhelming warmth that suffused her. “Not here, Rick.” She kissed him then gently eased away and raised an eyebrow. “Shall we go where it’s more comfortable?”
“Yes, good idea.” He grinned and enveloped her hand in his.
He led her across the room to a door and opened it.
The bedroom was huge, with a king-size bed.
He stifled a yawn.
“Am I keeping you up?” she asked.
“Oh, decidedly,” he replied, his eyes dancing playfully, acknowledging the double entendre. He swept her up into his arms and walked through the doorway.
She hoped he wouldn’t succumb right now and drop her, or worse, collapse on top of her.
Then he lowered her to the bed which was quite firm with only a slight bounce. “Comfortable enough for you?” he queried.
“It’s lovely, Rick.” She raised her arms and put her hands behind her head. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and they fell to the floor.
“And so are you,” he said, gazing at her.
He has all the right words. Pity he’s Mr. Wrong.
Rick hastily tugged his shirt out of his waistband and up over his head. It joined her shoes on the carpet. His muscles rippled.
Abruptly, his eyes glazed over, and she rolled out of the way moments before he slumped face down onto the bed at her side, his legs dangling over the edge.
Nearly pinned under him! That might have been awkward.
Her pulse racing, Cat slid off the bed. She needed freedom of movement which her skirt would not allow, so she unzipped it and stepped out of it. Then she climbed back on the bed and hooked her hands under Rick’s hairy armpits. Straining, she began hauling him fully onto the mattress. It was difficult as there was little purchase and she was inclined to bounce. She was soon sweating with exertion.
Finally, he lay entirely on the bed.
He made a slight snuffling sound but otherwise didn’t stir. She was confident that he wouldn’t wake—she’d been very careful and given him only enough powder to knock him out for about five hours. She unfastened his belt and, after a slight struggle, pulled off his trousers. A mischievous part of her was tempted to tug off his marine blue Michael Kors boxer briefs to verify the adage he’d alluded to, but she refrained. It seemed wrong since she’d drugged him.
Kneeling beside him, she thought he was certainly a fine specimen of manhood, his broad chest clustered with hair, his torso and arms muscular and toned. Sighing at what might have been, Cat managed to shove him under the sheets.
