John Steel Collection - Books 1-3

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It had been three weeks since Steel had left London for Manhattan. During that time, he had acquired a three-bedroom loft overlooking Central Park. Steel had gone to high-class parties and venues. Finally, his foot was in the door.

Steel had managed to build up a small network of influential people with whom he could get information. But unfortunately, there had been no whisper of Santini or the organisation.

Steel hadn’t yet gotten the go ahead to infiltrate the NYPD. There were still plans to be made, and the timing had to be correct. He couldn’t just turn up and say, ‘Hi, I’m working with you guys now.’ There had to be a reason, an extraordinary case.

As Steel entered his loft, he took off his long trench coat, tossed it onto his sofa, and headed for the kitchen.

Steel picked up the chrome thermos jug from the coffee machine and poured a mug full of the liquid.

The crime scene had been limited in yielding any information. However, Steel had gone there on a whim. He had heard that the murder might be tied to the organisation last night. How–Steel had no idea.

To begin with, it wasn’t their style from what he had seen.

Steel still didn’t know how this person, Santini, fitted in with the organisation. Was Santini a top dog, possibly the top dog?

An informant had tipped Steel off to the murder. So far, Steel’s little snitch hadn’t steered him wrong. But even they get lousy intel.

Steel looked out over the city and the park. The sun was high in the blue, cloudless sky.

Steel sipped his coffee while his thoughts raced in his head. Most of which were about this detective. She intrigued him.

Steel pulled out his cell phone and sent a message to his man in the New York office of MI8. Steel wanted to know more about this, Detective Sam McCall.

While he waited, Steel made his way to the kitchen nestled next to the sitting area in an open-plan setting.

Above the kitchen was the bedroom via a winding staircase. Next to the kitchen was the start of a long hallway. This led to another bedroom, the bathroom and a locked door that used biometrics and a code. This room held Steel’s extra field equipment and toys Tom would send over for Steel to test.

Steel headed for the bathroom. He hadn’t had time to shower that morning before leaving for the crime scene.

He stripped off his clothes as he went. His muscular frame seemed more taught than before. The muscle was more like cables of wire under his skin. His training during recovery had made him more agile, flexible, and lethal. But the six scars on his body remained.

He placed his folded clothes onto the toilet seat and switched on the shower. The bathroom was large, with a walk-in shower. There was a view through a long window next to the bath.

Steel went over to the mirror and gazed into his dark emerald eyes. They looked emotionless, soulless. This was one of the side effects of whatever he had been given to save his life. Some might say a small price to pay. But he didn’t see it that way.

One doctor had said that it would pass in time–it had been four years, and still no change. However, those soulless eyes had gotten him out of a few scrapes just by scaring the crap out of people.

Steam from the shower began to form above his head like a low cloud. Steel turned away from his reflection and headed into the walk-in shower, which was nothing more than a long room created by a wall. All the while, his thoughts went to this new case and this detective Sam McCall.