Free The Runaway Cat (Book 2 Cloverleah Pack Series) by Lisa Oliver Page A

frequent caresses.   It was taking all ten years of FBI training and a hell of a lot of cat shifter pride to just sit still and wait things out.
    At least Georgio was having a good time, the schmuck.  His private table sat towards the back of the club set high so that it overlooked the dance floor.  All night visiting hoods and thugs had come to pay homage to the man and he was reveling in the attention.  Diablo knew he could get some really interesting tips about the latest buys and drops and everything else that would be useful to the FBI but honestly he couldn’t be bothered .  As far as he was concerned he had been an FBI whore long enough.  He worked on keeping his face bland and his body still as Georgio ran yet another finger up the inside seam of his leather pants.   Diablo tried to shift away in his chair but the leash held him fast.
    One of Georgio’s many steroid filled goons approached and whispered in Georgio’s ear. “Sir, Angel Bandures has arrived. Did you want to see him?”  Georgio leapt up out of his chair smacking the goon aside.  
    “Of course I want to see him you jerk.  Get out of my way.”  
    Throwing Diablo’s leash at him, Georgio scurried down the stairs and headed to the main entrance, leaving the goon behind.  Diablo lifted up in his seat so he could see who Georgio was making such a fuss of.  It wasn’t often that Georgio got out of his seat for anybody so this guy must be a big deal.  He searched his brain for any information he might have picked up about an Angel Bandures.  Wait…wait…wait…yes.  Angel Bandures, crime lord from Florida.  Barely anyone in law enforcement knew anything about him at all.  He was reclusive, rarely made public appearances and was to all intents and purposes an extremely powerful man in crime circles. From what Diablo could remember no-one at the FBI even had a picture of the man. What the hell was a man like that doing at Georgio’s party?
    Intrigued Diablo’s eyes scanned the crowd, watching Georgio fight through the throngs of party-goers, heading for the main entrance.  He stopped by a huge man and Diablo could tell by Georgio’s body language that the smaller man was positively groveling in his greeting.  All Diablo could see from this ang le was broad shoulders clad in an Armani suit that would probably cost Diablo a year’s wages and long wavy dark hair.  Then the man in question turned his head and looked up, his eyes immediately meeting Diablo’s. Familiar green eyes locked with his for just one second then Angel Bandures, or Griff as Diablo knew him as, turned his attention back to Georgio who was obviously urging the man to join them at his private table.
    Lurching to his feet Diablo muttered, “Bathroom” to the goon who was blocking his way before shoving past and running for the staff restroom facilities at the back of the club. He flung the door open and finding the room empty Diablo headed for the far stall, slamming the door open and then he violently threw up into the toilet.  Only when he had stopped retching did he flush and then flip the toilet lid down, sitting on it heavily.
    What the fuck?  Diablo’s mind was scrambled as his jumbled thoughts fought for supremacy.  Griff was his mate.  Griff was Angel Bandures.  Griff was supposed to be a mechanic, but he was here in an Armani suit being fawned over by Georgio.  Angel Bandures was apparently a feared crime lord from Florida.  No one even knew what he looked like.  Griff was a mechanic damn it from Cloverleah. Diablo wanted to be mated to a mechanic not a fucking crime lord.
    Feet tapping, fingers clutching his knees, Diablo struggled to put his thoughts in order.  His mind ran over the night he had first met Griff.  The man’s casual dress of jeans and a muscle shirt, his lazy smile and his total lack of pretence.  Then he remembered Griff’s intoxicating smell and how even drunk Griff’ s very presence lured Diablo in.  Diablo knew