Read Cattitude Online

Authors: Edie Ramer

Tags: #romance, #suspense, #paranormal romance, #fantasy, #paranormal, #cat, #shifter, #humor and romance, #mystery cat story, #cat woman, #shifter cat people

Cattitude (25 page)

BOOK: Cattitude
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“He could be the murderer.” He jerked his
thumb towards Phil.

Her jaw clamped tight, her head shaking. “Not
Phil. He’d never kill, would you?”

Phil frowned slightly, looking undecided.
Eyes shifted, nose pinched, shoulders pulled in. Then his shoulders
squared. “In the line of duty,” he said.

“This is a joke. What’s your supervisor’s
number?”

Phil dug in his pocket, his face wooden, as
if he slammed down on his emotions. “Here,” he said, giving Max a
card. “This is your local sheriff’s department. Ask for Deputy
Olivia Michaels. She’ll confirm my identity.”

Max jerked his finger at the car in his
driveway, a make and model so common it could have been government
issue or a rental or just a car bought off a lot. His supply of
knowledge covered stocks and real estate, not murder. But he knew
enough not to believe a liar. You lie once, you lie again.

“Hit the road. I don’t care if you’re the
Director of the FBI. I want you out of here.”

“Max!” Tory’s eyes filled with tears.

Max told himself tears came easily to Tory.
She was an actress, wasn’t she? She cried at commercials, for
Christ’s sake. Looking into her damp eyes, he shook his head. “He
might hurt Sorcha. I can’t take that chance.”

One tear flowed down Tory’s flawless
cheek.

“I was undercover,” Phil said. “I guess you
have the right to feel deceived, but I’m here to protect Sorcha,
not harm her.”

“Then you should’ve told the truth. Now get
out.” He slammed the door on Phil’s face, the thump not giving him
enough satisfaction.

“Max!” Tory looked at him, her mouth open.
Her tears dried but she looked as tragic as if someone killed her
favorite soap opera star. “Please.”

“Sorcha’s under my protection. I can’t take
any chances.”

“You’re so anal. All you need is one look at
him and you can tell...tell...”

“That he looks good and has muscles,” Max
finished.

“Oh!” She jabbed her fist into his stomach
hard enough to take away his breath. Then she grabbed the door
handle and turned it.

His arm snaked out and he wrapped his hand
around her upper arm. “Don’t,” he ordered. “I can’t take chances
with you either. If he’s a killer—”

She faced him, her eyes tragic. “I know it
sounds crazy. I know you’re not going to believe me. I know a week
ago I wouldn’t have believed me either.” Her forehead crinkled, her
eyes pleaded. “I think he could be the one for me.”

“Oh Christ.” He shook his head but didn’t
loosen his fingers.

“It’s true.” Her eyes blinked and she rubbed
her finger below her nose, sniffing inelegantly. “I didn’t say
anything to him, and he didn’t say anything to me.” She lifted one
shoulder. “How could we? He was pretending to be engaged to Sorcha.
But I believe he feels the same way.”

“You just met the guy.”

She glanced away and swallowed. When she
looked back, her gaze was intent on his eyes as if she were trying
to peer through them into his mind and read his thoughts. “Didn’t
you ever look at someone and think ‘She’s the one’?”

He wanted to say no, but he thought of Sorcha
when he first saw her standing in the middle of the road.
Frustration welled inside him. “Jesus, Tory. That’s lust,
attraction, whatever. Not love. I can’t let you go to Phil. Bottom
line, there’s a killer out there and it could be him. He’s lucky I
don’t report him to the police.”

“He told you to call the Sheriff’s
Department.” Her voice was a cry of frustration and anger and want.
“Why don’t you?”

As if she’d pressed his pause button, Max
stood holding her, his mouth slightly open. Why didn’t he call
them? Why didn’t he call the Milwaukee police yesterday? Hell, why
not release Tory’s arm this second, walk to the kitchen, pick up
his phone and dial 911.

“You can’t give up your control to them, can
you?” Tory’s chin lifted and her nostrils flared.

“You’re wrong.” Through the closed door, he
heard an engine start up.

Tory’s head cocked toward the sound. Her fist
went to her mouth and she bit a knuckle.

“Okay, I’ll tell you why,” Max said. “If I
let you go, you promise not to run?”

The knuckle came out of Tory’s mouth. “For
now.”

He released her, his hand dropping to his
side. She immediately crossed her arms, her lower lip out,
reminding him of how she’d looked as a pouting child. Glancing at
her booted foot tapping the floor, he collected his thoughts.

He lifted his index finger. “Number one,
Sorcha wouldn’t be able to help your friend. She doesn’t remember
anyone.” He lifted another finger. “Number two, it’s possible the
FBI or the sheriff’s people might leak her location, putting her in
danger.” He lifted a third finger. “Number three...” There had to
be a number three. What the hell was it?

Her brows arced.

“The first two are reason enough.” He
scowled. “Without her memory, Sorcha can’t help the police or the
FBI or the sheriff. The less people who know where she is the safer
she’ll be.”

“Fine.” She reached for the door handle.

“What are you doing?”

“Going after Phil.”

He pressed his palm on the door over her
head. He’d made it through the drama of her teenage years and had
thought the days of emotional lightning and thunder and a few
tornadoes were over. How could he have known she was building up to
the storm of the century?

She cocked her head. “You can’t keep me
prisoner.”

“I can try to make you see sense.”

“You’re so...” She lifted her fists and
dropped them to her sides. “. . . controlling. I’m twenty-one. When
are you going to let me live my own life?”

“When you make sense.”

“Life doesn’t make sense.” Her booted foot
stomped on the floor. “And life isn’t always safe. Why do you think
I went to New York? It wasn’t just to get away from Mom. It was to
get away from you too.”

He felt as if she’d kicked him in the head,
his ears ringing. A denial roared in his mind, taking away his
breath. She was wrong, all wrong. The family clung to him. He
didn’t try to control them.

Then he looked at her flushed face and tight
lips. And he looked at his hand over her head, holding the door
shut. He swallowed a curse, pulled his hand away and stepped
back.

“If you’re going after him, you’ll need the
car keys, won’t you?” he said.

She twirled, went up on her tiptoes and
wrapped her arms around his neck. Pulling his head down, she
smacked her lips against his cheek.

Tears sparkled in her blue eyes. “Thank
you.”

“Just go.” He gave her shoulders a push.

Max watched her trot toward her bedroom and
her purse with the keys in it. She reminded him of a foal bounding
out of the stable.

Max headed back into the kitchen slower than
when he strode out. He couldn’t put off telling Sorcha her fiancé
was murdered. Too many people knew.

When he turned into the kitchen, Sorcha gazed
at him, wiping the last crumbs of her sub from her lips.

Max swore to himself. Unlike Tory, he could
rein in his emotions. This wasn’t his fate if he didn’t acknowledge
it.

“What’s up?” Ted asked.

Max didn’t look at him. “I have to talk to
Sorcha,” he said.

Ted stood, his chair scraping the floor. “And
I’ve got to work. Man, I don’t feel like going. I’m tired
tonight.”

“You must be getting old,” Sorcha said.

Grinning, Ted tapped her shoulder as he
passed her chair. “That’s the first joke I’ve heard you make. Is
your memory coming back along with your sense of humor?”

She shook her head emphatically, but Max saw
her eyes avert. He wondered...

“See you tomorrow.” Ted gave a wave before
clomping along the hall.

Sorcha looked at Max, her eyes shining.
Expectant. Tory’s voice came from the hall. Max guessed she was
talking to Phil on her cell phone. She laughed, and Max’s jaw
clenched.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Belle stood. “Where?”

“Where we can be alone.” He started to grab
her hand, then pulled back. It might be wiser not to touch her too
often.

“The bedroom?”

He looked at her hopeful face and reminded
himself he had serious stuff to tell her. Someone had killed her
fiancé and might be after her. Plus, her parents made his family
look like the Cleavers.

Scratching the corner of his mouth, he
wondered again how she’d turned out so normal. Well, not normal,
but with a don’t-mess-with-me attitude that was as much a part of
her as her skin.

“My office,” he said.

“I like your office.”

She hurried ahead of him, almost dashing
along the hall. Again the spurt of energy that seemed at odds with
the lethargy that made her curl up and nap a half dozen times a
day. She was an enigma, a puzzle he felt compelled to figure out.
But some puzzles could take a lifetime to solve and he had only
eight days.

Curling her legs under her, she plunked down
on the leather loveseat along the wall. Although there was room for
Max on the other cushion, he pulled up a chair to face her and sat.
An expectant half smile curved her lips.

The words didn’t come for a moment. He hated
to make her smile go away, hated to see her sad. But he leaned
toward her. He never tiptoed into water, he always dove straight
in.

“Phil isn’t your fiancé, but you were
engaged. The day your car crashed into the ditch, your fiancé was
murdered.”

Her smiled flattened, her eyes widening a
fraction of an inch. He paused, giving her a chance to say
something, to react with horror. She just stared, her closed lips
never opening.

Shock. She must be in shock. “You remember
any of this?”

Her head shook.

“Eyewitnesses say the murderer chased you.
You must’ve been fleeing him when you crashed your car. He was
masked, wearing black. The car was a late-model, mid-sized gray
car. Sound familiar?”

Her head shook, her gaze never leaving his
face.

“Are you afraid?”

“You’ll take care of me.” Her eyes were clear
of worry, her expression unruffled, as if she never doubted his
ability to protect her.

Inside his chest, his heart pummeled against
his ribs. He was only a man, not a super hero. And not a monk
either. Not the way he was feeling toward her, with his emotions
gushing up, along with an erection. “I’m leaving in eight days. I
can’t protect you forever.”

Her head tilted. “You don’t have to
leave.”

“You don’t have to stay.” He leaned forward
another inch, and words he never planned poured out of him, not
coming from his mind but from somewhere else in his body. “Come
with me. There’s time to get your passport if we act now. I’ll take
you far away from Wisconsin. No one will ever find you.”

Her gaze flicked away from his face. She
stared at her crossed feet, frowning. He sat back, waiting for her
answer, focusing on her, willing her to say
yes
.

“No.”

A roar of unexpected hurt gusted through him.
He nodded sharply but couldn’t talk for a moment. The soreness
eased, and he nodded. “Ted will still be here.” His voice was
thick, and he cleared his throat before talking again. “When I’m
gone, you can stay.”

Her eyes darkened. “Why do you want to leave?
This is your home.”

“This is my prison.” He got up and walked out
before he did something stupid. Like put his arms around her, pull
her to his chest and tell her he’d stay.

That would be fine for the night. Paradise.
But in the morning, he’d be sorry.

He was leaving and she was staying. And
nothing was going to change that. He’d be living his dream, seeing
the world. Once he was gone, he’d soon forget her.

CHAPTER 29

Sorcha huddled against the heat register and
watched Gwen sit at her desk, doing her homework. From the stereo,
a girl with a thin voice sang about being popular. Gwen cocked her
head, listening. A sob came from her throat. Then she reached out
and turned the stereo off.

What was wrong?
Sorcha dashed over and
did the only thing she could in this body to comfort her. She
pushed the top of her head against Gwen’s skinny calf and
rubbed.

Another sob came from Gwen. She bent down and
her hands wrapped around Sorcha’s ribs. An instant later, Sorcha
was draped over Gwen’s legs, and Gwen was petting her, head to
tail, in long sweeps.

Oh yes.
This was how heaven must
feel.

“You love me, don’t you?” Gwen whispered.

Sorcha purred.

“You’re the only one who loves me in the
whole world.”

Sorcha thought of Fletcher. He had loved her.
In his way.

“Without you, I’d have no one.”

Gwen rubbed Sorcha’s ear, using just the
right amount of gentle pressure. Sorcha pushed her head against the
thin fingers and purred harder, even as her mind told her this was
wrong. Without Fletcher, she had no one. She couldn’t count Gwen.
What she had with Gwen wasn’t real or lasting. It wasn’t
natural.

She imagined what her father would say, and
her purring stopped.

“You do love me, don’t—” The door pushed
open. Sorcha flew off Gwen’s lap and dived beneath the desk, hiding
behind Gwen’s feet in their Scooby Doo slippers.

Katie stepped into the room, and Sorcha
wondered she hadn’t heard her clomp along the hall like a Cyclops.
But she had been busy listening to Gwen say she loved her.

This must be how the desert felt when it
rained after years of drought. She wanted to suck Gwen’s love in
through every pore of her cat body.

Katie’s brown flip-flops clunked to Gwen’s
desk. “I thought I heard you talking. What are you doing?”

“My homework.” Gwen started typing, the
keyboard click, click, clicking, saying,
this user is busy,
busy, busy
. “I was just talking to myself. You do it all the
time.”

BOOK: Cattitude
10.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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