Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
“We can use the door.” Carson puts his hand on my back to lead me out of the room. His touch is warm to my back. If I was a cat, I’d purr. I’m not sure what is happening between the two of us, but whatever it is, I want it. Even if I’m a little scared by it. I mean, can you blame me? It’s not like I have a ton of experience in the man department. The fact that I can have conversations with cats doesn’t really have men lining up to date me. Not to mention, I just met Carson. We don’t know anything about each other. This magnetism between us is—I don’t even know how to explain it or if I should trust it.
Carson opens the back door for me. I step out into the cold air, the flurry growing thicker. Mousey is waiting for us outside the window from earlier. She is a clever little thing.
“There is a lot of land out here.” It looks like it stretches for miles. It’s pretty intimidating if you ask me.
“A lot of trees too.”
“I just don’t see this fancy cat leaving to go out and be in the wild. Fitzy is used to being pampered, not roughing it.”
“He’d never make it on his own.” Mousey agrees with me. “Never once has he caught a mouse.” I don’t miss the huffiness in her words.
“Here.” Carson pulls out a flashlight. It’s not dark out, but he points it down at the ground, showing a small indentation of cat paws in the slushy parts of snow.
“They're not Mousey’s.” The second I saw them, I knew. “She’s polydactyl.”
“Poly what?”
“Dactyl.” I laugh. “She has six toes on each paw.”
“All the better to scratch you with.” Mousey does a stretch, flexing them out to give Carson a nice view of them.
“Show-off.” I shake my head at her.
“Then they must be Fitzy's.” I nod in agreement. “Come on. We need to follow them before it starts to snow more and we lose them.” Mousey comes along with us. I keep my eyes on the ground, but I can see the indents as well as Carson can.
“Did you used to be a cop or something?” I notice whenever we enter a room, his eyes roam over every inch of it, not missing a thing. Even when he was questioning the staff he watched them closely too. He’s very observant. I’ll need to remember that. Not because I’m doing anything to get myself in trouble, but because I have no control of my body when I’m around him.
“FBI.”
“FBI!” I squeak. Holy crap. That’s a totally different level of law enforcement. “That’s kinda cool.”
“It was all right.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“All right? I’ve never met someone in the FBI.”
Carson keeps getting cooler by the second.
“I’ve never met someone who could talk to cats.” He shoots me a handsome smirk that makes butterflies explode inside me. I can feel the heat rise on my cheeks. I bet he’s taking in every detail of my reactions to him.
“Well, I can sleep for fifteen hours straight,” Mousey chimes in, not wanting to be left out.
“What did you do in the FBI?” He’s piqued my interest now. I have a million questions that I want to ask.
“I bounced around for a bit before I landed in missing persons. Look there.” He points at a spot where the grass is trampled down as he drops to his haunches. “That’s too much bent grass to have been just the cat. Someone was out here waiting. They must’ve lured him to this spot, then scooped him up and headed into the woods. With what Mousey said, that means there are least two accomplices–one who left the scent inside the house and another who was out here waiting.”
“Bounced around?” I’m stuck on the first part. I want to know more about him.
He stands, and we continue toward the woods, his gaze on the trampled grass. “Everyone tends to be good at something. I’m good at finding shit.”
“I bet he’s good at a lot of things,” Mousey says, garnering a glare from me.
“You are a little hussy,” I hiss at Mousey.
“Takes one to know one.”
“Oh, whatever.” I roll my eyes. “I’ve never even done it,” I blurt out.
Oh crap. I cover my mouth with my hand. Both Mousey and Carson stop walking, surprised at my small outburst. Okay, not small. It’s giant. So much so that I wish a hole would open and swallow me.
Carson begins, “May–”
“I can’t believe I said that.” My face is an inferno of heat. “This is your fault.”
“Mine?” Both Carson and Mousey speak at the same time.
“Yes, yours.” I wave my hand toward both of them. They’re equally to blame; Mousey for being such an instigator and Carson for making me so flustered all the time.