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)
“Mmm.” She nods again. “I get that.”
Why is she pretending she’s having a conversation? Is this some sort of collective insanity?
Then her gaze rises to mine, her eyes wide, her cheeks going bright pink.
“What?” I ask gruffly.
“Um, nothing.” She quickly looks away, then stands.
The cat gets up and does a simple turn around in my lap, settling down again closer to my knees. Thank God. My cock isn’t calming down, and I definitely don’t want the cat on it.
“What did the tart say?” Mrs. Farrol asks sharply.
“What?” I keep my hands away from the cat even though she’s looking up at me now, the purr even louder. “You mean the cat?”
Mrs. Farrol rolls her eyes. “Yes. Her.”
“Cats don’t talk, Mrs. Farrol.” I shouldn’t have to say it, but from the expectant look on Mrs. Farrol’s face, I feel like it bears reiterating. “She’s a cat. I came here to find a missing person. That was the job. Instead, I find your pet gone, a cat who won’t get off me, and–” I turn to look at May. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is what comes to mind next, but instead, I just swallow it down.
“May is a pet communicator. The best one in the country, if not the world,” Mrs. Farrol says. “I’ve spared no expense in bringing her here to find my missing baby. You two will work together on this case, and when you return my little prince to me, you will be paid handsomely.”
“We’ll work together,” May says quickly, then looks at me. “Won’t we?” There’s hope in her tone and in her eyes.
I should dump the cat on the floor and storm out. I’m a professional. Ex-FBI. I’ve solved some of the most difficult and harrowing missing persons and fugitives from justice cases the government has ever seen. I shouldn’t be wasting my time on this rich lady’s runaway feline. But when May looks at me like this, I find myself nodding. I find myself saying, “Yes, we’ll work together.”
May relaxes a little, a smile on her lips that’s just for me. My chest goes warm, my fingers tingling at the tips, and I could swear an entire jar of butterflies pops open in my stomach. God, she’s gorgeous. Sweet and so fucking perfect.
“Glad that’s cleared up. Now out with it.” Mrs. Farrol focuses on May. “What does the hussy know?”
“She definitely has opinions about the house and the grounds.” May clears her throat and looks away, hiding something, or perhaps not wanting to tell everything that’s on her mind. “She also might be nursing a small urinary tract infection. I think it would be best if she comes with me. I can take her to my local vet contact and have him check her out.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Farrol waves a hand. “Take her as far away as you like. But what about my baby boy?”
May sits beside me, her hands folded in her lap. “She doesn’t know where he is. She said they were playing hide and seek a few days ago. It was her turn to hide. She went into your closet and used her claws to climb inside your sable coat with the gold buttons–”
Mrs. Farrol gasps. “That is a family heirloom! My grandmother received that as a gift from Rockefeller!”
May winces.
I put a hand on her knee. “No need to yell, Mrs. Farrol.”
She slumps back in her chair and grabs her drink. “Too right. All this upset and dismay are taking a toll on me.”
“It’s all right,” May says.
It’s not, but I let May continue, my hand still on her knee. She doesn’t have to be afraid. I won’t let this crazy old bird raise her voice again. Not to May.
“So she was hiding,” May runs her hand down the cat’s back, “and waiting for Fitzy to–”
“Fitzy?” Mrs. Farrol asks, agog.
“That’s her pet name for him.” May shrugs.
“Inappropriate.” Mrs. Farrol scowls at the cat. “He’s royalty.”
May clears her throat. “Anyway, she was waiting, but he never came. By the time she gave up and clawed her way out of the coat, she couldn’t find any trace of him.”
“The cat said all that?” I stare down at the fluffy murder cloud in my lap.
“Yes.” May says it so assuredly. She truly believes she’s speaking to the cat. Or, I suppose, listening to it. “And one more thing, when she came out of the closet and set off to look for Fitzy, she smelled something strange in the house.”
“Strange?” Mrs. Farrol perks up again. “Like what?”
“She doesn’t know. But she said she’d know if she smelled it again.”
“Ugh.” Mrs. Farrol grimaces. “That’s nothing. No help at all. I should’ve tossed that trollop out on the street the moment she came pawing at the door. This could be all her fault. In fact, we were perfectly happy before she–”