CHAPTER THREE #2
My cheeks redden at his stupid innuendos.
“We have your number. We’ll call to set up an appointment.”
“I’m here now.” he pulls out a money clip stuffed with hundreds. “I’m willing to make a sizable donation.”
“We can make an exception,” Haven butts in, staring at him all dreamy-eyed like he’s a celebrity or something.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and lead him into the back where we have our cats housed. “You aren’t planning to use the cats as bait or something, are you?”
“Bait?”
“To train your guard dogs or something.”
“What makes you think I have guard dogs?”
“I don’t know. You just look like the kind of guy who’d have big mean dogs.”
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing. I just…why are you here? Are you like following me or something?”
“Why would I be following you? We’ve never met.”
I’m not crazy. I know what I saw last night. Does he really not recognize me? It isn’t a coincidence he’s here at my work suddenly wanting to adopt a cat.
“Do you integrate all your potential cat owners or am I special?”
“I’m very passionate about my job.”
“You’re something,” he mutters.
“The cats are through here.” I open the door and the cats all start going nuts from their cages, vying for pets and attention.
“There’s so many,” he notes.
“Is the cat for you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Some cats do better as an only cat. But we have these twins I want to see stay together.”
“Cats have twins?”
“It happens. Not a lot, but these two guys are identical. I can’t tell them apart.” I take him to the last row where the boys are. “Meet Hercules and Hades.”
“They’re huge.”
“They are only about five months old.”
His face softens as I take one out and place it in his arms. Not so tough right now, is he?
I watch, fascinated and mesmerized, as this stone-cold psycho scratches the kitten under his chin. “Hey buddy. Want to come home with me? Fran will love you.”
My stomach sours. Of course he has a girlfriend. Despite being a murderer, he’s good-looking and apparently great with cats.
What am I thinking?
What am I doing showing him my favorite cats?
“Girlfriend?”
His eyes darken. “No.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
Maybe he has a kid.
“I’ll take them.”
“Do you have something to transport them in? You’ll need two litter boxes, food, toys.”
He ignores me and pulls his cell phone out and hits the call button for a guy named Deacon. “Yo. Get everything set up for two cats. Yeah. Two of everything. Need it ready within the hour.” He hangs up on them and looks at me expectantly. “Happy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a crate or something?”
“We don’t typically loan or sell them. Our resources are spread thin.”
He pulls out that clip of money again and hands me a wad of hundreds. “You’ve got my address. Bill me.”
“Right. Okay.” I grab one of our transport carriers and put the boys inside.
“Pleasure doing business with you, sweetheart.”
“Excuse me?”
He leans in, too close for comfort. “You got something against being called sweetheart?”
“What if I do?”
“Sounds like a personal problem.” He grabs the handle on the cat carrier.
“You need to sign for them,” I remind him as I close the cage and flip the card to show that it needs to be cleaned.
“You’ll live,” he says, and I can’t tell if it’s a promise or a threat. He drops a stack of bills on the counter in front of Haven. “My donation,” he quips, and then he’s gone.
I’m still trying to process the fact I spent the past twenty minutes in close quarters with a killer when I realize I should have at least watched to see what type of car he drives.
“A friend of yours?” Belinda asks as she stares at the stack of money in disbelief. “There’s got to be at least a thousand dollars here,” she whispers.
I should have taken Alex up on his offer of a ride. I only said Finnigan’s because I know all the cops love to eat anywhere they can see their food being made. Now I’m walking six blocks in the cold to have dinner with my ex-boyfriend and a psycho killer might be stalking me.
Not my smartest choice.
I glance over my shoulder at oncoming traffic, but if my stalker is cruising along watching me, I have zero clue about what he’s driving.
A smarter woman would have watched him to see where he went or what kind of vehicle he was driving.
Not me though. Nope. I keep my hand fisted around my keys to use them as a weapon if it comes down to it.
How much damage can the pointy end of a key inflict?
I hope I never have to find out. I should have taken Alex up on the offer for those self-defense classes while we were dating.
Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this mess. I wouldn’t be so on edge.
Fifteen paranoid minutes later I’m walking into Finnigan’s. Alex stands in the entrance, waiting for me, wearing a dopey grin, staring at me as though I’m the sun he orbits around. At one point in time, that was true.
“Thought I would need to send out a search party,” he jokes.
I ignore his lame attempt to make a joke.
“Let’s order.” I step around him, feeling his hand come to the small of my back as though he has any right to touch me.
The gesture pisses me off, but I don’t say anything.
I don’t want to cause a scene. There’s a few other guys from the force seated in one of the booths in the back.
They all turn to look at us, giving Alex nods of approval.
I recognize one of them from his poker nights.
This doesn’t mean anything. I’m not taking him back.
Hell will freeze over first.