Chapter 2
TWO
“Are you sure you won’t take a kitten?”
I forced myself to smile for Tracy, one of the head volunteers at Kitten Around, one of our local cat shelters. “You know my lifestyle isn’t conducive to pets, unfortunately.”
That didn’t seem likely to change.
It had been four days since April’s surprise vacation announcement and my introduction to Miss Moon—I still hadn’t gotten over the fact she was female, which said something about me I didn’t care to entertain—and subsequent email exchange.
Since then, April had not decided to cancel her vacation. She hadn’t decided to select another, likely more suitable friend to fill in for her.
All she’d done was clock out for the week with a jaunty smile, a wave, and a promise to send a postcard. Yippee.
And Ryan was still coming to work for me on Monday. Assuming she could make it in eventually, since mornings were so iffy and all.
“I know, since you’re so busy. You have so many high-powered cases. So much responsibility and influence.” Tracy’s smile turned feral at the edges, accompanied by a lot of blinking her clearly faux eyelashes. “No time for a wife either?”
If I’d had a tie, she might’ve reached out and stroked it. Not the first time from her or others. My tie seemed to be a magnet for wandering female hands. Probably because I tended to wear ones in bright colors that drew the eye.
I’d pocketed today’s tie on the walk in from my car.
I’d had a very long day, and the shelter was about to close.
If I’d been thinking sensibly, I would’ve just gone home for a burger on the grill and my requisite single glass of Maker’s Mark every Friday evening.
Never two. Always just one, no matter how arduous the week had been.
Or the year.
“I don’t date.”
“Really? Never?”
“No.”
She exhaled. “Wow,” she said under her breath.
Every time, the response was the same. Wide eyes. A hand lifted to the chest. Then sympathy, oozing out around a smile.
Did you get your heart broken? Poor thing.
No. You have to have one for it to break.
In my case, I was fairly certain the fluid in my veins was a mix of ice water and coconut-caramel coffee.
With what I dealt with day in and day out, who could blame me?
Saying I witnessed love gone wrong was putting a positive spin on it.
In truth, many of our clients had never loved each other at all.
They married for lots of reasons, but affection wasn’t at the top of the list. Or if it had been once, the feeling had dissipated quickly.
Some said love and hate were opposite sides of the same coin. So were infatuation and love. And it was far too easy to confuse one for the other.
Before Tracy started the usual spate of questions, I whipped out my platinum card and slapped it on the counter. Her eyes widened for an entirely different reason.
We’d done this dance before, minus the dating questions. But she’d just started volunteering a few months ago and had been tiptoeing to this point all this time.
“I’d like to make a donation.” I named a figure ten percent higher than my usual and her throat bobbed. “The wing probably needs improvements.”
In truth, I didn’t care what they used the donation for.
The wing that bore my name was new and they used it to care for the most critical cases.
It seemed improbable that it would require anything this soon.
But the shelter always needed supplies. Food, medication, incubators for the ill kittens, stuffed mama cats with soothing heartbeats, toys.
The list was endless. Donations also went toward the cost of spaying and neutering and vaccines so when they had low-cost adoption events, the kittens were ready to go to their new homes right away.
“Oh, we appreciate this so much. You have no idea how many kittens you’re helping. How many families will gain treasured pets because of your kindness.” She couldn’t swipe and type fast enough. “We have coffee and donuts,” she added hastily. “Take anything you’d like.”
Probably leftover from earlier in the day. My mouth watered just the same. I did enjoy the occasional sugary treat, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I’d avoided April all week so I hadn’t had much opportunity to be tempted by her lunches.
That perfectly grilled burger and glass of Scotch would go down smooth.
I signed the credit card slip and made small talk for a few more minutes before I went out to my Lexus.
Slipping behind the wheel into the cool air-conditioned silence normally soothed me.
Eased some of the jagged edges of a tedious work week dealing with irate spouses and innumerable facets of marital law.
Add in a good bit of disgust at how humans treated other humans they’d once claimed to care about, and it was no surprise I made no time for relationships.
I’d wanted to go into entertainment law once upon a time. Preferably on the west coast where the sun never set and winter was rarely any colder than light jacket weather. LA had once lured me, the home of the fascinating world of the music and film industry.
Instead, I’d ended up working in my father’s firm handling cases where I made more money the more I screwed over the other client.
Meanwhile, my carefree younger brother did the bare minimum and lived his own sun-soaked life no matter the season in central New York.
Dex never seemed to notice the rain or the cold.
In fact, he loved both. Loved every damn thing.
I was the grump tapping my thumbs on the steering wheel as I sat at a light on another lonely Friday night in my silent, barely driven car. I didn’t have time for leisurely drives anymore. I spent my life shackled to a desk.
And that was quite enough of my morose thoughts. I was free—for two days at least.
A short while later, I parked at the end of the long driveway of my home on the outskirts of Crescent Cove.
On a clear night, I could see the glimmer of the lake from the second-floor balcony.
I had a telescope out there and liked to check out the stars before bed.
Sometimes I’d lower the scope and study the flickering lights in homes around the lake, wondering who lived there. What they were doing.
If anyone was looking out at me.
Blowing out a breath, I loosened the top couple buttons on my shirt and climbed out to walk up to my big, quiet house, looming in the near darkness with lights glowing against the glass. Every lamp in the place was lit, thanks to timers. I couldn’t stand coming back to a dark place.
I stepped onto the huge wraparound porch and debated sitting on the swing for a few minutes before heading in. It was a gorgeous August night, with the hint of chill in the air that reminded the summer-weary the sweetness of fall would soon be here.
And after that, the isolation of a frigid winter. The lake would be a gleam of ice then, deceptively beautiful.
My stomach growled as I gave the swing one last long look as it drifted in the slight breeze.
Later, I promised myself.
Dinner and Scotch first. A shower after that. Then I’d come out here and hope the creak of the swing could drown out my restless thoughts.
I went inside and poured my drink before heading out to grill on the back half of the porch. Soon, the scent of sizzling meat and vegetables filled the air, and the Scotch settled warmly in my belly.
Everything seemed a little easier when the edges disappeared.
When I’d sated my hunger and cleaned the kitchen—God knows I didn’t ever leave a dirty dish behind—I finally found my way to the swing. That shower was sounding better and better, but I needed the crisp breeze against my skin. The air was tinged with a hint of woodsmoke now.
Finally, I could fully unwind in peace.
So, why did I pull out my phone and scroll to a document I had deliberately not looked at all week?
Possibly boredom. Maybe self-destruction. Or my endless desire to prepare for what lay ahead.
As if I even could.
There wasn’t much on the page. Three references on the bottom, starting with April Finley. Her name and address on top.
Ryan Goddess Moon.
Alone in the darkness, I laughed out loud. I’d wondered if her last name was fictitious before. Now I knew it had to be.
Or my name was really Preston Lovechild Shaw.
The apartment she listed was a couple miles from here, closer to Syracuse and just outside Kensington Square, where my office was located. Well, wasn’t that handy?
Yet April had warned me she probably wouldn’t be on time. How late would she be if she lived farther away?
Luckily, not my problem. I had enough of them.
Her job history was sparse. She had some experience at an insurance agency. A brief position as the front desk greeter for some hotel. A few lines about her past as a “curator of crystals and metaphysical goods” for an eclectic shop.
Currently, she was part of a podcasting duo. But it got even better. Her show was about “exploring your inner earth goddess through Tarot, palmistry, auras, and astrology.”
The name? Tarot Tramps.
I laughed again, hard enough my side cramped.
Then I zeroed in on the cell number listed beneath her address. A quick check of my phone said it was nearing ten pm. Way past a reasonable time for a work-related text.
Or any sort of text with a woman who’d pissed me off so much with her additional accent mark rejoinder that I hadn’t deigned to reply all week. Mainly because I was impressed. She’d sent volley after volley back at me when normally, people deferred to whatever I said.
I was used to that treatment. Expected it.
Ryan Goddess Moon did not give one good crap what I expected.
I typed in the number and a quick text. The time, the method of delivery, and maybe even the message was inappropriate for a future associate. But she’d inadvertently made me laugh on a night when it seemed out of reach. So, I owed her my kind of thank you.
Me:
Where did you come up with the name Tarot Tramps?