Page 50 of Shadow Blind

He cocked his head. “From O’Neill or the cat?”

“Either. Or.” She finally pulled back from the door, but the worry never left her face. “It’s just…weird. To give Trident his medicine, O’Neill will have to take him out of the carrier and pry his mouth open.” She grimaced, absently skimming her right fingers down the scratches on her left arm. “Trident makes it very clear—with a lot of noise—that he doesn’t appreciate being handled. But I don’t hear any growling. There should be lots of growling by now.” She glanced at Aiden. “Do you hear anything?”

Aiden gave it a good listen. “Nope. Nothing.”

Demi nodded, confusion joining the anxiety on her face. “Which is just…weird. O’Neill says cats like him, but we’re talking about Trident, and that cat doesn’t like anyone.”

Trident? That was the third time she’d called the cat that. “You named him Trident?”

Her shoulders jerked and then her spine snapped straight, but she didn’t look at him. “Yes, I did.” Her tone chilled. “You have a problem with that?”

He backed up a step, his eyebrows rising. “Not at all. I’m just…surprised.”

If Demi hated his career as much as Kait said, why would she name her cat after the SEAL symbol of honor, courage, and commitment? Maybe she didn’t detest his career as much as Kait thought.

“Yeah?” She finally glanced at him.

The skin above her nose wrinkled. He recognized the scrunch. It meant her mind was wandering. He wanted to lean in and kiss the crinkle. But such intimacy might not be welcome now. Fuck—everything was so off-kilter. So damn awkward.

“O’Neill hates the name,” Demi said absently, the faintest trace of a curve to her lips. “He said it’s a candy-assed, pussy name.”

Aiden stiffened. Candy-assed? Pussy?

“Trident’s a fine name,” Aiden snapped. “O’Neill doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Besides, it was Demi’s cat. She could name it what she wanted. If O’Neill thought otherwise, Aiden would be sure to disabuse him of that misconception.

Day 7

Somewhere in the sky

When O’Neill finally opened the bathroom door and slipped into the hall next to Demi, he didn’t have a mark on him. No scratches. No bites. No blood. No shredded skin. Bemused, Demi looked from O’Neill to the kennel sitting on the toilet seat. The door to the crate was closed, but the duct tape securing it had been sliced. She squatted to get a better look inside the carrier, which was just sitting there…silently. Trident was a fluffy orange ball curled at the back. His glowing green eye locked on her face. He didn’t growl, but his lips curled back, exposing needle-sharp teeth.

She rose, doubt stirring. Had O’Neill actually taken the cat out of the carrier? There was no proof he’d given Trident his meds. At least none of the evidence she was used to seeing. Like scratches and blood, or smears of white liquid on clothing and skin. When he handed the plastic bottles to her, she surreptitiously weighed each against her memory. Were they lighter? She couldn’t tell.

“Did he take the full doses?” She tried to keep the suspicion out of her voice. It wasn’t the end of the world if he was lying about getting the meds into Trident. Worse case, the cat would miss a dose. She’d make sure he got his next one.

“Like a good little soldier.” O’Neill looked far too self-satisfied. “He drank some water, too. He won’t cause you any more problems.”

“I heard no growling.” She made a production of scanning his arms. “I don’t see blood.”

With a shrug, O’Neill reached for the kennel’s handle. “He likes me.”

As he turned, holding the kennel out in front of him, she got another look inside the carrier. This time, Trident’s head was curled into his flank.

“He’s sleeping!” Shock reverberated through her. “I’ve never seen him sleep.”

O’Neill smirked, looking extremely pleased with himself. “Sleeping is a dangerous activity if you’re injured, in unfamiliar territory, and don’t trust the people caring for you.”

Riiight. Did the dude really think that his mere presence had put Trident at such ease the cat could fall asleep in an instant? Kind of egotistical, wasn’t it?

“So, he feels comfortable enough with you, after what, thirty minutes? That he can let down his guard and sleep?”

O’Neill shrugged. “Looks like it.” He shrugged again. “After all, his majesty is sleeping.”

Demi’s eyebrows quirked. “His majesty?”

It was one of the less judgmental nicknames she’d given the cat, but she couldn’t remember calling him that in front of O’Neill.

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