Page 7 of Catnapped

“Sorry.” I jerk my hand back, not sure which of them I’m apologizing to.

“It’s fine.” But Carson steps back.

Oh, gosh. I made him uncomfortable.

“Should be.”Mousey licks her paw. I feel bad. She did lose her boyfriend. Or a kind of boyfriend. Mousey swore she didn’t know what happened to Fitzy, but he wouldn’t have gotten up and left her. He’s obsessed with her. Borderline stalker. He is only tolerated. So she says.“Are you two going to get back to work?”

“So what now?” I pipe up.

“Let’s have a look around.”

“Lead the way.” I was talking to Carson, but Mousey is the one that takes off, stopping at the edge of the kitchen and waiting for us to follow.

Carson hesitates, his intense eyes on me. “Are you really talking to the cat, or is this some trick to make money?”

I knew it was only a matter of time before I got this question. Most people think I’m running some sort of scam. I can’t say I blame them. I try to hide the pang of hurt that cuts through me. It shouldn’t bother me, but for some reason it does. More so this time than ever.

“Are you going to interrogate me too?” I huff.

“I can.” He gives me a smirk. I think he’s trying to tease me, but I don’t find it so funny. The smile drops when I don’t respond. “Shit,” he mutters. “I’ve met some psychics in my time. But never one like you.”

“I can’t read the future.” I say this before hurrying toward Mousey, leaving Carson behind.

If I were psychic, I would have known there is no escaping a man like Carson. This is especially true if Carson has his sights set on you.

5

CARSON

Ican tell I’ve offended her, though I’m not certain how. Maybe I shouldn't have asked if the psychic thing is a schtick. It’s not as if I’d judge her if it were. It’s a clever little hustle if it parts women like Mrs. Farrol from their cash. Even so, something about May tells me that’s not the case with her.

“I didn’t mean to question your integrity. I just wanted to know what I’m dealing with. Not a personal judgment.” I take her elbow lightly as we enter a hallway entirely covered with portraits of Mrs. Farrol. Her face at every age watches us closely from every inch of wall space.

“This is …” May looks around, her eyes wide.

The cat walks around in a circle farther down the hall.

“Yes, ‘too much’ is an understatement, Princess Mousey.” She turns to look at me, her cheeks going that delectable pink again before she turns her gaze to the carpeted floor by her feet. “It’s … it’s not a scam,” she says quietly.

“I believe you.” I take a chance and lightly press my index finger beneath her chin, tilting her face up until I see her beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

She blinks, her lips parting slightly as her gaze darts to my mouth.

I’m suddenly very aware that we’re in a secluded hallway, just the two of us.

A sharp sting at my kneecap reminds me that we are not, in fact, alone. Mousey finishes her claw-filled stretch against my leg and trots away again, her tail twitching.

“She’s an impatient princess,” May says apologetically and steps back. “We’d better follow her.”

I don’t know why I can’t keep my damn hands to myself when she’s close to me. I’ve gone caveman, and I need to fucking calm my shit down. It’s unprofessional, how I’ve been responding to her. And I’m nothing if not a goddamn professional.

Clearing my throat, I gesture toward the cat. “Lead on.”

May walks on ahead of me. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“For what?” The hallway seems to go on for as long as the house, Mrs. Farrol’s portraits becoming nothing short of oppressive in their frequency.

“For apologizing.” She shrugs one shoulder. “I know how it sounds. I really do. But I’ve had this ability for my entire life, so it’s normal to me in a way that’s hard to explain to people who don’t have it. Like my own private little world that other people don’t understand, or worse, they think I’m lying. It’s—” she sighs “—it’s one of the reasons I’m like you.”

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