Page 8 of Catnapped

“Like me?”

She glances over her shoulder. “I work alone, too.”

Something in the way she says it lodges in my chest like a bullet. She’s lonely. Misunderstood. And this has been going on for her whole life? I have so many questions. If I were anywhere near a computer, I’d be pulling up every scrap of information on her that I could get my hands on. I’ll still do that, of course, but for now, I want to get to know her. She’s intriguing in a way I can’t explain. I need her to know she can be at ease around me.

“I don’t feel connected to people.” The words come haltingly, but I feel compelled to say them. “Most people,” I amend.

She stops and turns toward me.

Suddenly, my throat feels tight. I don’t know what I’m doing, confessing to a woman who I’ve only just met. There’s just something about her. Something wounded and raw but also indescribably beautiful. How I can see that about her, I honestly haven’t a clue. I’m no psychic. The only thing I ever need to know about people is if they’re the person I’ve been paid to find. I just can’t seem to get my bearings right now.

“I feel more connected to animals. Especially cats.” She smiles down at Princess Mousey. “Maybe you’re a cat person, too?”

The tightness recedes as I look at the prancing feline. “I’m not.”

“You might be.” May smiles, her eyes twinkling. “You should give it a chance.”

“I don’t like to gamble. I’m more into sure things.”

“Nothing’s a sure thing.” She shakes her head, then purses her lips. “Except cats. They don’t lie. Not ever.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She gestures toward Mousey. “They’re the only species I know of that will not tell a lie, no matter what.”

“Are you saying dogs are liars?” I ask.

May turns her head, as if listening to Princess Mousey, then she lets out a tinkling laugh.

“What did she say?” I guess I’m buying into this. I have no choice. I want to believe May, to believe she’s telling the truth.

“She said the chances of a dog telling the truth are dead even with the chances of a cat not landing on its feet.”

A laugh ricochets through my chest.

May smiles big, her face even more lovely. “You laughed.”

“She’s a funny cat.”

“You’re handsome when you laugh.” May slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Thank you.” I softly take her wrist and pull it away. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it go to my head.”

Her smile returns, my gaze drawn to her lips. I step closer to her. She doesn’t move away. God, she’s intoxicating.

Mousey lets out a curt meow and scratches at a door toward the end of the hallway of Mrs. Farrol’s pictures. Maybe cats can’t lie, but theycanbe a cock block. I shoot the cat a glare.

She ignores me and keeps pawing at the door.

“Oh, this is the maids’ quarters.” May goes to the door and grips the handle, then frowns. “She says that the maids can’t be trusted.”

“Why not?”

May pauses, her gaze locked with the cat. “One is a thief and the other smokes catnip almost 24/7, so what she says isn’t always accurate.”

“Catnip, huh?” I shrug. “Well, we may as well give it a go.”

“Wait, she says there’s more, and it’s all bad.” May listens for another moment, then meets my gaze, her lips curved in a slight frown.

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