Page 15 of Home to the Hollow

“Mow!” Jekyll yells from the kitchen.

That’s true. I haven’t left the living room to see if there are any notes. Or any lurking porn star, ex-school bullies in workout clothes, either.

I slide my legs off the couch and move to sit up. Oh, Jaysus, Mary and the Holy Orgasm—as Saoirse would say—I think my entire body is broken. Getting to my feet and wobbling without collapsing, I slowly make my way to the kitchen, grumbling about the light, the aches, and stupid hot guys I’ll have to face at work.

Why, oh why, did I break one of my cardinal rules?

I grope until I find a sugary, flavored coffee pod, a mug, and a scrap of dignity. Once it brews, I shuffle to the fridge and pull out a baggie full of chopped meats for the cats, arranging them on a plate. They hop onto the high counter, and I can’t find it in me to care. I don’t want to attempt bending over yet.

“Just where the hell were you two when I was making bad fucking decisions?” I ask.

Hyde lifts his head from the plate, blinks once, and ducks down like he’s ashamed. Jekyll simply yells with his mouth full, and I grunt.

Great—cat spittle. That seals the deal on this disaster or a morning.

* * *

Makingmy way down the stairs carefully, I glare at the front door as if it’s offended me. Perhaps it has, given that it’s what Edgar stood in front of last night. My companions follow on either side, observing me. They didn’t flinch when I threw my mug at the wall after discovering the broken bed in the guest room, and they just watched while I got dressed, cursing every single bruise and mark on my pale skin.

This is definitely worse than Thailand.

It took almost an hour to clean up the bedroom mess, find clothes, shower, and make myself look presentable. I have to go into town to get another set of paperwork from the school—like hell I’m turning in Edgar’s rumpled bullshit—and although I want to avoid downtown like the plague, I now need to browse the shops for furniture.

And possibly a bag for my stupid head so I can hide my embarrassment when my poor judgement inevitably gets around.

As much as I hate to admit it, the only proper furniture and belongings I kept in my apartment in Richmond either involved my media room, my desk, and my studio equipment. I never intended to settle in there, and my singular focus on getting ready for my F.B.I. career kept me from doing normal human stuff like that. My mattress and box springs were on the floor. I kept my clothes in plastic totes and in the closet, and I spent zero time on making it look like a home.

Even when I finish unloading the small truck and send away the stuff that belonged to my parents, I won’t have much in the way of décor. That might not matter in other places, but in Whistler’s Hollow, it will start gums flapping. I don’t need people whispering about my lack of genteel graces; I need them to trust me so I can figure out how to fix whatever this godforsaken place did to my background check.

The sooner I do that, the sooner I can get on with my actual life.

I’m not naïve enough to believe that I’ll understand it overnight. Hell, it might even take years. I have to settle in, worm my way past their aristocratic defenses, and ferret out what I need. It’s like a long-term undercover mission, and the deeper under I go, the more likely I’ll be to gather the intel.

For today, that means furniture and clothing shopping. IKEA and Amazon won’t cut it in the Hollow.

With that gem of knowledge, I walk into the kitchen and grab my bag. Jekyll and Hyde look up at me curiously, and I sigh. “We’re going shopping, guys. Behave so I don’t have to explain to Mayor Cornelia why you mauled some idiotic rich dude, please? I don’t have the spoons to deal with any more drama.”

They yowl, and I take that as agreement. The keys jingle in my hand as we walk to the garage, gun the engine on the Impala, and head for viper’s nest.

* * *

Pullinginto a spot on the lot near Town Hall, I look across the dash to see Jekyll and Hyde slinking back into the car. They rode shotgun with their heads out the window like two hyenas belonging to a harlequin, and it made me smile for the first time all day.

“Well, my dudes, are we ready to wreck some havoc?”

“Mrrrrrow!”

I chuckle at their enthusiasm, climbing out of the low-slung car carefully. I ache from head to toe, and despite the concessions I made when choosing an outfit, I wince when I rise to my full height. Standing still, I pretend to adjust my custom aviators while the screaming pull of my muscles relaxes. I’m sure anyone who’s seen me more than once in this town has wondered why I always stop after I exit my car—it probably looks like a redheaded cop in a police procedural. There’s a reason every time, and most of the fiddling with my glasses has to do with my incredibly light sensitive eyes. They’ve always been an issue, and no one could ever explain why.

Thus, special spy glasses as payment for a discreet favor from the friend from 6.

Jekyll and Hyde leap across the seat, landing next to me gracefully, and I shut the door. My bag bumps against my finger-marked hip as I slowly stride towards the middle of Main Street. Gritting my teeth against the sting, I cross the street, making a beeline for Grant Home Furnishings first. The furniture part of this excursion will take the least time and cause me the least amount of pain.

My phone rings, the sound of Holst’sJupiterechoing out of my bag. I move to lean against the wall of the shoe store while I dig it out. Jekyll and Hyde move in front of me, their large eyes squinting into the light as they watch the passersby while I bobble my phone around. Note to self: Amazon cat eye some things because they look pained.

“This is Whitley,” I answer.

“Well, I’ll be wired to the moon! It’s about bloody time I heard from you.”

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