Page 70 of Widow's Walk

He leans forward to place his forearms on top of the desk, eyes sharpening. “Why can’t you tell me what it is?”

“Will you take me there, yes or no?” I snap.

“No.” His answer is curt and final, and he goes back to his laptop.

Inhaling deeply, I wrestle my temper into submission and reach for a semblance of civility. “Blackwell,” I say evenly, and he looks up. “It’s…my cat.”

This time, he’s braced for the absurdity. “A cat,” he echoes flatly. When I nod, he huffs a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head, retreating to his laptop as if the matter no longer warrants energy.

“I’m serious, Blackwell.” He looks at me with dead eyes. “You don’t believe me.” He doesn’t respond, and his face doesn’t change. “What if I can prove it?”

“Prove that you have a cat.”

“Yes. If I can prove to you that I have a cat, will you take me to go get her?”

He watches me for a solid moment, his face unreadable. He stands up and rounds the desk, and I try not to make direct eye contact with him as he nears me. “Show me.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, we’re arriving at the hedge maze on his parents’ estate on an ATV. The ride was painful, being so close to him and not wanting to touch him, but being forced to unless I wanted to fall off.

We walk side by side, and I stuff my hands inside my pockets to hide the shaking. We’re silent the entire time, until we finally come to the middle, where the bench is. I had this crazy feeling that she would find her way home and be there waiting for me. Or come jumping out of the bushes at any second, but she isn’t there.

Kneeling, I start pulling out the cans of cat food and bottled water. Some full and some long emptied and forgotten. A lump forms in my throat, thinking I might never see her again.

“I started feeding this stray that would hide out around here and—” I shrug a shoulder. “Felt kinda bad for the thing. She was all matted and looked like she had been chewed up and spit out. When I left, I took her with me. Obviously, when I was taken from where I had been hiding, she was left behind. I don’t even know if she’ll still be there or not, but I’d like to see.”

I’m already abashed when I look up at him. He’s staring back at me as if I’m a puzzle he might never solve. Both a threat and a myth. Like I’ve just revealed a new piece of myself, and he has no clue where it fits.

“Never mind,” I mutter and try to walk away.

Some attachments aren’t meant to be retrieved. Some are left to be mourned. And some are better left in the wild.

When he jets an arm out to stop me, I freeze in fear that he might touch me. “Alright,” he says, and I slowly turn to look at him. His brown eyes start to thaw. “I’ll send some men out there to look. You’re going to need to give me the exact location, though.”

“I’ll give you the coordinates.”

He shakes his head again in disbelief. Then we make our way back to the house without talking.

Chapter thirty-two

Blackwell

It began with two men and has since grown into a small team.

All of them dispatched for the singular task of tracking down Sinclair’s unexpected companion. An elusive cat as wild and feral in spirit as her mistress.

I first sent out two men to scope out the perimeter, confirm her old hideout, and determine what kind of camp Sinclair had established for herself. I needed the full picture. The fact that she’d been just miles away from me for weeks, undetected, still claws at my sanity. I can’t decide if I’m impressed or infuriated. Probably both. She’s always been that paradox to me. My fascination and my torment.

It's what I love about her, and what drives me out of my goddamn mind.

Traps were set. Cameras were installed. The area was monitored around the clock, and nothing. When I broke the news to her, nearly two weeks into the search, she barely reacted. She accepted the report with a shrug, but I felt it. Thesubtle change in the air around her. Like my failure gutted her, and it doesn’t sit well with me. It tears at me.

So, I continued with the search party. Expanding it and telling my men they will not come home until the job is done. They could build themselves a fucking cabin if they had to.

Finally, she was spotted. But as soon as she appeared, she would vanish like smoke, leaving only the echo of her defiance behind. She’s Sinclair in feline form. Prickly, proud, and ferociously free. Slippery and too cunning for a cage. Catching her was like trying to snare a storm.

They’re creatures not meant to be caught. You wait until they choose to be.

Yet she stuck close to the camp, as if waiting for her person to come back.

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