Page 38 of A Mate For Matrix
Herman let out a low whimper, then a high-pitched scream.
“They’re real!” he shouted, scrambling backward, eyes locked on Matrix. “He’s one of them! I tell you, they’re here! They’ve come for me!”
Matrix finally smiled. Not kindly.
“I warned you,” he said softly.
More people gathered. A woman pulled out her phone. Someone whispered about calling an ambulance.
Jana took Matrix’s hand.
“Let’s go,” she said, not looking back.
They walked away, quiet amid the chaos.
They checked out with the rest of her items—shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, kitten treats—and retrieved the last bags from the pet store next door. The clerk barely looked up, too busy gossiping with the employee watching Herman’s meltdown through the glass window.
Twenty minutes later, they were pulling out of the parking lot.
Red lights strobed in the rearview mirror.
Herman was strapped to a stretcher, still shouting about alien dogs and mind-reading demons.
The EMTs were trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Matrix watched for a moment, then turned his attention to the road ahead.
Jana reached over and laced her fingers through his.
“Thank you,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers.
“He was warned,” he replied.
“Yeah. I understand now why his kids want nothing to do with him. So, is there anything else you want before we head back to the clinic? More donuts for the road?” she teased.
Matrix grinned. “I think I’m in the mood for something even sweeter.”
Jana flushed—and laughed. “God help me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Matrix set six more bags from their shopping trip inside the transport. It wasn’t the sugar overload or near-incident with the deranged male that exhausted him—it was trying to fit thirty-two bags of essentials into a ship not designed to haul an abundance of fashion or feline enrichment supplies.
A soft thump echoed behind him as he dropped the overstuffed white bag full of brightly colored plush mice and crinkly feathered toys onto the floor near the kittens’ sleeping pod.
K-Nine’s metal claws clicked across the deck as he padded over, sniffed at one of the pink bags he dropped next, and snorted.
“You didn’t just go to the pet store,” he deadpanned. “You went to the grown-up toy store. What is this, a silk-and-satin offensive strategy?”
Matrix ignored him—until a small scrap of pink lace slipped from the edge of the bag like it was trying to escape. It fluttered to the floor with all the subtlety of a distress beacon.
K-Nine’s glowing eyes narrowed in exaggerated curiosity.
“Shut up. Jana needed some new clothes. If you remember, we blew up her house,” Matrix muttered, crouching to snatch up the delicate lace.
“You’re the one who blew up her house. And I don’t remember her underwear being quite so… fancy before you arrived,” K-Nine said, tilting to study the article of clothing.
Matrix grinned, pleased. Still, he wanted to hide the material before Jana returned and saw?—
