Читать книгу Playing Games - Dianne Drake, Dianne Drake - Страница 12

No 3:00 a.m. Cat-Nappin’ for Roxy

NIGHTS LIKE TONIGHT WERE made for the dumper, and Roxy didn’t dwell on the show once it was over and she was home. Done, finito, put to bed and that was it. Edward got all the points, damn him, she got none.

“Get Eddie off the brain,” she muttered, padding over to the peephole for the tenth time since she’d been home. “Time to think about you-know-who.” Except you-know-who wasn’t out there. Worse than that, he wasn’t in her apartment. So, to call him, or not to call? She wanted to. Wanted to really bad. That’s all she’d thought about all night. Probably one of the reasons why she’d hadn’t ripped apart the good Doctor Craig like she should have. But now that she was on the verge of calling Ned, she was actually nervous about going through with it. Nervous, indecisive, weak-willed, just plain chicken. Which was just totally bizarre because normally if she wanted it she went after it. And she wanted it, but her feet were lead. So were her fingers. Couldn’t dial the phone. Couldn’t go across the hall. Couldn’t even open the durn door so she could hang out in the entryway hoping he’d see her. Hi Ned. I’ve just been hanging out here in the doorway for thirteen hours hoping you’d notice me sooner or later. Go figure! No control issues here because she had no control.

“Well, no Twinkies for you tonight,” she said. It was the only decision she’d been able to make since she got home. That, and just giving it up for the night and going to bed. “Good place for us chickens, huh?” she said, plopping down in bed, and looking up at the window she’d superglued shut earlier. “Stupid. Really stu—”

“Rrrooww!”

“What the…” Roxy jumped straight up, looked around, saw the cat. It was in the corner of her bedroom, shredding the seat cushion in her rocking chair with its claws. “Who are you?” she asked, not sure whether to get up and toss the cat out, risking the same fate as her cushion, or simply let it continue wreaking its havoc undisturbed. “Kitty, tell me. What am I supposed to do here? What’s the protocol?”

The cat merely glared at her for a moment, then turned tail and lay down, apparently intent on spending the night where it was.

“You have a home, cat?” she asked. “Someone I should call?” Like it would answer her. “I’ll bet someone’s really missing you right now.” Missing it, like missing a toothache. “So why don’t you run along home.” Cats were supposed to be sweet and cuddly. This one had goblin eyes that glowed pure, luminescent evil in the dark. “Home, you know, the place where people feed you. Where people actually like you.”

No clues on where that was, but suddenly, inspiration hit, and she wanted to kiss the kitty for it…almost. “And I know just how to find out where that is,” she said, picking up her bedside phone. Ah, the lead fingers suddenly work. Punching the numbers she’d memorized the first time she’d dialed them, she was prepared for a ten-ring wait, but amazingly, Ned picked up on the second.

“Yeah, what do you want?” he said, his voice a little gruffer than she remembered his 3:00 a.m. voice to be last time.

“It’s about a cat.”

“Pet deposit’s five hundred bucks,” he snapped. “Write a check, leave it under the office door in the morning.”

“I don’t have a cat, but somebody does, somebody who’s missing one. So do you know who’s missing one? And what should I do about the one who broke into my apartment?”

“I suppose you want me to come over there at…”

“Three-oh-three,” Roxy supplied, smiling. Providence was also smiling a little, it seemed. Serendipity in the form of one cranky cat.

“Three-oh-three…and figure out where the cat belongs. Is that correct, Mizzz Rose?”

So he remembered her voice. Promising…very promising. “You have a list of pet owners in the building, don’t you? This one’s such a sweet little kitty, and I’m sure somebody’s heartbroken over losing him.” Sweet as straight lemon juice with a vinegar chaser. With claws! “And while you’re here, I have this window that sticks. Maybe you could bring your tools.”

And come without your shirt. She glanced at the irritated feline, its claws extended a good two feet and envisioned the cat scratches the beast could rake all over Ned’s chest. “Better wear your shirt,” she said grudgingly. Damn that cat, anyway.

TWO HOURS’ SLEEP. It bit through some of the exhaustion, but barely took care of the beer buzz. Well, Ned, it’s what you wanted.