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He grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me away, all but shoving me into the door frame. The door itself was still wide open and I could see, not to mention hear, his Miata purring in the lot.
“Look!” he commanded, stabbing a finger at splintered wood around the doorjamb. “This definitely looks like a break-in.”
I stared at it. “Yes. You’re right, but that does not mean I was the one who broke in. Maybe the cops broke the door when they investigated this place or maybe whoever drew on the walls did it or maybe—”
A car horn sounded loud and we both turned to see Candy inside Clay’s car. She had a most pissed-off look on her face.
“Your date’s getting impatient,” I said.
“Fuck her,” he growled.
“I’ll leave that to you. She’s not my type.”
He chuckled wearily, then his gaze clashed with mine. “Yeah, and what is your type, huh? Todd? Is he your type?”
I was hypnotized by Clay’s baby blues. “Who?”
“Aha!” he shouted. “I knew you didn’t have a date and I suppose if I just leave you here you’re going to go right back to snooping, aren’t you?” he barked.
Actually, I was planning on just going home but I didn’t like his tone. He was beginning to sound like my mother. “So what if I am?”
He looked to the heavens for assistance but when none came he lowered his gaze to mine and glared. “I am going to drive you home and make sure that you stay there.”
“Oh, yeah, and how do you propose to manage that? Are you gonna strap me to the roof of your car ’cause last time I checked you only had two seats.”
He reached into his pocket and flipped open his cell phone. Seconds later he was giving directions to a taxi dispatcher.
“Look, I don’t need a cab,” I said. “I’ll just walk home.” Not to mention the fact that I didn’t even have enough cash in my purse for the one-block cab fare. How embarrassing is that?
Clay walked over to his car, opened the driver’s side door and spoke at length to Candy. Something soft nudged my ankle and I glanced down to see the largest rat I’d ever laid eyes on. I yelped and jumped at the same time. The black fur ball looked up at me and mewed softly. It was a cat, or more accurately, a skinny, black, soaking-wet kitten.
“Aww,” I bent down and scooped up the pathetic creature and held it to my chest. It was all ribs and felt as if it hadn’t had a good meal in its entire life. I held the black furry face up to mine and it tentatively licked my chin. I immediately fell in love.
Meanwhile, Clay slammed his car door shut and returned to me.
He stopped short and stared. “What is that?”
“It’s a cat.”
“I can see that it’s a cat. What are you doing with it?”
“I’m holding it. For a lawyer you don’t have much of a grasp of the obvious.”
I took a step away and he yanked me back by the collar of my jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You’re waiting right here until the taxi comes.”
I turned to look at Clay. His jaw was set angrily and his eyes were sparked with fury. He looked like he could plow a fist through concrete. I’d never been more attracted to him. If I continued to stay in his close proximity I was going to have serious orgasmic trouble. Luckily, Candy motioned him back to the car.
I closed my eyes and thought of a plan. Okay, so I’d let him stick me in a cab and once we were around the corner I’d get the cabbie to drop me off and I’d walk the rest of the way. I petted the wet furry mass in my arms and it snuggled deeper against me.
The taxi pulled up only seconds later. Clay walked around his Miata and opened the passenger door. Candy unfolded her shapely legs and got to her feet. She shot me a lethal glare then strode angrily to the cab, got in the back and it squealed out of the lot.
Huh.
So Candy’s the one taking the cab.
“Get in,” Clay commanded, holding the passenger door of his Miata open.
“I thought the cab was for me,” I said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to ruin your date.”
“Get in,” he repeated.
I sighed and slipped into the vehicle.
“You’re not taking that thing with you, are you?”
I looked up at him incredulously. “This kitten? Of course! What do you want me to do, just leave it out here in the rain?”
He growled, slammed the car door shut and walked around to the driver’s side. I gave him directions to my place and we drove in silence. The car smelled intoxicatingly of his cologne and worn leather. If I could bottle that scent and sprinkle it on my pillow I’d never leave my bed.
He curbed his car in front of my building and got out. What a gentleman, he was even going to open my door for me. I wasn’t used to this kind of treatment.
“Thanks,” I said and tucked kitty under my arm as I climbed out of the car. “Look, I’m sorry again about your date.”
“I’ll walk you up,” he offered.
“No, that’s okay,”
“I’ll walk you up,” he said more firmly.
I shrugged and headed for my place, stuffing kitty inside my jacket along the way.
“You’ll have to walk me down,” I said and jabbed my key into the front door of the building. “I live in the basement.”
I wasn’t too thrilled about the prospect of Clay Sanderson seeing my drab studio apartment but I quieted my concerns with the fact that he had already seen me working concession at the Megaplex so, technically, I’d already exceeded my embarrassment limit.
As we walked along the hallway Mrs. Sumner poked her head around. Curlers in hair. Cigarette in mouth. Ratty housecoat.
“Don’t be slammin’ your door!” she snapped, eyed Clay critically and then retreated.
When I opened the door of my suite Clay followed without waiting for an invitation and he nudged the door closed with his hip. I put kitty down on the floor. He—I discretely checked gender on the way over—scampered up onto my sofa bed that was glaringly still in the bed position and snuggled into my blankets. Luckily there were two pine chairs to sit in and Clay already had lowered himself into one.
“So what’s the plan? Are you going to keep the cat?” he asked.
I made a face. “I’m not sure. We’re not allowed pets here.”
As if on cue there was a sharp rap at my door and a voice boomed, “Tabitha, I got a package for you!”
“Ah, shit!” I scooped up kitty and handed him to Clay. “Hide! It’s my landlord!”
“Do you always get deliveries at one in the morning?” Clay whispered. “And where exactly am I supposed to hide?”
I pushed him into the bathroom then answered the knock just as Mel the Mole Man was raising his fist to bang again. The tenants lovingly referred to Mel as the Mole Man because no one had ever seen him in the light of day and he tended to shrink against bright light.
I smiled sweetly through the crack of the door at my landlord’s rotund form and his small squinty eyes that were behind huge thick lenses.
“Hi, Mel.”
“Here.” He pushed the door open farther and thrust a box into my hands. “Somebody dropped this off a few hours ago. I heard you come in so I figured I might as well give it to you now.”
“Thanks,” I started to shut the door but he stopped it with a beefy hand.
“Since we’re both up, maybe you’d like to come over, I got popcorn made and I was just about to watch a Star Trek marathon.”
“Um, as appealing as that sounds—” I flicked him a brief smile “—I gotta say no. Thanks for the package.”
I slammed the door and locked it.
Clay appeared immediately with kitty still in his arms. He opened his mouth to speak but I held a finger to my lips to shush him. A couple seconds later I heard a door across the hall open and then shut.
“Sorry about that, my landlord would’ve had a fit if he saw the cat.”
I tossed the package to the counter, opened a cupboard and pulled down a tin of tuna. After opening the can I dumped the contents into a bowl and put it on the floor. Kitty skidded over so quickly he almost knocked the whole bowl over. I burst out laughing and then looked over at Clay who was staring at me but was not sharing in my mirth.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” He indicated the package I’d left on the counter.
“Oh.” I picked it up and traced the brown paper wrapping where my name had been scrawled in an unfamiliar hand. I tore away the wrapping then unfolded the flaps of the box. A small gift card was nestled on top of layers of white tissue.
The card read, “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Tabitha, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Let’s continue our discussion sometime….” It was signed, “Lucien.”
I dropped the card carelessly to the counter where Clay eyed it with a wry expression, “Your boyfriend’s fond of quoting Shakespeare’s Hamlet, hmm? I thought you said his name was Todd.”
I pushed the tissue aside and stared down into the box. All blood drained from my face.
Clay asked, “What is it?”
“Nothing.” I hastily tried to recover the gift beneath the tissue.
“If it’s nothing why are you looking like death warmed over and why are your hands shaking?” I caught his swift frown as Clay elbowed his way in front of me, dug into the box to reveal the gift. “What is this thing?”
“It’s a scrying mirror.” I dragged my fingers uneasily through my hair.
“A mirror.” He turned the object over in his hands.
It was beautiful really—circular, about ten inches in diameter with an expensive pewter beaded frame. Just touching it had sparked a deep feeling of revulsion similar to inhaling the aroma of blue cheese.
“What kind of a mirror is black?” Clay asked.
I ignored his question.
“Sorry, I’m being rude, I should at least offer you a drink.” I opened the refrigerator and peered inside. “Beer? Wine?”
I looked over my shoulder and he was eyeing me curiously. “A beer will be fine.”
I tossed him a can and popped the tab on one for myself. The situation was beginning to feel strange. I hadn’t expected Clay to come into my apartment and now that he had, I had no idea what to do with him. Of course, I knew what I’d like to do to him.
“Who is Lucien?” he asked, interrupting an emerging fantasy involving Clay and me on my linoleum.
“Um, a friend of a friend. He runs a New Age store called the Scrying Room—” I nodded toward the box “—hence the gift of a scrying mirror.”
I crossed the floor and fiddled with my small stereo until I found a station playing soft jazz. I returned to my seat and drank deeply from my beer.
“You don’t seem pleased by the gift.”
I shrugged. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“Hmm—” his eyes challenged mine “—and I’m betting his thoughts are beyond friendship.”
Before I could reply he asked, “So what does this scrying mirror thing do?”
“Nothing. It does nothing.”
“It’s just an ornament, then?”
“No. Um, scrying mirrors are used to help induce visions.”
He paused with his beer halfway to his lips and smiled. “Visions? And this Lucien,” he said the name mockingly, “he believes that crap?”
I rankled at his tone. “You know, many people have their minds open to the metaphysical.”
“If you’re too open-minded, your brains will fall out.”
I laughed.
“And since you just said yourself that it does nothing—” he gulped some beer “—perhaps neither one of us has an open mind on the subject.”
“Okay, so I’m not as open to the whole scrying thing as some people.”
“Like Lucien.”
“Exactly, but I do believe in a sixth sense that’s more developed in some people than in others.”
“Like you.”
