Sam walked away with Erica, leaving Izzy at the table with an empty vial and a full-blown fury. Served her right for believing that voodoo woman in the first place. For dumping the stuff in Sam’s drink in the second place. For hating the gliding Erica Vang in the third place. There was probably also fourth through fortieth places, but she couldn’t think about those right now.
Izzy fought back the tears that blurred her vision. How could she have thought Sam would see her as anyone other than a best friend, even with the help of a love powder? The stuff was probably ground up aspirin tablets.
Hold on.
She might have killed him. She had no idea what was in that stuff. She hadn’t exactly noticed any government seal of approval on that woman’s raggedy storefront.
Izzy shot up from the table. When Sam had first sat down, he’d mentioned he had an important meeting this afternoon. It might be with some big client, right before they went to trial. Or…or…with his boss, because they wanted to make him a junior partner. He’d collapse. The paramedics would arrive shouting, “What did he take?” while frantically trying to save him. No one would know. No one but Izzy.
She had to make sure he was okay. She had to…not tell him what she’d done, exactly, if everything was fine. But if he was on the floor, surrounded by people pounding on his chest, or if he was even the littlest bit green in the face, she would tell him. Yes, she would. She’d confess. And Sam would forgive her. He had to.
Please be okay, Sam.
She wove through a crowd of people toward a bank of elevators in the building lobby. With a ping, a door opened and Izzy rushed forward, followed by several people. She jabbed at the button for the 14th floor, where Sam’s office was located, and then let her finger hover above the one that said close elevator to make a point. The point was lost on a woman who spotted someone in the lobby and leaned out of the elevator to wave hello.
Sam could be dying.
“Excuse me?” Izzy tried.
More vigorous waving.
Izzy pushed the close button. The doors responded, bumping the woman on the shoulder and then bouncing back. The woman turned to glare at Izzy, who responded with a terse, “In or out?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. She leaned back into the elevator car.
Izzy thumped the close button again. But as the elevator began its upward trek she heard, “Ten, please,” from somewhere in the back, followed by, “Four,” “Six,” and even a “Three.” She pushed each button with more irritation than the last, which was probably why the ninth-floor person whispered to the twelfth-floor person, who ventured a finger forward to press both buttons.
Unbelievable. How would the paramedics make it upstairs in time to save Sam? Izzy squeezed her eyes shut and sent up a silent plea. What could she have been thinking, dumping an unknown substance in his coffee?
By the time the elevator reached the fourteenth floor, the only two people left were Izzy and the woman she’d bumped with the elevator door. They stepped out at the same time. Izzy speed-walked toward glass doors with the engraved name of the law firm where Sam worked, Barrett Briggs Barrett.
The woman walked in the same direction. But faster.
Izzy picked up the pace, her shoes tip-tapping on the gleaming tile floor.
The woman reached the door first, pushing it open and not bothering to hold it for Izzy, who was hot on her four-inch heels. The thick glass banged Izzy’s shoulder as it closed. She didn’t have to see the other woman’s face to feel her smirk.
Izzy let the door close behind her and took a minute to compose herself. She’d only been in Sam’s office once before and it had intimidated her as much then as it did now.
Her green flats sank into the plush carpeting as she stood, flanked on the left by paintings of the founding attorneys, each lit with its own lamp. She could practically hear them whispering that her wrap dress was inappropriate for visiting their firm. That her hair was one giant frizz ball waiting to happen. That she looked like someone who had earned solid B’s in college despite a study rally every finals week. That she might have poisoned one of their star junior attorneys.
Well, the dress was vintage Diane. So there.
The woman behind the massive reception desk looked friendly. Izzy gave her a nervous smile. Then the woman from the elevator motioned the friendly woman out of the way and slid behind the desk with a curt nod at Izzy. The friendly woman left.
Izzy approached. “I’m here to see Sam Sterling. Please.”
“Let me just see if Mr. Sterling is available.”
Mr. Sterling. Ha. One of Sam’s favorite things was to go running in the park on a Saturday, only to collapse under a tree after half a mile, pull out the jelly doughnut he’d been hiding and split it with her. They’d lie on their backs in the shade, licking red jelly from their fingers, and talk over the week and how next time Sam would run an entire mile—which he never did. He worked out at a gym four times a week. On Saturdays, he wanted to talk and share a jelly doughnut in the messiest way possible. Mr. Sterling. Izzy didn’t know that guy.
The woman picked up the phone and murmured something before putting it down. “I’m afraid he’s in conference right now,” she said, “and cannot be disturbed.” She didn’t sound afraid at all. She sounded as though she enjoyed slamming the receptionist gate in Izzy’s face. Her arm probably still hurt. Izzy did feel bad about that.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “About the elevator and all. It was an accident.”
The woman’s brows lifted.
“But you don’t understand. I have to see him.” She stopped just short of saying it was a matter of life and death. Which it was. Probably.
“That’s not possible. Perhaps you’d care to leave a message.”
And say what, I’m really sorry, but I put something awful in your drink, Sam, because I’m in love with you and that’s the kind of thing I do? “I don’t think so.”
“Would you like to make an appointment?”
Izzy shook her head and took a deep breath. At least she didn’t see paramedics rushing around. The few people she could see from the desk looked as though they were having a normal day. And the receptionist had said that Sam was in conference, so he must be fine.
“I’ll call him later,” she said. “On his cell.” She pointed to her purse. “I have the number.”
“Of course.” The woman turned away.
Izzy pushed back out the office’s glass door and stood in front of the elevators. One arrived right away, its doors opening with a whoosh. Erica Vang stepped out. She blinked.
“Sam’s friend. Izzy, right?”
Izzy nodded. “Hi. Again.” She moved into the elevator.
“Wait!”
Izzy put a hand out to hold the door open.
“Have you seen Sam?”
“No. The woman at the desk said he’s in conference.”
Erica chewed her lip. “But that’s the thing. He’s not. They’re waiting for him.” Her brows drew together. “It’s the weirdest thing. He was next to me one minute and the next…he wasn’t. I went back downstairs to see if he’s there. He’s not. I even had Zach check the men’s bathroom.”
Oh. An ice pellet of dread formed in Izzy’s stomach. Sam could be passed out in a corner somewhere.
A guttural yowl came from the corner of the hallway. Startled, Izzy turned to see a large grey tomcat staring her down. She glanced at Erica, then back at the cat.
“That’s the second strange thing that’s happened today,” Erica said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen this cat before, but all of a sudden he’s here, on the fourteenth floor of this building, and I swear it’s like he’s following me.”
The elevator buzzed a warning. Get going or get out.
Izzy stepped out and knelt, extending her hand. “He doesn’t have a collar. Maybe he’s a stray.”
The cat shot from the corner but stopped just short of her reach.
“Hey, buddy,” Izzy said. “It’s okay. Where’d you come from?”
His gaze seared into hers. There was something about his eyes, something about the way he looked at her—
Without breaking the stare, the cat reached a paw up to scratch behind his right ear.
Prickles raced up Izzy’s spine. Okay, that was weird.
Erica exhaled. “I don’t know what could have happened to Sam. I’ll just…I don’t know. Make up something until he gets here, I guess.”
Izzy rose. “I’m sure he would appreciate that. He must be held up.”
“I know.” Erica’s blonde hair swung in perfect harmony as she shook her head. “I’m new, so I don’t know him well, but he seems very conscientious.” She clasped a folder of papers to her chest. “I have to go. If you see him, you’ll tell him everyone’s waiting?”
“I will,” Izzy promised. After she hugged him in relief.
“Thanks.” Erica turned toward the glass doors.
With another yowl, the cat threw himself to the ground in front of the perfect Miss Vang and rolled onto his back.
“Oh.” Erica stopped. “You can’t… You have to go. Kitty.”
“He likes you.”
An uncertain smile. “Really? He seems kind of sweet.”
Another roll from the cat for approval. But Izzy’s brows drew together. She must have seen this cat before somewhere.
Erica shot her a hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you could take him outside with you?”
Izzy looked at the cat. The cat looked at her. “I’m kind of in a hurry—”
“It would be so great if you did,” Erica said. “He must be lost and I feel bad, but I have to try calling Sam again.”
Erica pulled the door to the office open, and the cat bolted through, to the distress of the receptionist who shrieked. The blonde followed the cat, tripping over her apologies as she went, and as the glass door closed, the last thing Izzy heard was Erica saying, “I’m sorry, I don’t know where he came from!”
The pebble of dread in Izzy’s stomach turned into a full-fledged hailstorm. This was the oddest day she could remember, and it had all started with… She fumbled inside her purse to pull out the vial.
Sam was missing. Sam, who had innocently drunk a latte she, his best friend, had drugged. Izzy had to find him.
An elevator door opened behind her. She heard male voices and whipped around, Sam’s name dying on her lips as she saw two impeccably dressed men walk off the elevator and then stop in their tracks, watching the receptionist through the glass doors frantically shoo the grey tomcat away. The cat leapt into Erica’s arms, sending the papers she’d been holding flying. The blonde stumbled but regained her footing, all while managing to hold on to the animal.
Gorgeous and coordinated. No wonder Sam was attracted to her. Izzy hated her all over again.
The men stopped before the door, watching the pantomime going on in the outer office of Sam’s law firm. “What do we have here?” one asked as Erica held on to the cat with one hand and tugged her dress down with the other.
“Not sure,” the other one said, “but I’m for it.”
It was at that moment they noticed Izzy. One man looked at his watch; the other straightened his tie. Then they opened and headed through the glass doors.
Izzy raised the empty vial from her purse and peered at the small print on the label. It said, “Use only as told or something else could happen.”
Something…else? What did that mean?
Sam, forgive me.
Izzy pushed the heel of her hand against her forehead, trying to remember what the voodoo woman had told her about using the powder. The problem was, she hadn’t been paying much attention. She and her friend Sarah had downed more than a few drinks by then. All Izzy could remember was the part about Sam falling in love with the next woman he spoke with.
Something else could happen. Helpful.
In the haze of still photos her mind’s eye clicked through, Izzy saw one of Sarah taking a card from the shop’s counter, giggling as she did and saying that if the stuff worked she might have to become a distributor.
Izzy pulled her phone from her purse, punched contacts, and found Sarah’s name. She pushed the number and drummed her fingers on the nearest wall as the ringing began. When Sarah answered, she jumped in before her friend had finished saying hello.
“Remember that place where we got the love spell powder?”
“Of course.” Sarah snorted. “Can you believe we actually bought that stuff—”
“You took a business card,” Izzy said. “Do you still have it?”
“Maybe.” Sarah sounded baffled. “Pretty sure I threw it in my purse.”
“Could you look?”
“Right now?”
“Yes. I need the phone number.”
“You’re stocking up?”
“Please.”
“Okay, okay. Looking.”
Izzy could hear her friend rummaging through the contents of her purse and mumbling to herself. “That’s where that went.”
After what seemed like an hour but was probably only a minute Sarah said, “Got it.”
“Read me the number.” Izzy fumbled for a pen and something to write on. Finding both, she dropped her purse to the floor and scrawled the number. “Thanks.” Then she clicked off in the middle of Sarah’s goodbye, making a mental note to call her later and…if not explain, exactly, apologize for being so abrupt.
She punched the number into her phone and waited. A woman answered.
“I bought something at your shop,” Izzy said. She lowered her voice to a near whisper, though no one else was around. “A…love spell powder. You put it in a vial.”
“You’re welcome. Send me a wedding picture.”
“That’s not why I’m calling.”
The voice on the other end of the line turned defensive. “I told you. You have to be the first woman he talks with. After he gets the powder.”
“I know that. It’s the…administration of the powder. How exactly is that supposed to go again?” She screwed her eyes shut, waiting.
“However you want. Just don’t get the stuff wet.”
Ummm…Izzy didn’t remember hearing that part.
“Put it on popcorn, a cracker, or something like that. Then, boom, once inside his mouth, it starts to work.”
“Boom,” Izzy repeated.
“Boom.”
“So if it gets wet…it’s rendered harmless. Doesn’t work.”
A pause. “Like I said, don’t get it wet. You could at least read the sticker.”
Izzy checked again. “The sticker doesn’t say anything about that.”
“It sure as hell does.”
“It doesn’t. I’m looking right at it.”
“Crap,” she heard the woman mutter. “I knew a couple of those made it out there.”
“What?”
“Doesn’t matter.” The woman’s voice became brisk again. “I told you when you bought it. I tell everybody.”
“What if…I forgot about the not-getting-it-wet part and actually…” She attempted a laugh. “Put it in his drink.”
“What kind of drink?”
Izzy’s ears began to buzz again. “What difference does that make?”
“What kind”—pause—“of a drink.”
“A latte.”
“Hot drink.”
“A latte is hot, yes.”
“Not good.” The woman’s voice was tense.
“What do you mean, ‘not good’?” The law firm receptionist turned to stare at her from behind the heavy glass door, so Izzy crept to a corner, her heart thumping.
“You did not listen to me.” The woman emphasized each syllable. “This isn’t my fault.”
“What isn’t your fault?” She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to know, didn’t want to—
“That’s it. I’m done selling the stuff. I never liked it, anyway.”
Izzy spoke through gritted teeth. “Does it make him sick?”
“You can’t blame me for this.”
“Tell. Me. Now.” Izzy leaned against the wall for support. She’d call 911, tell them there had to be an all-out search. A man could be in trouble.
“It won’t make him sick.” Just as Izzy breathed a sigh of relief, the woman spoke again. “But you put it in a hot liquid and…something else could happen.”
Izzy glanced at the sticker again. “Like what?”
“He could be…not himself.”
Izzy squeezed her eyes shut and slid down the wall to the floor. “I don’t understand.”
“It means he could, well, you know, maybe turn into something else. Temporarily.”
“Another person? That’s insane.” She hoped.
The woman’s exhale shot through the line into Izzy’s ear. “Not a person. More like a…a… I heard a story once. About a guy turning into something he’d been talking about.” It sounded as though the woman tried to laugh and failed. “An elephant. Because he’d been talking about wanting to ride one in India or Africa or someplace. I didn’t believe it, but you never know. That stuff. You don’t want to mess with it. You do not want to put it in hot liquid. That is why I tell you people—” She made a sound of frustration.
The door of the law firm opened. “Out!” ordered the receptionist. The door shut again.
Then Izzy saw the gray cat. Their eyes met, and he walked toward her, crooked tail twitching. She could see he had something red at the edge of his mouth. Blood, maybe. Just her luck. He was deranged.
He came to a stop inches away and sat down, regarding her with a cool gaze and slow blink. She smelled something sweet.
Izzy sniffed. Jelly donut? That’s what he had dripping from the side of his mouth. He reached a paw up to rub it on his chin and then licked the jelly from his paw.
No. Seriously.
“S-Sa…” She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, couldn’t say it. “Sa-am?”
The cat meowed. Not in a good way. In a no-shit kind of way.
Izzy interrupted the voodoo woman’s rant about how much attorneys charge for a disclaimer. “Is it possible,” she ventured, “he could take the form of an…animal?”
She heard the woman suck in a breath. “What did I just tell you?”
“Oh my God.” Izzy swallowed the last word. It remained in her throat, blocking her airway. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
“Temporarily.”
“How long?” Izzy choked out.
“I have to go.”
The line went dead. When Izzy tried to dial it again, there was no answer. She opened her fingers, letting her cell drop to the floor. Not only had she drugged her best friend and the love of her life, she might have turned him from an up-and-coming, hard-charging attorney into an animal that licked itself and used a litter box. Temp-or-ar-ily.
She turned back to the cat. “You’re supposed to be in a meeting.”
She wasn’t fluent in feline, but she was pretty sure his answer began with F and ended with -uck.