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CHARLIE HELD HER BREATH in her hiding place behind an ornate floor-to-ceiling cat tree. Intrigued as much as scared, purple bangs covering gray kohl-rimmed eyes, she eavesdropped on the angry conversation in the next room. When the war of words turned physical she stuffed a tattooed finger into each ear, but she couldn’t drown out Sissie Turpin’s cries. Charlie shook, flinching with the sound of each relentless slap–slap–slap and with Sissie’s counterpoint of rhythmic shrieks.
A pause. Gasping breaths. Charlie wanted to run, but couldn’t move. She recognized his voice.
The quiet scared her more than the raised voices. Was he there for her? It didn’t sound like it, so maybe if he didn’t see her she was safe. She liked Sissie, but not enough to risk her own skin. At 110-pounds soaking wet, Charlie couldn’t compete with him. She’d learned the hard way to choose battles, hide if possible, and run when you got the chance.
Licking beads of sweat off her lip, Charlie bit back a scream when Sissie yelled again. Sissie had rescued Charlie like a stray kitten, and now Charlie could do nothing to help her.
“Stop, please stop, I told you everything.” Sissie’s fear turned to desperation. “I’m just the bookkeeper. I’ve got lots of clients, lots I never even met. What Chicago records? I don’t understand—” She shrieked again in anticipation of another slap. Either she truly knew nothing, or faked ignorance with an award-winning performance.
His persuasive tone wheedled but promised more pain. “Where do you keep your bookkeeping files? A computer? I won’t ask again.”
Oh God...he’d see her if he came into the cattery. Charlie peered around the cat tree at the computer desk across the room. A thumb drive with an attached lanyard poked out of one of the desktop ports.
Throat thick with tension, Charlie quickly sneaked forward and snatched it out of the computer—screw you, Mr. Persuasion!—then dived back into her hiding place. She never put the lights on to clean up each evening, so she wouldn’t be seen unless he looked directly at her.
So far, out-thinking dangerous people had kept her alive. Charlie’s eyes narrowed, her mind calculating, switching to survival mode. Something on the thumb drive must be worth a lot. That could come in handy. Too bad Sissie had problems, but her own survival trumped anyone else.
Two months ago, she had run away from her Indianapolis home and taken temporary refuge at a crowded cat show. Turned out Charlie liked cats better than people: cats were great mothers, they didn’t lie, and they stood up to bullies with teeth bared and claws ready. When Sissie had heard her story, she offered Charlie a place to crash in exchange for help with the cats. Charlie didn’t believe in fairy godmothers, but Sissie came close.
On cue, the orange and white Meriwether, the biggest of Sissie’s Maine Coon cats, pawed the door open and Sissie stumbled into the room, weeping, probably tipsy from her nightly wine marathon. “Please don’t hurt my cats!” The lights flicked on.
Charlie shrank farther behind the cat tree. He wore a mask. She still knew him.
The cats wound around Sissie’s ankles. Meriwether jumped onto the desk to offer head butts. Sissie ignored the cat, booted up the desktop computer, typed in her password, and stepped away for Mr. Ski Mask to access the keyboard.
“Sit down and shut up, and just maybe you’ll get out of this alive.” He shoved Meriwether off the desk. The cat hissed.
The keyboard clacked as his gloved hands typed. Charlie peeked from behind the cat tree again. Sissie was perched on the edge of the rolling desk chair, face buried in Meriwether’s orange and white fur, while another cat curled around her feet.
“Nothing here. What are you trying to pull?”
“Nothing, I promise. It’s a new desktop. My cats crashed the laptop last week and I haven’t had time to—”
“The files are on the laptop? Where is it?” Charlie heard him yank open file cabinet drawers, shuffling through the contents.
Sissie’s voice trembled. “Trashed. The garbage truck came yesterday. I promise, it didn’t work anymore.” She shook uncontrollably, making the casters on the rolling chair clatter.
“But you have a backup. To load onto the new computer. Am I right?”
Charlie clutched the drive in one fist and showed her teeth, hissing under her breath. She wondered how much he’d pay to get it. It could mean she wouldn’t have to rely on Sissie’s plan, or look over her shoulder for him ever again. She’d take back control of her own life—and her body.
Sissie gasped when he slapped her again. “Yes, yes, I have a backup.” Her voice scratched like fingernails on a blackboard. “It was right there in the desktop. Maybe the cats played with the cord and it’s around here somewhere, if we look.”
Another slap. “Don’t be cute. I’m paid to collect the files and eliminate loose ends. No files to collect, no laptop, and you’re the only loose end. Nothing personal.” Another gasp, and then silence.
Charlie’s breath caught. Eliminate. She looked at the thumb drive in her hand. Her breath returned, gasping, whimpering, and she put both hands over her mouth to stifle the sound. Thank God, he’d not noticed her.
He spoke into his phone. “Yes, I’m here. No files. Yeah, I think she tried to get rid of ‘em like our friend says. Told me she trashed her old laptop—it’s long gone—and the new computer appears clean.” He paused. “Agreed, no loose ends. I’ll make it look good.”
An icy wet nose touched her cheek. Charlie squealed and flinched, jostling the tree. She looked up to see the emerald green eyes of Sherlock, a snow-white cat perched above her on the cat tree. He pawed her shoulder, asking to assume his favorite perch across her shoulders.
When he heard her, he strode quickly across the room, teeth bared. He recognized her and removed his mask, making sure she’d seen his familiar, expressionless face.
She knew what that meant. No more chances. She’d been warned.
Charlie bolted upright, braced herself, and pushed over the cat tree. It crashed on top of him.
Sherlock leaped from the falling tower and clutched her neck. Together they dashed from the room, leaving behind crying cats snuggled tight against the dying Sissie.
