CHAPTER ELEVEN

When I returned to my apartment after my Saturday shift, TC wasn’t there. Usually, he was in the towel-lined cardboard box I’d assigned him as a bed. The only time he hadn’t been was when I’d found him hiding under my bed, and I suspected someone had broken in.

I searched the apartment, which took about three minutes. Then I searched again. I even pulled out the can of cat treats. Yes, I’d bought him treats. Give it another month and I’d be collecting his shed whiskers and claws like a proud momma preserving her baby’s first haircut and lost teeth.

I shook the treats. I called his name—well, his acronym. Then I conducted a calm and measured search of the apartment. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I tore about, checking every cat-sized space frantically, certain he’d suffered some horrible ailment that prevented him from answering my calls, even for fake-tuna treats.

There were a very limited number of places he could hide in those few hundred square feet, and I checked them all three times. I even looked in the fridge and stove. Hey, I’d been distracted lately; he could have hopped in while I wasn’t paying attention.

Once I was sure he wasn’t in the apartment, I hurried out to the front stoop, where Grace was on troll duty.

“Have you seen my cat?” I asked.

“You mean that stray that you insist isn’t actually yours but you keep feeding—”

“He’s not in my apartment.”

“Did you leave the window open?”

“No.” I’d kept my windows locked since I’d discovered Ciara Conway’s body.

“Well, I haven’t been in there, and I’m the only one with a key.” She peered up at me. “Didn’t I see you carting trash down to the bin this morning?”

“Right.” I’d taken two bags because I’d forgotten last week.

“Then he snuck out while you were doing that.”

“Maybe. If you see him—”

“Don’t ask me to put him in your room. Still got the claw marks from the last time I touched the damned beast. Stray cats are like two-timing men. He got tired of you and took off. He doesn’t find anyone new? He’ll come slinking back. By then, if you’re smart, you’ll have decided you’re better without him.”

I headed down the steps, scouring the yard for signs of TC. Behind me, Grace snorted and muttered. I checked my watch. I was meeting James in ninety minutes, but . . .

I crossed the street to Rose’s house. When she answered the door, she looked down at me like I was a five-year-old caught ringing the bell, about to dash away. I tried not to quail under that stare. Rose may be in her late fifties, but she’s a brown belt in karate, a few inches taller than me, and as sturdy as an oak.

“Miss Olivia.”

“Hey, um, Gabriel said you wanted to speak to me.”

“I did. But you keep sneaking out your back door.”

“I didn’t sneak—”

Her look stopped the excuse in my throat.

“Okay,” I said. “I snuck. Gabriel and I have . . . parted ways, and I figured you were checking to be sure he’s getting his due. I wasn’t in the mood for that conversation. I will pay his bill.”

“I know you will. What I wanted to discuss has nothing to do with Gabriel. Come in, and I’ll make tea.”

“I can’t. I have a . . . an engagement.”

“A date with James Morgan.” When I looked surprised, she said, “I have the sight, remember?”

“Or Gabriel told you James hired him to get me back.”

“Either way, a date with James seems—”

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Because I’ll tell you it’s a terrible idea? That you know it’s a terrible idea and that you’re only doing it because you feel guilty?”

“Um, no. I—”

“The cards tell me that if you pursue this reconciliation, you will regret it.”

“Uh-huh.” I shook my head. “If you want to help me, use your cards to find my damned cat.”

I expected her to shoot back some variation on what Grace had said, that I hadn’t wanted TC in the first place. But she frowned. “He’s gone?”

“He is. If you see him, please let me know. Otherwise, if you still want to talk, let’s make an appointment.”

“Tomorrow morning,” she said. “Nine A.M.”

“Okay.”

“Meaning you have absolutely no desire to reconcile with James Morgan.”

“What?”

“You’re going out with him tonight. You just agreed to meet me first thing tomorrow, meaning you do not intend to spend the night—”

“Goodbye, Rose,” I said. “If I can’t make it by nine, I’ll call.”

—

Rose was right—I had no intention of spending the night with James. I’ll admit to a tiny temptation to reconsider, just to prove her wrong. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to sleep with him. I like sex. Hell, I really like sex. After three weeks, James probably expected me to suggest room service for dinner. Except he’d see that as reconciliation, which meant I couldn’t. Not yet.

I didn’t make any long-term decisions during that dinner date, but the awkwardness dissipated. While the old feelings didn’t reignite, I could sense them there, waiting to kindle as we talked. When I said I had to head home right after dinner, he didn’t argue, just walked me to my car and kissed me good night. It was a nice kiss. A long one, enough for me to feel that particular spark, but I didn’t pursue it. We promised to talk later, and parted.

It was past midnight by the time I got home. My building was silent, which was nothing new. I’d been there almost a month, and I hadn’t caught more than glimpses of my neighbors. Grace had sworn my apartment was the only vacancy, but by this point I suspected half the building was empty.

I stumbled into my apartment, bolted the door, and shed my shoes and dress as I walked. I collapsed into bed in my bra and panties.

As exhausted as I was, I didn’t fall right to sleep. I’d had an espresso to keep me awake on the hour’s drive home. So I hit the mattress and fell into twilight sleep, surfing between consciousness and slumber until I lost track of time and place. When I woke touching hair, I thought I was still with James, that I’d spent the night after all. I pushed my fingers into his hair and touched—

Cold skin. Ice-cold skin.

I jerked awake, flailing, the hair entwined in my fingers, and I scrambled away, the hair falling free. It hit my bare leg, and I stifled a yelp as I looked down to see—

My hair. Lying on the bed.

There was a confused, nightmare moment where my hands flew to my head . . . which was, of course, covered in hair. I leaned forward, my hands on the bed, eyes shut while I heaved breath. As the oxygen overload hit, I truly woke up, and I sat there, eyes still closed, shuddering, trying to throw off the nightmare. Finally, I straightened, opened my eyes, and—

I saw hair. Not mine this time. Dark, short hair, almost hidden under the tangled sheets. There was clearly no one else in bed with me. The dark hair peeked out, covering a lump barely bigger than—

The cat.

I yanked away the sheet, certain I’d see my poor cat. Someone had killed him and put him here, in bed—

Something rolled from the covers.

I saw skin and a nose and a mouth and—

Black pits where eyes should be.

The neck. Cut clean through. Ragged, bloodless skin and—

The head of Ciara Conway. In my bed.

As I backed away, I touched hair again. I let out a shriek before stuffing my fist in my mouth. A blond wig lay where I’d flung it. I looked at the head and then at the wig, and I tumbled out of bed, kicking free of the twisted covers, hitting the floor hard and then sprinting out the bedroom door.

Phone. I need my—

I spotted my purse on the floor. I grabbed it and yanked the clasp, contents spilling out, clinking and clicking over the hardwood floor. I snatched up my phone and hit the speed-dial number without realizing whom I’d called until I saw the name flash on the screen. Gabriel. I hit the End button. Then I stared at the phone.

Who should I call?

Seriously? You’re asking who to call when there’s a severed head in your bed?

I hit 9. Then 1. Then I stopped.

I needed to take a photo. Ciara Conway’s head was in my bed, and this time I was getting proof.

My fingers shook and my gorge rose, but I went back to the bed, took the picture, and then I e-mailed it to myself and—

My phone vibrated. The sudden movement made me let go. As the phone hit the floor, I saw Gabriel’s name pop up on the screen. Shit. I grabbed for it and—

Something hit the side of my skull. Pain exploded. Everything went dark.