Page 40 of No Offense

“Molly, I’m fine.”

“Okay. I’ll just be a second.”

She turned and fled.

So. Evidently not an invitation to her room.

Well, that was fine. Better not to take things too quickly, right? Wasn’t that what was wrong with the world these days? Everyone was always rushing around, not paying attention to what they were doing, failing to savor the moment.

That’s what he told himself, anyway, in his disappointment.

He sank down into the lawn chair and pulled out his cell phone to check his messages. Still nothing from Tabitha Brighton’s parents. If he had received a message from a law enforcement agency regarding information about his missing daughter, he’d have called back right away. No, he’d have gotten on a plane and flown to that law enforcement agency immediately.

Maybe that’s what the Brightons were doing. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t heard from them: they were on a red-eye flight from Alaska to Little Bridge.

Except that John suspected the Brightons were doing no such thing.

It was as he was texting Marguerite to have the deputies begin a search of every vacant house, boat, and outbuilding on Little Bridge for Larry Beckwith III that an extremely fat, fluffy orange cat emerged from the shadows and sauntered toward him, meowing plaintively.

John didn’t dislike cats, but he had no particular love of them, either.

This cat, however, did not seem to care about John’s feelings on the matter. It butted its head against his shinbone, getting orange fur all over his dress pants, and meowed up at him some more.

Then, before he could move away, the animal leaped up onto his lap and began to knead its claws into his belly, all while purring very loudly.

“What the—” John began, extremely startled, but before he could pull the cat from him, Molly appeared at the top of the stairs, a small overnight bag in her hand.

“Oh,” she cried in a loud whisper. “I see you’ve met Fluffy the Cat. Isn’t he the sweetest?”

Suddenly it occurred to John that he liked cats—or at least this cat—very, very much.

“He really is,” he said, stroking the cat’s head and causing him to purr with even more intensity and volume—and also to sink his claws more deeply through John’s shirt and into his skin. “Is he yours?”

“Oh, no.” Molly came tripping down the stairs a lot more lightly than she’d gone up them, most likely because she’d changed out of her heels and into a pair of canvas sneakers. She’d also exchanged her sparkly dress for a large button-down shirt over a pair of leggings. “No one knows who he belongs to. He just shows up here, so we feed him. He sleeps with me most nights, but sometimes with the guests. They love him. He’s just the best.”

“He seems that way,” he lied, as the cat mauled him.

Molly came over and stroked the feline in his lap. How was it that even in an oversized shirt and leggings, she looked just as sexy to him as she’d been in a tight-fitting dress?

“Do you and Katie have pets?” she asked.

“No.” It was all he could do to keep from flinging the cat off his lap and snatching Molly up in his arms and kissing her again. “Too busy. One day, maybe.”

“Me, too, when I get my own place.”

“Did you, uh, used to have pets?”

“When I was growing up, of course. But I’ve never lived in a place on my own that allowed them.”

“I see.”

This was unbearable. Her proximity—the sweet, clean scent of her—was going to drive him insane. She’d made it clear there was to be no more hanky-panky by making him wait out here, so he was going to abide by her wishes, butit was hard. John managed to pry the cat’s claws from his shirt and deposit him gently onto the ground, trying not to feel too dismayed about the amount of orange fur all over his newly laundered dress pants. Then he stood up. “Well, do you think you have everything you need?”

She looked surprised by his abrupt shift in mood. “Yes, I’m ready. But—”

He paused. “But—?”

“Well, there was something I wanted to ask you.”