Call Me Cat (Call Me Cat Trilogy #1)(11)

It's always when life is going well that shit explodes in your face.

The day started out well enough, with my normal classes and a quick brunch with Bridgette at the cafe.

"Still at the sex work?" she asked as we sat at our usual booth.

"Still at my acting work, yes." I glared at her. We'd made up after our fight, but things were strained between us. She couldn't understand I had no other options.

"Right. So, any total perverts, or the normal runof—the—mill pervs?" She sipped her coffee and batted long eyelashes at me.

"A little of both." I hadn't told her about Ash. Not much to tell, at any rate.

When the waitress came to take our order, I changed the subject, asking Brig about med school and boys and her life and avoiding questions about my own until it was time to go.

As fall flirted with winter, leaves died and snows fell, and my strolls became an ordeal of shivers and chills. My car still needed repairs, but I wanted to make sure I had money for food and shelter, then school, before taking care of the wheels.

As I walked back to my apartment, the familiar rev of a Harley engine came up behind me. "Hey Law School, can I give you a lift?"

I turned to face Ash, looking dangerous and sexy and not my type at all. "No, I like walking, thanks. Are you stalking me?"

"Nah, if I were stalking you, you wouldn't know it. Besides, do I look like the type that needs to stalk a girl to get a date?" He held his hands out as if showing off his sex appeal.

No, but you also don't look like the kind of guy who needs to call a 900 number to get a date either. "What do you want?"

He parked his bike and started walking with me. "Why so hostile? Have I done something to offend you?"

Besides not calling me back? "No, I'm just busy. Unlike some people, who apparently have nothing better to do than ride around all day harassing the innocent, I have work and studying."

"See, this is what I don't get. You're clearly a smart girl. You wouldn't have made it into Harvard Law if you weren't. But like so many smart people before you, you fail to grasp what is painfully obvious to me." He smirked, waiting for me to swallow his bait.

Which I did. "And what's that?"

"It's not about working hard, sweetheart." He nudged my shoulder as if telling me a great secret. "It's about working smart. Leveraging your time and skills so that your money is working for you and not vice versa. You know, I could teach you how to get rich without all this needless pandering to an intellectual wasteland of regurgitated facts meant to enslave you to an outdated system that never made anyone happy or wealthy."

"Aren't you a pedantic ass posing as someone socially enlightened," I sneered. "Besides, how do you know my aim is to be rich?"

His eyebrow shot up. "Because you want to be a lawyer."

"I'm going into law for social justice. To punish those who are guilty. To keep society safer."

He threw his hands over his face. "Oh God, it's worse than I thought. You want to work for the DA's office? Too much work, zero pay, and always dodging the bullets of bigwig defense attorneys who are paid nicely to get their clients off. Prepare to be disillusioned within six months of graduation, sweetheart."

"My name is not sweetheart." We were nearing my apartment, but I didn't want to lead him straight to my house, so I turned a corner and walked around the block.

"It's that or Law School, since you still haven't told me your name."

"And I'm not going to. I have to go. Or rather, you have to go. I don't want to lead a stranger home. That wouldn't be wise." I stopped, refusing to move until he left.

"Of course. Keep playing it safe, Law School. We'll see how far that gets you." He bowed in mockery of old-fashioned gentlemen and strode off, his jeans hanging from his hips like they were made for him.

Irritated, I jogged the rest of the way around the block to release tension, checked my mail in the lobby, and read through envelopes as I walked up the stairs.

When I got to my door, I dropped my mail and stood slack-jawed.

My door had been broken open, and a peek into my apartment showed it ransacked.

That bitch, Violet the Violent. She'd come back to take more of my shit!

I ran in, unconcerned with who may still be in the apartment, and searched for missing items, but couldn't tell if anything was missing since it was all destroyed. My bookshelf had been thrown to the floor, all my prized books torn or stepped on. My couch and favorite chair had been slashed, their insides strewn about the room. And on the wall under my parents' portrait, written in red, were words that made my blood turn cold.

One is such a lonely number.





Chapter Nine


Trace Evidence


MY PHONE RANG, scaring me out of my frozen panic. I glanced at the clock on the microwave, the only thing that hadn't been destroyed, and realized my work shift was about to start.

Shit. I didn't want to lose my job, but I couldn't do this tonight. I answered the phone anyway, since it could have been important, and heard a low voice more machine than man.

"Hello there, Kitty Cat. I was going to call through your new hotline, but didn't think you'd be taking client calls tonight. Do you like the present I left you?"