Call Me Cat (Call Me Cat Trilogy #1)(2)

Our meals came and we both dug in, not talking until we finished and sipped another cup of coffee.

"I feel like I never see you anymore," Brig said, pouting her lips like a model.

"I know. You should have come to law school with me."

"Right," she laughed, "because the world needs more lawyers and fewer doctors." She tapped her fingernails on the table. "You could always move in with me. You hate your roommate, I hate mine. It's a perfect scenario."

"Except for the fact that my shitty apartment is half the rent of living on campus, and I'm pretty sure your parents don't want you slumming with me."

"Money is such a bore. We need to find a way to make you rich." She said this with the air of someone who's never had to worry about money, but I didn't resent her. She tried to understand, and she'd been a good friend. My best and only friend, really. It wasn't her fault her parents were richer than God and mine were gone.

"Thanks for the lunch," I said, "but I've got to get going. This paper isn't going to write itself."

Brig paid the check, and we walked out together. "Let me at least drive you home."

"Thanks, but I have to pick up some financial aid paperwork for next semester before I head back. Want to come over this weekend and do a study date? Evil Roommate will be gone, or so she says."

Brig smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "Sure. I'll bring dinner."

"Sounds good. See you then."

I walked away, sad that I couldn't spend more time with her. I missed our undergrad days when we shared a dorm and had time for fun. Law school put new meaning to the "all work, no play" idiom.

Mrs. Hensel sat at her desk when I arrived just before closing. "Ah, Catelyn, there you are. I have your paperwork."

She handed me the stack, and I skimmed through it, frowning as I mentally crunched the numbers. "My financial aid went down?"

Mrs. Hensel furrowed her brow. "I'm afraid so. Not just for you, dear, but for everyone. Budget cuts."

"But tuition has gone up." My palms started to sweat as I considered what this meant.

"At least you have a few months to work and save. Is there anyone you can call to help?"

About to cry, I shook my head and ducked out, cursing mascara and tears. I couldn't make enough in the next few months to cover the difference. I'd spent the start of fall semester living on so much nutritionally-void Ramen Noodles it was a wonder I didn't have scurvy. If I had to budget any more, I'd be living on water and air.

Running through the courtyard, trying to calm my brain enough to figure out a plan, I crashed into someone, and we both dropped everything. When I looked up, it was into the eyes of the sexiest man I'd ever met. He seemed a bit older than me, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, but had the air of someone who didn't take responsibility too seriously. He wore jeans that hung on his hips just right and a black leather jacket that gave him a bad boy vibe. He scooped up a motorcycle helmet and brushed off the dust.

I sucked in my breath and reached for my books. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching."

"It's my fault." His voice was hot and cold and sent a shiver through me. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine."

He picked up the last of the paperwork, and we both stood. His eyes, dark and penetrating, seemed to peer right into me. His black hair flopped over his forehead in that casual "just out of bed" way that men worked hard at achieving but so rarely did. Certainly not like him.

Our fingers brushed against each other when he passed the papers back. His hands were tanned, with long fingers both strong and gentle.

He gazed at my books and smiled. "Law school?"

"Yes. Guess it's pretty obvious. Do you go to school here?"

"My parents wish I did, but no. I'm just meeting my brother."

My stomach dropped as I realized I'd likely never run into him again. "Well, I don't want to keep you. Thanks for the help."

He paused, as if wanting to say something, but turned to leave.

I spun away, still trying to catch my breath as I pretended to examine the ads on the student bulletin board.

One ad caught my eye, and I pulled it off and read. Do you have a nice voice? Want to double or triple your income and work from home? Call us and leave a message. If we like what we hear, we'll call you back.

If I could double or triple my income, I could actually survive the rest of the year. I dialed the number to the telemarketing job and left a message in my most professional voice and hung up, heart racing.

With a renewed hope for the future, and not a small amount of daydreaming about Mr. Mystery Man, I headed home, completely forgetting for the first time in years what day it was.

It wasn't until I checked the mail that I remembered.

With trembling hands I opened the card, always on the same embossed cream stationary. Always typed in Helvetica twelve-point font. Always postmarked from a different city in the country.

And always with the same message. Another year and still alone. One is such a lonely number.

I dropped the card and stood there shaking, trying to breathe. I called Brig but got her voicemail. "He found me again. The man who killed my parents. He found me."





Chapter Two