Leave Me Love (Call Me Cat Trilogy #2)(24)

He smiled, his dimple deepening. "I love the sound of that, Catelyn."

We took the car and arrived last, much to the frustration of Mr. Davenport, who frowned and looked perpetually pissed off at the world in the way a rich CEO might look at middle age. He checked the Rolex on his wrist and sighed. "It's about time, Ash," he said by way of greeting.

Ash made a point of checking his watch. "I'm just on time, Dad. Don't get your panties in a knot."

Mrs. Davenport stood and kissed her son on the check. "Oh, Ash, try not to antagonize your father. You know how hard work has been for him lately." She looked beautiful in an elegant maroon dress, her long dark hair loose around her elfin face. She looked easily ten or twenty years younger than her husband.

We sat and I smiled at everyone. Jon smiled back and said hi, asked about school and my health.

"Actually," said Ash, still lost in his own conversation, "I don't know anything about Dad's work."

I could tell the dinner was going to be tense. I tried to break the ice. "Happy Birthday, Mrs. Davenport." I handed her a small giftwrapped box. "Ash and I got this for you."

His dad raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you two were so serious."

Ash put a protective—or possessive?—arm around me. "We are. Catelyn has moved in with me."

Jon frowned and hid it with a sip of his wine.

"Better protect your assets son, before you get in deeper. Gold-diggers are a dime a dozen and will leave you with less than a dime."

My cheeks flushed red. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Davenport looked at me as if just noticing I was there. "No offense, young lady, but I know your background and what you're facing right now. It's all over the news. My son is quite a catch for you and would set you up for life."

Ash jumped to his feet. Seeing the look of horror on his mother's face, I placed a cool hand on his arm. "Ash, your father is just worried about you. It's okay." I looked at Mr. Davenport. "I can assure you I'm not interested in your son for his wealth."

Mrs. Davenport cleared her throat. "Tell us about yourself, Catelyn. What do you do for a living?"

"I'm in law school at Harvard," I said.

His father smirked. "And how do you pay for that?"

"Scholarships," Ash answered for me. "She's a straight-A student and a research assistant for Professor Cavin."

"That can't be enough to cover tuition," Mr. Davenport said.

"I do odd jobs, telemarketing and whatever work I can find on campus to make ends meet," I said. "Jon, how are you doing?"

Jon cleared his throat. "Good. Mostly good."

"How's that girl you're seeing?" asked Mrs. Davenport. "When are you going to bring her around?"

I didn't realize Jon had a girl in the picture, but was happy to hear it. Maybe it meant we could be friends without any more awkwardness.

"Have the police found any more leads in your friend’s kidnapping?" Mr. Davenport asked, unwilling to take part in any discussion not directed at me.

"I don't know," I said. "You'll have to ask them."

Mrs. Davenport patted my hand. "It must be so hard to have your best friend kidnapped like that. I'm so sorry, dear."

Mr. Davenport poured another glass of wine for himself and adjusted his suit. "Yes, we're sorry for your loss. Though it sounds like you might know more about what happened than you've been telling the police."

Blood boiled behind my eyes and I could taste copper in my mouth. Lights flashed around me, the buzzing and dizziness back.

I lurched from the chair and ran to the bathroom, making it just in time to vomit in the toilet.

A hand reached down to me, pulling back my hair. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Ash said. "My dad's an *."

"He thinks I killed my best friend," I said between heaves. "Everyone thinks I killed Bridgette."





Chapter Twenty


Cabin in the Woods


PROFESSOR CAVIN'S OFFICE always felt comfortable, familiar, an anchor in midst of the storm my life had become. I sat there now, waiting for him to get our coffee at a new kiosk that had set up now that Lucky was gone.

Dead. Now that Lucky was dead.

I still had nightmares about it. Still thought about what it was like to take a life, but with Bridgette still missing and everything in my life falling apart, it seemed killing someone had fallen to the backburner of my attention, which even I knew was messed up on many levels.

Cavin was out of breath when he arrived, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. He handed me one and sat behind his desk. "Thank you," I said, sipping the hot liquid and enjoying the feel of it burning down my throat.

"You're very welcome, dear. Now, what can I do for you?"

He'd already asked about the case against me, about Bridgette, and about my health. He'd also vetted my attorney and deemed him the best money could buy. But now I needed something more personal from him. I showed him one of the letters Maxwell had given me. "This talks about a place my mom went to write. Do you know where that was?"

It was a stretch that he'd know, but I was rewarded for my efforts when he nodded, his eyes getting the far off look he got when talking about her. "It was the cabin, the one in the photo I gave you. It's a few hours from here. She spent a lot of time there, writing, thinking, getting away from the hustle of life. Sometimes I'd join her and we'd read, study, write together. Sometimes she went alone."