Heroes Are My Weakness(31)

“I’ve been inside the cottage. I got your message.” She lowered her voice, struggling to sound calm. “Just tell me . . .” She spoke even more softly, her voice barely trembling. “Did you— Did you hurt the cat?”

He cocked his head. “Mariah’s death must have been hard on you. Maybe you should talk to somebody.”

Did he really believe she was the one with mental problems? She needed to placate him. “I will. I’ll talk to somebody. So you can go on home now. Take the car.”

“You mean my car? The car you drove off in without asking permission?”

He’d told her she could take the car when she needed it, but she wasn’t going to argue with him about it. “I won’t do it again. Now it’s late, and I’m sure you have work to do. I’ll see you in the morning.” Not after this. She’d have to find another way to repay Jaycie because she absolutely couldn’t go up there again.

“I’ll leave as soon as you tell me why you were skulking around the cottage?”

“I wasn’t skulking. Just . . . getting a little exercise.”

“Bull.” He strode toward the cottage’s side door, pulled it open, and disappeared inside.

She made a dash for the car, but she wasn’t quick enough. He shot back out of the house. “What the hell happened in there?”

His outrage was so convincing that she would have believed him if she hadn’t known better. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He jabbed his finger toward the cottage. “You think I did that?”

“No, no. Of course, I don’t.”

“You do think I did it.” His frown turned to a glower. “You can’t imagine how much I want to walk away right now and let you deal with this yourself.”

“F-follow your instincts.”

“Don’t tempt me.” In two long strides he was beside her. She jumped as his fingers clamped around her wrist. As she struggled, he pulled her toward the door. “Will you shut up?” he said. “You’re hurting my ears. Not to mention terrifying the entire seagull population.”

The fact that he sounded exasperated instead of ominous had an odd effect on her. She began to feel stupid instead of threatened. Like one of those dimwitted heroines in old black-and-white movies who were always being dragged around by John Wayne or Gary Cooper. She didn’t like the feeling, and when they were inside, she stopped struggling.

He let her go, but his eyes were on her, and they were deadly serious. “Who did this?”

She told herself he was conning her, but she didn’t feel conned, and she couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth. “I thought you did.”

“Me?” He seemed genuinely confused. “You’re a pain in the ass, and I wish like hell you hadn’t shown up here, but why would I trash the place where I like to work?”

She heard a mew. The cat crept into the kitchen.

One mystery solved.

Seconds ticked by as he stared at the animal. Then at her. Finally he spoke, using the overly patient manner people employ when they’re dealing with a child or the mentally impaired. “What are you doing with my cat?”

The traitorous animal rubbed against his ankles.

“It . . . followed me home.”

“Like hell.” He picked up the cat and scratched it behind the ears. “What did this crazy lady do to you, Hannibal?”

Hannibal?

The cat tucked his head against Theo’s jacket and closed his eyes. Theo carried it with him into the living room. Feeling more and more confused, she followed him. He switched on the lights. “Does anything seem to be missing?”

“I— I don’t know. I had my cell and my laptop with me, but . . .” Her puppets! Scamp was still in her backpack, but what about the rest?

She rushed past him to the studio. A low shelf for storing art supplies ran beneath the windows. She’d cleaned it up last week and set them there. They looked exactly as they had when she’d left that morning. Dilly and Leo separated by Crumpet and Peter.

He poked his head inside. “Nice friends.”

She wanted to pick them up, talk to them, but not with him watching. He moved toward her bedroom. She went after him.

A messy stack of clothes waited for her to finish clearing out the rest of Mariah’s things to make more room for her own. A bra hung over the chair between the windows along with last night’s pajamas. She usually made her bed, but this morning she’d neglected to do it and had even left a bath towel on the edge of the mattress. Worst of all, yesterday’s bright orange underpants lay in the middle of the floor.

He took it all in. “They did a real job in here.”

Was he actually cracking a joke?

The cat had fallen asleep in his arms, but Theo continued to stroke its back, his long fingers sinking into the black fur. He wandered back into the living room and then the kitchen. She kicked the book of pornographic art under the sofa and followed him.

“Do you notice anything strange?” he asked.

“Yes! My house has been trashed.”

“That’s not what I mean. Look around. Do you see anything odd?”

“My life flashing before my eyes?”

“Stop screwing around.”