Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(52)

Twenty-Five





Cassie





* * *



“Cherry, lime…” I take another lick of the pop, eyes narrowing as I try to pinpoint the mystery ingredient. “Cilantro?”

George shoots me a “you’ve gotta be kidding” look, grabbing another grape off his furry belly before returning his attention to The Cat Whisperer. Just as Ryan promised, my furry friend is rapt and giving me no guff.

But George has clearly accepted me as his own, as evidenced by the thoughtful gift dissolving on my tongue. It actually isn’t half bad, considering its several years old and spent at least part of a night in a trashcan.

“But it was wrapped in plastic.” I hold the partially melted peen up for perusal. “So I’m probably not going die, right?”

George clucks back at me, and I smile. If someone had told me a month ago that I’d soon be relaxing in the bed of a man I’m madly in love with, chatting with his pet raccoon, and plotting my cross-country move from San Francisco to Happy Cat, I would have said they were looney in the toons.

But love is crazy, I guess.

The best kind of crazy.

I’m sure Savannah is going to think I’m nuts at first too, but she’ll be glad to have me home. I do the math, figuring out what time it is in the UK and decide to give my sister a call. Something like this isn’t the kind of news that should be delivered via text message.

I lean over, fumbling for my pajama shorts on the floor and tugging my cell from the back pocket only to yip in surprise and drop the phone back onto the carpet when it begins to ring.

George bleats disapprovingly as I plop my feet off the bed. “I know, I know. It’s probably your dad, calling to make sure we’re getting along all right.”

But when I flip the screen over, it isn’t Ryan’s number. It’s from an area code I don’t recognize. My first thought is that it must be a robo-call, but the spam centers usually have better timing, and a call at five in the morning is odd enough I feel compelled to answer.

I hit the answer button and bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Cassandra?” The voice is garbled, robotic, and instantly sends gooseflesh rippling across my skin.

“Who is this?” I ask, my heart beating fast in my throat.

“A friend. Or an enemy, depending on how you play your cards,” the voice says, pushing on before I can tell him I’m not playing games, not with him or any of the other people trying to shut down my sister’s company. That has to be what this is about. “Pay close attention, Cassandra. I’m prepared to give the police everything they need to pin the fire at Sunshine Toys on you and your sister.”

“Bullshit,” I snap, my hands beginning to shake. “You don’t have evidence because Savannah and I had nothing to do with the fire.”

“So you say. But who are the police going to believe? Two town rejects who never fit in around here in the first place? Or evidence with your fingerprints all over it and eyewitnesses willing to testify that they saw you coming in and out of the factory in the early morning the day of the fire?”

“Those people would be lying and my fingerprints are all over everything at the factory because I work there, genius. I—”

“I’m not interested in arguing. You’re in over your head and the only way out is to play nice, sweetheart. If you want to stay out of jail, you’ll meet me at the factory in thirty minutes to discuss terms. Come alone and don’t tell anyone about this call. If you do, I’ll know, and I pull the trigger. Once I set the dominos to falling, life as you know it is over, Cassie. Forever. So hurry up and get dressed. I’ll be waiting.”

There’s a sharp click as the call disconnects. I curse, jaw clenching tight, and toss the phone on the bed.

George shoots me a curious look as I drive a hand into my hair and make a fist.

“I don’t know,” I mumble, pacing toward the window and then back to the bed, pulse pounding. “He doesn’t have any evidence—there’s no way he could—but he’s right. If people are willing to lie and this asshole has doctored something to make it look like I’m behind this…”

I bite down hard on my lip. I want to call Ryan so much it’s all I can do to keep from diving for the phone.

But the man said he would know.

He also told me to get dressed…

A shiver racing up my spine, I hurry to the window and tug the curtains closed. My arms are shaking so badly it takes three tries to get them all the way shut.

“It’s the butt crack of dawn,” I mumble. “Maybe he just assumed I was in pajamas and would need to change.”

But my racing heart isn’t buying that and neither is George, who rolls onto his feet, fussing as I grab a pair of Ryan’s track pants from his bottom drawer. “I know it’s a dumb idea,” I say, “but I have to go. I don’t have a choice.”

George whine-growls.

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

He plops down on his bottom in the middle of the bed, looking lost.

I can empathize…

Silently assuring myself that the factory is so close to downtown that all I’ll have to do is call for help if things get creepy, I pull the pants on, rolling them up at the waist and tugging the drawstring tight. I pair them with a black tee shirt that proclaims Wild Hog Wild and Proud of It across the front and slip into the flip-flops I wore across the grass to Ryan’s place.