Deadly Gamble. Linda Miller Lael

can’t see us,” Nick said.

      “Shit,” I said.

      Tucker gave me a wounded look. “I didn’t expect you to be glad to see me,” he said, “but you don’t have to swear.”

      This from a guy who hung out in a biker bar when he wasn’t on duty.

      “He’s right,” Nick said smugly. “It’s very unladylike to curse.”

      “Shut up!” I snapped.

      Tucker squinted. “What?”

      I felt heat sting my cheekbones. “Never mind.” I glanced at Chester, who was grooming himself again. I won’t go into the details. After all, I wouldn’t want to come off as unladylike or anything.

      “Never mind?” Tucker retorted. “First you ask me in for a grilled cheese, then you—”

      “Just never mind,” I said, rubbing my temples. “You didn’t drop off a cat earlier today, did you?”

      “Drop off a cat?”

      I was losing patience, and possibly hemorrhaging brain cells at the same time. “Can we just stop doing the echo thing?”

      “It’s very annoying,” Nick submitted.

      I bit back another “Shut up.” Said nothing, because that seemed safest.

      “Mojo, what the hell are you talking about?” Tucker demanded.

      “You haven’t—well—seen a cat around? A white one, with blue eyes and a fluffy tail?”

      Tucker crossed to me, took me gently but resolutely by one arm and squired me to the couch. “Sit down,” he said, somewhat after the fact. “Put your head between your knees or something.”

      Nick chuckled.

      I glared at him. Tucker caught me and followed my gaze. And saw nothing, of course.

      “What’s going on, Mojo?”

      “It’s been a difficult day.” More truth. My God, I was getting good at it.

      “I’ll get you some water,” Tucker decided. He looked pretty worried, and that pleased me. When he went into the kitchen, I waved at Nick to get out.

      He must have been running on alkaloid. Not even a flicker.

      I heard the refrigerator door open, close again.

      A pause followed.

      “Mojo?”

      I tried to sound normal. “Yes?”

      “How come there’s a plate of tuna on the floor?”

      Nick gave me a pointed, how-will-you-get-out-of-this-one look.

      “Go screw yourself,” I told him.

      Tucker appeared in the kitchen doorway, with a bottle of water in one hand. “Did you say something?”

      I smiled endearingly. “No,” I lied. Hell, it’s just easier to do what comes naturally.

      “So what’s with the fish?” Tucker pressed.

      “I was sort of hoping to get a cat,” I said.

      Chester nestled against my side, purring. I just barely caught myself before I would have stroked his back.

      “O—kay,” Tucker said.

      I went for perky. “Do you still want that grilled cheese?”

      Tucker looked around the room and, for a second or so, I thought he might have sensed something. “No,” he decided. “I think you need to get out for a while. How about a steak and some vino at my place?”

      I wanted to go home with Tuck. I really wanted to go. He was a great cook and an even better lover, but there were solid reasons for the decision we’d made. He was still entangled with his ex-wife, and I didn’t want to be Transition Woman. Hot sex, easy promises, and then either back to the old setup or on to a new one. And here’s me, in the middle, trampled.

      With most guys, that experience would have been a mere bummer. With Tucker, it might mean checking into Heartbreak Hotel and never checking out again.

      “Bad idea,” I said. “Steak, vino and your place, I mean. For reasons previously stated.”

      “Bad idea for a lot of reasons,” Nick interjected.

      Shut the frick up, I thought fiercely, smiling tenderly at Tucker, and I think Decease-o picked up on the brain waves, because he looked insulted and tugged at his shirt cuffs, the way he always did when he was miffed.

      Tucker sighed. His broad shoulders sloped slightly. “Listen, Mojo, I know we agreed—”

      “To be friends,” I finished for him.

      “Friends,” Nick scoffed.

      I ignored him. I’d tell him off later, if his batteries didn’t run down before Tucker left.

      Chester nudged me again. It was harder to ignore him.

      “This is no good,” Tucker lamented quietly. “Our being apart, that is. And it’s not as if I’m married. Allison and I are legally divorced.”

      “Go home, Tucker. Go catch a bad guy. I’ve got nothing to offer you but grilled cheese.”

      Nick rolled his eyes.

      Tucker brought me the water. He hesitated, then said, “You’re sure you’re all right?”

      “I’m fine, Tucker.”

      I set the water bottle aside on the end table, stood, and sort of steered him to the door. There, he laid his hands on my shoulders and brushed a kiss across my forehead, beneath my bangs.

      I hoped he didn’t feel the tremor that went through me.

      “Call me if you need anything,” he said.

      “‘Call me if you need anything,’” Nick mimicked, from about a foot behind me. “Gag me with a kickstand.” If he’d been breathing, I probably would have felt it on my nape.

      Tucker left. Reluctantly.

      I closed the door and turned on Nick, ready to rip a strip off him.

      But he was gone.

      I looked around. “Chester?”

      My cat was gone, too.

      For a long time, I just stood there, trying to make sense of it all. Then, disconsolately, I went into the kitchen, picked up the plate I’d put out for Chester and dumped the tuna down the disposal.

      I didn’t miss Nick. If he never came back, it would be too soon.

      But I sure as hell missed the cat.

      CHAPTER 3

      I slept in the living room, on the couch, figuring I’d be less likely to wake up and find Nick lying beside me, since he wouldn’t fit. I guess it worked, because he wasn’t there when I opened my eyes, but Chester was.

      He sat on the coffee table next to Lillian’s three Tarot cards, which were standing in an ominous little row, propped against the big Mexican fruit bowl I’d bought at the flea market a couple of years before.

      I swung my feet over the side of the couch, sat upright and rubbed my face with both hands. When I looked again, Chester was still there.

      “Meow,” he said.

      Okay, this was a major sign of my mental instability, but I was glad to see him just the same—sans the arrow from Geoff’s bow. I had mostly visceral memories of the cat, nothing very specific, but his bloody end was vivid in my mind. I knew I’d found him in the backyard of our place in Cactus Bend, behind the storage shed where my dad kept all the stuff he was constantly