Final Catcall

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The cats were waiting in the kitchen. I kicked off my shoes and knelt beside them. Owen immediately began sniffing the sling on my left arm. Hercules climbed up on my lap and licked my chin. I took a shaky breath against the prickle of tears I could feel about to fall. I wasn’t going to sit around on the floor crying. I was going to fix things with Marcus. I was going to keep apologizing until he listened. The problem was that when Detective Marcus Gordon was hurt, it wasn’t easy to get him to listen.

I sat on the footstool in the living room and tried his number. His cell phone went to voice mail. (He didn’t text.) There was no answer at his house, either. I heard something clatter to the floor in the kitchen. I went back out to find Owen and Hercules with the keys to my truck lying between them. “You’re not exactly subtle,” I said, bending to pick up the key ring. “Then again, if I see him in person, maybe I can get him to listen.”

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