The room filled with easy laughter. Where was Andrea? She’d mumbled something about Mr. Darcy’s meds, but she’d been a while.
“Be right back,” I said.
Inside the safe room, she was on her knees, making kissing sounds at the carpet.
“Everything all right?”
“Oh.” She jumped up and brushed her hands down her legs. “Not really. He’s gone behind the sofa, and it’s too heavy for me to move. He really hates injections.”
“Mind if I—?”
She nodded. “I could do with a hand, to be honest, but I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You can always interrupt if you need me.” Of course she could—I hated she didn’t know that.
“Oh. Okay.”
I shifted the heavy couch away from the wall. The cat cowered in the corner, looking distinctly unhappy.
“Not having a great day, is he?” I asked.
“He’ll be fine once I’ve given him the shot. Actually… have you got a towel? It’ll help with holding him, and I forgot to bring one.”
“Sure.” I went out and grabbed her one from the bathroom.
“Before I try to pick him up, could you shut the door?” she said. “He might dart out, and I don’t want to be chasing him all over your flat.”
“Good point.” The heavy door slid shut behind us, sealing the small room in a hush of engineered privacy. Now there was nothing between us and the rest of the apartment but reinforced steel and fifty thousand pounds’ worth of security.
Mr. Darcy stayed wedged behind the couch, tail twitching with what looked like quiet fury. Andrea crouched again, towel ready. “You distract him,” she whispered. “No sudden movements.”
I knelt next to her and tried making the carpet kissing sound. Her eyes slid sideways, mouth curling into a smile. “Wow, impressive technique, Liam. Do they cover distressed house pets in officer training now?”
“Natural affinity for cats,” I said.
She snorted.
I reached out slowly, pointing one finger toward Mr. Darcy’s nose like I’d seen her do. Just when he looked like he might be about to sniff it, he caught sight of Andrea sneaking up on his left and bolted. My hand shot out on instinct, closing gently but decisively around a fistful of fur. In a flash, Andrea had dashed between my knees and dropped the towel on him. She kneeled there, repositioning the fabric, as Mr. Darcy mewed pathetically.
“Not much like his namesake, is he?” I suggested, keeping my hand on the cat.
“How dare you?” she replied, smiling as she wrapped the towel under him. “He’s got his prejudice game well under control, even if he’s a bit short on pride.” She raised a brow at me. “And he’s a very handsome boy.” She leaned forward and picked him up in the towel, kissing him on the top of his head.
We were very close now. The room was so silent that every twitch of the cat in her arms was amplified. As she adjusted her position on her knees, she slipped slightly, and her thigh brushed against the inside of mine. I pretended not to notice, but every nerve in my body registered it.
“Oops,” she said.
“It’s all right.”
Neither of us moved.
“Thanks for grabbing him.” She shifted the towel so the cat could see out better. “That’s twice now.” She laughed.
“What is?”
“That you’ve grabbed him making a break for it. Last time was—”
She went very still.
