Page 3 of Herding Cat

Her child had been a little girl.

Had she lived, she would be about the same age as this one.

But there was no point in wallowing in grief. That ship had sailed.

Hell, that ship had sailed...and sunk.

When they finally emerged from the pier, evening had melted into a stunning dusk.

It was funny how something as heinous as smog could create the most magnificent sunsets. Catherine took a moment to revel in the panoply over Hong Kong Island and Victoria Bay...until Garrett tugged her arm. “Shall we go, ma’am?”

She shot him a frown—was Catherine so difficult to say?—but nodded.

Their hotel was just down Nathan Road, and Catherine was in the mood for a walk, so they didn’t bother waiting in line for a cab at the ferry terminal. She made her way at a healthy clip past the clock tower and the cultural center on Salisbury Road, well aware of her escort hard on her heels. Not that she was in a hurry to be free of him, but his presence by her side the entire day—as she’d conducted meetings with her exporters—had started sawing on her last nerve. The only thing she could think of was getting to the hotel, shutting the door on his too-imposing presence, and collapsing into a hot bath. Where she wouldn’t think about him. Not hardly at all.

She waited at the curb to cross the incredibly busy street onto Nathan Road, watching countless busses, cars and taxies speed by as though pursued by the hounds of hell, but she was hardly aware of the traffic in this, the most densely populated peninsula in the world.

She was thinking about him.

About his scent, as it curled to her on the breeze.

She should have been paying more attention.

The light changed. The walking man lit up. She stepped into the crosswalk.

A shout. A thud.

The screech of tires.

An explosion of movement stunned her as something hit her and hit her hard, sending her plummeting to the unyielding macadam. Whatever it was rolled, and she rolled with it. She was aware of a whoosh of air far too close to her head as a pair of tires screamed by.

Her mind spun. Her heart pounded. Her body ached.

Had she been hit by a car?

She opened her eyes and stared up, into his face, his concerned expression, and she realized the powerhouse that had hit her, rolled with her, saved her...had been him.

His weight was heavy on her, his solid body hot. His breath caressed her face. For a fraction of a second the vision of the two of them, like this, conjoined, rocketed through her. But it was more than a vision, wasn’t it? It was more like déjà vu. As though the weight of his body on hers was familiar to her. As though they’d already tangled like this, in some parallel universe, in some dark well of time. Another lifetime perhaps.

“Are you all right?” A low rumble, one that grated against her sanity. He levered off of her and leapt up, holding out a hand. Her body grieved his absence.

“I’m fine.” A lie.

She wasn’t fine. A chunk of her soul was missing. Had left with him.

She ignored his hand and stood by herself, brushing off and glancing around the busy streets. To her horror, she saw a crowd had formed around a body on the road—right where she’d been standing.

“Oh my God. Scott’s been hit.” She bolted to him, ignoring Garrett’s exhortation that she wait.

She couldn’t. Scott was here for her. If he were hurt or killed in the effort of protecting her, she couldn’t bear it.

She landed on her knees by his side and grabbed his hand. She was relieved beyond words when his eyes fluttered open and he cracked a smile. “Ma’am,” he said.

“Are you okay?” she sputtered. A ridiculous question. He was definitely not all right. His leg was bent at a very unnatural angle. Thank God, in the distance, she heard the wail of a siren.

“Oh, I’m just fine,” he said, though she could tell he gritted it through his teeth. He had to be in a hell of a lot of pain.

“Son of a bitch came out of nowhere,” Garrett said, kneeling at his buddy’s side. The two men exchanged a look, one that made Catherine suspect they had some secret SEAL language only they could understand.