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I chuckle and smack her rear, hauling her close for a hot second and planting a kiss on those soft, delicious lips. “You’ll get lots of homework, I promise.”
Then I let her go because it’s kitty-cat time. “Let’s go kitty hunting.”
We start with her apartment, but unsurprisingly, there’s no sign of Steve. But with the amount of screaming that went on in here tonight, I wouldn’t have expected an anxious animal to stick around. A thorough search of the hallways and common areas comes next. We scour the stroller storage and the janitor’s closet on the first floor, where snow shovels and mildew-scented mops crowd in the darkness, but there are no signs of fuzzy feet or a twitching tail.
Down in the basement, we pace every inch of the boiler room, using our phones for light as we poke into windowless rooms that clearly haven’t been touched—or cleaned—in the past century.
“If there isn’t black mold down here, I’ll eat my own hand,” I mutter as we finish another horror-movie-worthy exploration.
“Don’t eat your hand,” CJ says, with a yawn. “I like your hand. Your hand does nice things to me. Maybe even in the middle of the night.”
I wrap my arm around her waist with a sigh, knowing the chances of getting my hands back on her later are diminishing with every passing minute. “Where to next?”
“The courtyard, I guess.” She starts up the stairs in front of me, granting me a killer view of the hem of her dress swishing temptingly against the backs of her thighs. Lord have mercy . . .
“Have I mentioned how much I love this dress?”
She reaches the top of the stairs and turns to smile at me, her wild hair backlit by the orange glow of the lobby light. “No, you haven’t. But thank you.”
I shake my head, too struck by the beauty of that smile to reply. Damn, she’s pretty. And sweet. And so much fun to be with that I’m actually enjoying this stupid cat hunt. At least a little bit.
Though by the time we search the courtyard—crawling on our hands and knees to peek under every bit of decorative stonework large enough to hide Stevie—my pants are ruined, my bones are starting to ache, and I’m so tired all I want to do is curl up in the pink playhouse by the playground equipment and go to sleep.
“You checked the playhouse?” I ask, fighting to suppress yet another yawn.
“Yes. Twice.” CJ yawns eloquently before hitting a button on her phone with a sigh. “It’s almost two o’clock. If we don’t find him in the next few minutes, I want you to go back to the hotel, or your place, without me. Get some rest.”
“And what will you do?”
“I’ll stay here and look.” She shrugs, her hands lifting helplessly at her sides. “I mean, I can’t give up. He has to be somewhere. I know he didn’t leave the building. He wouldn’t do that, right? Even if someone held open the door to the outside world? He wouldn’t run off into the city, because if he did, I’d never find him, and he’d definitely get run over.”
With my heart aching for her, I pull her close, rocking her gently from side to side. “I’m staying. Until the bitter end. Until every soldier is brought in from the field of battle.”
She hums into my shirt, sagging against me. Then she lifts her head—sharp and sudden. “That’s it.” She steps out of my arms, turning to face the playground equipment. “The field of battle . . .”
I frown. “The slide?”
“The kids play knights and dragons out here all the time,” she says, moving toward the swing set. “And they’re always dropping their toys and their snacks. And Steve’s nose still works pretty well, considering the state the rest of him is in . . .” As she reaches the structure, she falls to her knees, scraping the wood chips away until she gets a clear view beneath the blue tunnel running from one section of the equipment to the other.
Her cry of victory is one of the sweetest sounds I’ve heard tonight. “There you are! Stevie, baby, come here. Oh, poor pumpkin, you must be so scared.”
When she stands, there’s a giant, fluffy Himalayan with wrinkled whiskers, a freckled nose, and soft blue eyes snuggled into her arms.
“Stephen King, good to see you again.” I lean down to get a better look at him in the dim glow of the motion-activated lights illuminating the yard. “You’re a handsome old gent, I’ll give you that.”
The cat meows, as if returning the compliment, and CJ giggles. “He is. I’m a sucker for a pretty face. And a sweet spirit.” She hugs him closer. “Come on, love, off to the vet for you. You can visit with Dr. Miller while we get the house cleaned up.”
