Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13)

by Heather Wardell

  Cats, though. They were much simpler. They did sometimes act weird, as I'd seen with friends' cats in the past, but nothing like the way a person could hurt you. A cat was safer, but still company.

  I left my bench and began walking again, and was soon in the store looking through a large glass viewing wall at cats in cages that lined the back wall of a small room. Some were near their cage door meowing at me, some were asleep or staring off into space, and one little black one--

  "Can I help you?"

  I turned and took a breath to say yes, then recoiled as if the man had slapped me.

  He was wearing Christophe's cologne. I hadn't smelled it since the attack, and the scent flooded me with instant and unbearable fear.

  He blinked, confusion flooding his round face. "You okay?"

  I took as subtle a step backward as I could. "Yeah, fine." I took a breath through my mouth so I wouldn't be able to smell him and said, "I'd like to adopt a cat."

  "Great. Any one in particular?"

  I moved several feet away from him, hoping he wouldn't follow. He had been standing a little too close, but without the cologne I would have been only mildly uncomfortable. With it, though, I could hardly keep myself together.

  I wanted to run away, but I also wanted the cat I'd been studying when he arrived. "I was thinking about the black one. The tiny one. Or is it too young?"

  He shook his head. "She's three months old. She was found in a sack down by the river. Some jerk tried to drown her and two others. The others didn't make it but she managed to survive somehow. Poor little thing."

  She and I had been looking into each other's eyes when he arrived, and I had felt like we understood each other somehow. Now maybe I knew why. "Can I pat her?"

  In answer, he unlocked the door to the small room. "Come on in. We'll close the door so she doesn't end up running all over the place. Although she's more likely to hide in the corner. She's not the world's friendliest cat."

  With what she'd been through, no wonder.

  I went into the room and he closed the door behind us and I struggled not to panic. Though he was easily twice Christophe's age and looked nothing like him the smell of him was overwhelming.

  He removed the little cat from her cage, set her on the floor, and said, "Why don't you sit down there with her? I'll fill out the paperwork for you. If it turns out she's not the right one, we can try another."

  Fortunately his desk and the paperwork was at the other end of the room, and as the cologne's smell faded so did my terror.

  My intense focus on the cat probably helped with that, though. When I sat near her she sat too and stared at me, her yellow eyes wary. I reached out toward her, slowly, but she leaped back and again sat staring at me.

  She didn't trust me.

  I couldn't blame her after the drowning thing.

  I sat still, waiting, with the hand I'd reached out resting on the floor between us. I wouldn't rush her.

  She took a step forward, after a full minute, then sat down again.

  The guy scraped his chair back, scaring the stuffing out of me and the cat, and walked to us. He scooped up the cat from the corner she'd scuttled into at his approach, ignoring her struggling, and leaned down over me to plop her into my lap. "She'll be fine once you cuddle her a bit," he said, while I closed my arms around the cat and fought with the dread his smell sent skulking through me. I could almost see it, rolling off him like waves of dark evil and bringing all my memories of the attack with it.

  Returning to his table, he said, "You have had a cat before, right?"

  I didn't know whether that was a requirement to adopt, but as I held the shivering cat in my arms I knew I would say whatever I had to so I could take her home. She'd be better off with me, despite my cluelessness, than with him. "Of course," I said, gently sliding my fingers over her thick plushy fur and letting the softness of it soothe me. "I just didn't want to scare her."

  He dropped into his chair. "She's fine now. See?"

  No thanks to him, she did seem to be. I'd have expected her to scramble to get away, but once he'd given her to me she'd burrowed in like she felt safe with me. Or maybe she was just frozen in fear, but I didn't think so because her shivering was settling down. I did make her feel safe.

  Well, we were even, because I felt safe with her too.

  I rubbed behind her ears and she closed her eyes in pleasure. "Good girl," I murmured. "It'll be okay."

  She looked up at me and opened her mouth but nothing came out for a second. Then she gave the tiniest little meow, more of a squeak.

  "I think she likes you. You like her?"

  "Definitely. Does she have a name?"

  "Girl who found her was Christine so they named her that."

  No way I'd keep it. Too close to Christophe.

  "But I don't think it suits her," he added, surprising me. I wouldn't have thought he'd care what name suited the cat.

  "What should she be instead?" I rubbed behind her ears again. "Do you have a name, honey?"

  "I like Midnight, because she was found at night."

  This was the kind of guy who'd name a brown dog Brownie and think he was being original. "Not bad," I hedged. "Do I need to decide now?"

  He laughed. "You sign the form and pay the adoption fee, you can call her whatever you want. Ready to sign?"

  I was indeed. I signed, and paid, and bought all the supplies she'd need, then called a taxi for myself and my new friend.

  Back in the apartment, I let her out of the cardboard carrier he'd provided for her and sat on the couch to see what she'd do.

  She stood still for a moment, then moved to the nearest wall and began walking.

  Like a soldier on patrol, she followed every wall around the apartment, even touring my bedroom and bathroom. She walked the entire perimeter without changing her pace or stopping to investigate anything in more detail, and I watched her when I could see her and listened to her claws ticking rhythmically against the hardwood when I couldn't, feeling fascinated.

  Then I felt sick.

  The first night after I'd been released from the hospital, I'd stayed in the small Chelsea apartment my parents had rented for me at my request since I knew I'd never again be able to face the one I'd lived in with Christophe. They'd wanted to spend the night on my sofa bed so I wouldn't be alone, but I'd wanted to be alone.

  At least, I had until they'd left. Then I'd been terrified that Christophe would break in, even though I'd known he was securely locked up and even if he'd somehow escaped he didn't know where I was. I hadn't been able to relax until I'd walked around the apartment and checked every lock on the door and every window and even the long-boarded-up fireplace in case he could somehow get at me.

  My new little friend was doing the same thing, perhaps. Checking to make sure nothing bad could happen to her.

  She sat on the floor near me and gave that tiny adorable squeak of a meow.

  "Pretty girl," I murmured. "I'll take care of you."

  She looked past me, out the window. I did too, and above the city's lights I saw the stars in the dark sky, as bright as her eyes against her black fur.

  I didn't want to name her after the darkness.

  Star? Starlight? Celestial?

  My editor self kicked in, telling me to be less literal.

  "Stella?"

  She meowed again.

  Stella.

  Chapter Nine

  Howard smiled at me. "She's fine, Alexa. I'm sure of it."

  I knew he was probably right, but I couldn't help worrying. "I was away all day, and then I only saw her a bit before we came out here."

  Instead of going straight to dinner from work, I'd told Howard I needed to go home to check on Stella. He'd offered to come with me but I'd insisted Stella wasn't ready to meet anyone new. I suspected that was actually true, but my real reason was that I didn't want a man in my apartment yet. I much preferred meeting in public, where if anything went wrong I could get away.

  "But she
was fine then, right? You showed me the pictures."

  When I'd gone home to see her, Stella was nowhere to be seen but the black fur on the pink scarf I'd left along the back of the couch told me she'd been up there. Since the scarf was still warm, I'd figured I'd scared her when I unlocked the door. I had taken my time getting ready to go out, and by the time I was done Stella had emerged from under the couch and was lying on the pink scarf watching me warily. I'd taken a few photos of her, overwhelmed by her cuteness, then had reluctantly left to see Howard.

  When he'd asked me out yesterday, I'd agreed because I'd enjoyed the time I'd spent talking to him while we stuffed envelopes and because I'd thought I should start trying to move on. How badly I'd reacted to the guy at the pet store, though, made me think that perhaps this was too soon.

  But how could it be too soon? The assault had been two years ago. I should have been over it. I'd thought I had been over it, but somehow the trial just made it all--

  "Alexa, do I need to take you home to see the cat?"

  I blinked, then smiled. "No. But thank you."

  He smiled back and asked me what was my favorite thing about Toronto so far, and we resumed the conversation my worries about Stella had interrupted. He had a way of listening with his eyes intent on my face that made me feel like he really cared about what I was saying. It had made me uncomfortable at first, and still did occasionally, but I was training myself to see it as a sign of interest not something creepy.

  We finished our delicious dinners and he suggested we go to a cheesecake place for dessert. We split a slice there, since the pieces were far too large for me to handle on my own and Howard didn't feel the need for a full serving either, then went to a third place for cappuccinos. He paid for everything, refusing my offers to chip in for dinner and to treat him to the dessert or coffee with a smile, and other than my intermittent worries over Stella I thoroughly enjoyed my first first date in six years.

  When we were finished eating and drinking, I wanted to keep spending time with him but didn't know what else we could do. I wasn't ready to take him up to my place, or to go to his, and I couldn't handle another bite of food.

  "We could go see your cat," he said as he put away his wallet after paying for our coffees, "if you'd like. Or I thought maybe we could walk through High Park. It's not dark yet so it'd be nice in there."

  Glad he didn't want the night to end yet either, I said, "A walk would be great. Need to burn off some of those calories."

  We stood, and he smiled and said, "Even if they stick, you'll still look great."

  I smiled back and he said, "After you, madam."

  I led the way out of the restaurant and somehow I knew he was watching my butt as I did. It made me feel a strange combination of pleasure and sadness. He didn't know what Christophe had left beneath my skirt, and I doubted he'd be staring at me if he did.

  As we walked together to the park I made myself push all of that aside. I was nowhere near taking my clothes off for Howard, and if I got to that point I'd figure out how I'd handle it. For now, we were just walking and talking.

  He was right about the park. The sky had turned that dark cool blue that often comes before nightfall and in that strange but beautiful light the trees looked richly green and somehow friendly. We strolled along, chatting casually, and eventually looped back to return to where we'd entered the park.

  As we neared the street again, Howard drew me off to the side and stopped beneath a tree. "I've really enjoyed tonight," he said, smiling down at me.

  Before I could tell him that I had too, he bent his head and kissed me, his lips barely brushing mine before he pulled back again. He smiled at me again. "I hope that was okay. I've been thinking about doing it all night."

  I nodded, surprised but not upset by his kiss. It had been okay. And maybe the suddenness of it was a good thing. I hadn't been sure whether I was ready to have my first kiss since Christophe, and now it had happened and it had been all right.

  I wondered if he had looked me up and knew about my past, but I wouldn't ask. I wanted to leave all of that behind, not discuss it with everyone I met. Bad enough Jake had found out.

  "You could do it again if you like," I said, wanting a longer kiss so I could really feel whether I was able to handle it.

  He laid his fingers against my cheek. "I do like," he said softly, moving closer.

  This kiss did last longer, and I could tell he knew what he was doing, but though it felt nice it didn't drive me wild and when he drew back I wasn't disappointed. But I hadn't been revolted by the contact and I'd been able to kiss him back, and that had to be good news.

  We walked on then and were soon at my apartment building. "I'd love to come up and meet your Stella," he said as we stood outside the front door. "If you think she's okay with that."

  I smiled but shook my head. "I think it's a little soon."

  He looked disappointed but said only, "Well, maybe next time. Or the time after that."

  I thought I might need longer than a few more visits to be ready to take him upstairs and no doubt spend more time kissing than looking at the cat, but since I wasn't disgusted by what we'd done so far I wasn't sure so I said, "Maybe. I'll ask her."

  He laughed. "You do that."

  He put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me into a hug, and I made myself slide my arms around his waist and resist the urge to run away. Christophe had been particularly outraged that I'd dared to hug his friend David and though I didn't want to I still felt strange about hugging anyone who was remotely boyfriend material.

  Just as I began to relax he drew back, brushed his lips over mine, and said, "Good night."

  "You too. Thanks for a great evening."

  "You too."

  We smiled at each other, then I went into the building and up to see my little girl.

  She was again under the couch when I arrived, but she came out faster than before. I settled onto the couch with a glass of water, and before long she was lying on the floor at my feet. She wasn't touching me, and she didn't seem to want to come any closer, but she was definitely making progress.

  We were both making progress.

  Chapter Ten

  On Monday, I met Howard for breakfast before work. We had chatted via text messages on Saturday and in the afternoon he'd asked me to spend the day with him on Sunday, but I didn't want to leave Stella that long and I didn't want him to come over either so I told him I had other plans. He'd accepted that but had then suggested breakfast to start our work week.

  After the meal, for which I insisted on paying, we walked to work together, and when I started up the building's steps he took hold of my shoulder, turned me around, and went in for a kiss. I pulled back before he managed to make contact with my mouth, and he stood staring at me with hurt and confusion in his eyes. "What's wrong? Are you ashamed of me or something?"

  "Of course not," I said, not entirely sure why I'd pulled away and therefore not sure how to explain it. Our kisses Friday night had seemed right and natural, but in the harsh light of Monday morning I felt different. Probably because of where we were. "I just don't think we should be fooling around at work."

  "I wasn't planning to attack you in the supply cupboard, if that's what you're worried about." A shudder tore through me at the violent images brought up by the word he'd chosen, but he didn't seem to notice. "I wouldn't kiss you in the office. I'm not an idiot. I just thought here, with nobody we work with around, wouldn't be a big deal."

  It shouldn't have been, I realized. In fact, even if anyone had seen us it wouldn't matter. There was no reason I couldn't kiss him. "Sorry. You're right. I felt weird about it but of course it doesn't matter. Sorry. Come here."

  "Maybe I don't feel like it now."

  I had to laugh at his mock-pouty expression. "No?"

  He smiled. "Well, maybe I do."

  He slipped his hand around the back of my neck and gave me a light kiss, and as we broke apart my stomach fluttered at the sight of Jake only
a few steps away. He'd undoubtedly seen, but when he reached us he said only, "Hi, guys. Good morning."

  "It has been so far," Howard said, smiling at me.

  I mumbled a good morning to Jake, and the three of us walked into the office in silence while I tried to figure out why I so hated Jake seeing me with Howard.

  I had to put that issue aside, though, when I got to my desk, because the first item in my email was a manuscript for me along with a cover note.

  Dear Alexa,

  I am delighted to be working with you. Rhonda says great things about you, and I know some of the books you've edited in the past and they're amazing. I hope you'll help me make my book amazing too.

  I live around the corner from the office and I'm happy to come see you whenever you want. I'd love to know what you think of the book.

  Mike

  I saved the attached file to my computer then wrote back to tell him I'd be able to have my initial read-through of the book done by tomorrow and if he could meet me in the afternoon that would be great. Long before I finished the rest of my email he'd answered and we had a firm commitment for three o'clock, so I hurried through the mail and set to work on reading his book.

  Two chapters in, I thought I'd be sick.

  Three chapters in, I was.

  Fortunately the others were working hard enough not to notice my unusually fast exit from the room, and even more fortunately I made it to the bathroom in time. Once I'd finished, I rinsed out my mouth and went back to my desk, then sat staring at the computer as if it were going to bite me.

  How would I survive working on this book?

  Mike had written from the point of view of a vicious murderer and torturer. The pleasure and pride the man took in his crimes filled page after horribly detailed page. It was brilliantly written, startling and vivid, and three years ago I would probably have been disturbed by it but able to look past the violence to appreciate the novel as a whole. Now, I couldn't, and I wasn't just disturbed. I was disgusted and horrified, and the mere idea of meeting Mike, the man who could write such things, nearly made me throw up again.