Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

LAINEY

Conversation with Nicole

How's it going, Mata Hari?

Wait for me in the alley next to the building. I'm bringing a cat.

No, Lainey, I do not want your pussy, but thanks for asking.

This cat is a key witness to the case.

Get the necklace. Forget the cat. I don't want some dude coming at me because we kidnapped his precious.

It's not his.

I'm intrigued, but still no.

I tell myself she'll come around. I have to believe it, because there's no way I can bring myself to leave the cat behind.

I start rummaging through Jake's drawers like a contestant on a shopping spree show, knowing the clock is ticking down. It's okay, Lainey, you've got this. Then I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror attached to the dresser top, seeing my smeared lipstick and beer-soaked shirt. My fingers lift to my kiss-swollen lips.

I climbed onto his lap like a woman possessed.

Nope. Don't got this.

This situation has gotten way out of control, from the way I climbed that jerk like a tree—my hormones lighting up like a string of Christmas lights, delighted to be plugged into the wall—to the glue trap attached to the poor, apparently female cat. I swipe at my lips as I open another drawer, swiping a hand along the sides and then the bottom. Nothing.

This is not good. It only takes a reasonable person a matter of seconds to put on a shirt, and sure, I haven't been coming off as particularly reasonable, but he won't want to leave an unreasonable woman alone with his things for long.

"Elaine, is everything okay?" Jake calls.

My pulse kicks up a notch, my breath coming in pants. I need more time. There's a chance the necklace isn't even in here—that he hid it somewhere in the living room—but my gut tells me he'd want to stow something valuable in the bedroom, where most visitors would never see it. Maybe I need to remove the drawers?

"Elaine?"

"Sorry," I shout, my mind working fast. Then, cringing, I use the one excuse guaranteed to buy any woman a few minutes. "I just got my period, and it's a real bloody mess. I'm so sorry, but I'll be a few minutes."

There's an en suite bathroom, which makes it a reasonable excuse.

Quiet hangs on the other side of the door, and there's a pause as I carefully remove the bottom right drawer, trying not to make any noise. It's a new dresser, thankfully, not like the old, creaky piece of furniture I have back at the cabin, and it slides out without much fuss. Then Jake calls out, "Do you want me to go ask one of the neighbors if they have any…" There's a pause. "Tampons?"

I halt what I'm doing, taken aback by his offer. It's not the kind of thing you'd expect a cheat and a thief to say, but then again, it wouldn't be the first time he's surprised me tonight. He's not what I thought he'd be. Still, I'm here for a reason, and if accepting his offer buys me some time, I'm all for it. The only neighbor I know is the one who's across the hall from him, and there's no obvious reason why the joke guy would have tampons, but presumably Jake knows a few more people. If I get lucky, this could give me enough to search his whole room.

"That would be so sweet of you. Thank you so much."

There's another pause, and I can imagine him shifting on his feet just outside the door, maybe running a hand through his messy hair. My mind darts to his tattoo—did he come up with the design himself? It looks a lot like the drawing in his book.

Then I remember that I'm holding a drawer full of his pants because I'm looking for the necklace he stole from his ex-girlfriend. My resolve firms.

"Ask them if they have super tampons for a heavy flow," I say sweetly as I gently lower the drawer to the thick carpet and feel the vacant area it left behind. Nothing.

I hear his footsteps walking away, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing.

My blood pounding harder in my veins, I return the pants drawer to its usual position and go for the one next to it, on the other side of the dresser. I pause when I notice the contents—sketchpads, like the one he hid in the other room. Colored pencils.

I'm tempted to look inside the books, but it would feel like a violation of his privacy—a thought that makes me laugh at myself as I slick the drawer out and set it on the floor. All of this is a violation of privacy, and he deserves it. I have to remember that. Sure, he may have some artistic talent, and he may be man enough to discuss periods with his neighbors, but he's also a player and a thief. He's the kind of guy who inspired me to start the Love Fixers.

I slide my hand around at the bottom of the dresser again, on the left side this time, and find a strip of condoms. Frowning at it, I toss it back in, telling myself this is further proof that he's been up to no good. I return the drawer to its position, stumped, then head into the connected bathroom, feeling around the floor for any loose tiles—none.

Where the hell would he have hidden it?

My mind circles back to those sketchbooks, and I return to that drawer, working quickly.

I open the first book and see more pencil sketches. My finger traces a picture of the same little boys from the book in the living room. Both of them look a bit like Jake.

What a strange combination of things he is—a therapist who draws and steals. What made him this way?

It doesn't matter. You don't need his fucking origin story. He's an asshole. A liar.

My heart thumping, I open the second book, and this time my heart lodges in my throat because there's a cut out in this one, with a little box nestled inside. I pull it out and click it open, and there it is—a gorgeous blue heart pendant set in swirls of white gold.

For some reason, I'm disappointed for half a second. Disappointed that Jake is exactly what I thought he was a couple of hours ago. But this helps me push him squarely into his bad guy box. In fact, his decision to hide the necklace in a hollowed- out book speaks of a level of deception that's frankly unhinged. He may know how to charm, and I have to admit he definitely knows how to kiss, but he's not good news for anyone.

He took this necklace from Cleo, and now I'm going to steal it back for her. Fair is fair. And sure, he's going to know it was the crazy lady with the cat, but he could hardly report me to the police when he stole the necklace himself. Even if he did, he doesn't know anything about me other than my legal first name.

I remove the necklace from the box, stuffing it into my shorts pocket, and then return the box to the book and the book to the drawer.

I'm about to clean up the mess I made in the other drawers, but it occurs to me that I shouldn't. It'll take him longer to notice the missing necklace if the rest of the room is a horror show. So I start scooping clothes out of the drawer and throwing them everywhere. A T-shirt over the lamp. A pair of pants strewn over the bed. A real clothes murder scene. I reach for the bottom left drawer, for the sketchbooks, and then…don't.

I tell myself it's because it'll tip him off to check the necklace box sooner rather than later, and not because I like his drawings.

The damage done, I exit through the bedroom door, shutting it behind me.

And slam right into Jake. A jolt shakes me before I regain my senses enough to take a step back, but his shirt is left with an imprint of my boobs…because I didn't change out of the beer-soaked shirt.

He looks at me in obvious bafflement—

I was in there for at least twenty minutes, and I'm still wearing the same shirt.

"I got distracted by all the blood," I explain. "It was like a murder scene in my pants."

He lifts his brows. I can't tell whether he's disgusted or just unaccustomed to women speaking like this to him. "Uh. Ohh- kay. Sorry, no tampons. Joy in 2G said her monthly visitor stopped coming twenty years ago. But she offered to pack up some menses tea for you. Apparently she makes it for a small business, so that's good news, I guess."

I study him for a second too long. Does he actually have a neighbor named Joy, or is this some kind of test, to see if I say something like, "Yes, that sounds like Joy, all right , " so he can catch me in a lie?

"Well, thanks for asking," I say breezily. "I think I'd better go take care of that situation. A wad of toilet paper will only last for so long."

I'd wanted to see him flinch, so I'm gratified when he does. I feel a little…testy after finding the necklace like that, hidden away in a book, as if he can conceal his shame. He should be made to feel uncomfortable, and I'm happy to take on that duty for all of womankind.

Crouching down, I call to Professor X, feeling Jake's gaze on me. "Come here, kitty, kitty. Come here, Professor X."

"Cats don't typically come when called," he says, doubt layered into his voice.

"She's an exception," I insist as she hisses at us, pawing at the glue trap. There's no reason for me to be nice to him anymore—all the better if we get out of his apartment sooner rather than later—so I add, "When she doesn't have an arcane torture trap attached to her side."

"You're blaming me for this?" he asks in disbelief.

I lift my chin. "Yes. It's cruel to kill mice that way. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Unbelievable," he mutters, shaking his head. "Are you going to tell me whose cat just destroyed my pillow and scratched my arm? Because she sure as hell isn't yours."

"How dare you," I seethe, getting caught up in the lie.

"Just go," he says, swearing, then sweeps his fingers through his hair. I have a vivid memory of those strong hands tracing up my thighs and squeezing my hip. God, why do jerks have to be so capable with their hands?

"Gladly," I say as I take a step toward the cat. She hisses and bares her teeth at me. Shit, how am I supposed to get her out of here and to a vet?

"I might need a little—"

"Use the last can of food," he says, sounding exhausted. "She's obviously starving."

There's definitely an accusation in his tone this time.

"I told you, she went on a walkabout." For some reason I really don't want him to think I'd mistreat an animal in my care. I assure myself it has nothing to do with him, personally, I'd feel the same way about anyone.

I retrieve the food from under the sink, take the cover off, and sure enough, Professor X comes to me, mewing with discontent before she takes another swipe at the glue trap. I can't Pied Piper her all the way to a vet, though, can I?

I guess I don't need to—just out to Nicole's car.

Presuming Nicole lets me bring a stray cat into her car…and agrees to take us to the vet.

Honestly, it doesn't seem like something she'd do willingly—she's not the bleeding heart type—but maybe I can use this story as leverage. She'll think it's funny, obviously, and want every gruesome detail.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around," I say to Jake, throwing a wave at him as if I wasn't trying to suck his beautiful lips off his sexy face twenty minutes ago. He looks like he has whiplash, but I refuse to be sorry for giving it to him—I'll bet Cleo had whiplash when her gorgeous, sexy faced boyfriend cheated on her and then stole her necklace.

But he recovers quickly and calls out, "Hopefully not," as I shut the door behind me.

Well, screw him.

I wish I could see his face when he opens that necklace case and finds it empty, but I'll have to settle for knowing that I ruined his night.

A couple of people are standing directly in front of the stairway, talking, and one of them is wearing a lanyard and badge that suggests she might work here. She could take offense to seeing a cat in this no-pets-allowed building, so I quickly veer in the other direction. I hurry down the hall with the can of cat food extended like a lure, and I'm almost at the stairs at the opposite end when I bump into an older woman with a kindly face and a mass of blonde and white hair loosely gathered at the nape of her neck. She looks like a model GMO companies would put on boxes of cereal bars so they can fool people into thinking they're healthy.

"Oh, dear," she says. "You wouldn't happen to be Elaine, would you?"

I nearly drop the cat food but settle for nodding.

"This is for you, dear. I used to get some very aggressive menses too." She holds out a little packet of tea…and I take it with my free hand and stuff it into my pocket with the necklace.

The part of my brain that is not currently occupied with the worst getaway attempt in human history registers that Jake actually asked around about tampons for me. So he's a tool, but at least he's not afraid of Aunt Flow, unlike ninety percent of the men I've ever met.

"You know…" she adds. "I thought I knew everyone in this building, but I've never met you before." She glances down at Professor X and does a doubletake. I'm sure I'm about to get lectured about the building rules, but she looks down the hallway before asking in an undertone, "You found Trixie?"

"Her name is Trixie?"

"Yes." She stoops as if to pet the cat, but Trixie hisses at her.

If the older woman minds, she doesn't let it show. Shaking her head, she says, "She belonged to the man who lived in 2D, but he left her behind when they moved. No one knew, so she was in there for days." She shakes her head, then adds, "But that was months ago, before your friend moved in."

"How could someone do that?" I ask, affronted. From what I can tell, this cat has two personality modes: overly clingy and raging, but maybe that's because the person she loved tried to destroy her.

"I never liked him," she says conspiratorially. "He said my rooibos tea gave him diarrhea."

Note to self: discard the menses tea.

"Well, thank you. I know we're not allowed to have cats in this building, but I found her outside, and I'm not going to abandon her again. I'll move if I have to."

I only said that to help explain why Joy will never, ever see me again, but she beams at me, and guilt skitters across my skin like a spider. I don't like lying to nice people, like Marjorie Eccles or Joy. Lies should be reserved for other liars. For the kind of people who use words like weapons, to hurt and destroy and trick.

For people like me and Jake.

Then Joy's eyes narrow on the cat formerly known as Trixie—because there's no way I'm going to let the man who abandoned her have the privilege of giving her a name, particularly not a name with so little dignity. She's a professor, dammit. I just promoted her.

"What's that on her side?" Joy asks, squinting.

I don't feel like getting into an explanation about the glue trap, particularly not since Jake is probably even now combing through the mess in his bedroom. Any minute now, he'll open that drawer…

Then a car horn beeps outside the building. Nicole's car horn?

"Thanks for the tea," I call out and run toward the stairwell, the open food can extended. Professor X runs after me, thank God, and vaults down the stairs like an Olympic gymnast.