Cattitude (14 page)

And for all his lies that he said with a
smile and the twisted stomach and the bile rising up his throat, he
found nothing.

Dread and regrets and a wonky stomach
accompanied him to the motel parking lot. He wasn’t cut out for
this. He wasn’t a reporter. He wasn’t a detective. He sure the hell
wasn’t a murderer.

Even the thought started his stomach twisting
and turning, doing a sad, bad dance with only one ending in sight
and it wasn’t going to be pretty. He rushed out of the car to his
room, but didn’t make it and threw up his energy shake into the
bushes.

In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth so hard
his gums bled. Then he unrolled his exercise mat, dropped to the
carpet and did fifty push-ups. His arms not even quivering, he
rolled onto his back, sucked in deep breaths for a few seconds,
then did sit-ups, the old-fashioned kind, from his head on the
floor to a straight sitting position. Fast and furious and
ferocious, anything to make him stop feeling and stop thinking. To
make his mind a blank.

He didn’t count, continuing past the time his
muscles strained and his arms trembled and sweat rolled down his
face and upper body. Only then did he drop to the mat and with the
right side of his head mashed against it, he allowed the tears to
flow.

Because he didn’t know if he was doing this
because it was the right thing to do. Saving his niece and nephew.
Or if he was doing this because of the money. Because God knew he’d
needed it.

If he’d told Bob the truth, that he needed it
to help his parents, Bob would never have offered to fund him. Even
now, Bob blamed their mother for deserting him. Maybe she should
have fought harder for custody, but his mother wasn’t a fighter.
Still beautiful in her mid-fifties, she liked to say that she was a
lover.

To Phil, she was just a love.

A love who needed a hip replacement.

And Phil’s father needed his rotary cuff
repaired.

And the last time his father’s gym had made a
profit was two years ago. They were living on their savings,
cutting back wherever they could, and one of the first things to go
had been insurance. They’d filled out what seemed every state and
federal form request for health available and each one was
rejected. They didn’t fall between the cracks, they’d tumbled into
the health care system black holes.

The business had been on sale for nine
months, but no one wanted to buy a gym that didn’t rely on machines
for exercise. Phil had tried, with no luck. No one would loan him
money and neither would his half brother.

But now his mom and dad would get their
operations before they were crippled beyond repair. He’d save the
gym. And it wasn’t like he’d be an assassin. He’d be an avenger, a
vigilante, killing a blackmailer and a murderer. He’d be saving the
lives of his nephew and niece.

He’d be a hero.

A hero who killed a woman.

He cried out, a bellow of pain and denial and
anger at himself and the world and most of all God. Then rolled
onto his belly and started another fifty push-ups, his tears
dripping onto the mat.

Only when his tears dried did a question
enter his mind.

Why had Bob worn a ski mask and smeared mud
over his license plates?

Turning into his driveway, Max saw a slight
figure race out of the trees and swerve onto the middle of the
blacktop toward the Jeep, dark hair flying behind her. Sorcha. He
stomped on the brakes and rolled down his window.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he
snapped.

She glanced past Ted and looked straight at
him. “I missed you.”

Ted laughed. Frustration gnawed on Max’s
nerves. What the hell was he going to do with her?

“Get in.” He gestured toward the back seat.
“Drive to the house with us. What are you doing out here
anyway?”

“Looking for your cat.” She scrambled inside,
leaving the door open.

“You have to shut the door,” Ted said.

“Oh.” She reached for the handle and
pulled.

“Another thing you forgot?” Ted asked.

She shrugged and sat in the middle of the
seat, visible in the rear view mirror. She glanced around with a
crease on her forehead, as if she were adjusting to a new
experience. Max tore his gaze from the mirror and stepped on the
gas pedal.

Every day he believed her amnesia story a
little more. Simple things like closing the door and eating with a
fork seemed new to her.

“Belle doesn’t know you,” he said. “If she
won’t come to me, she sure the hell won’t come to you.” Next to
him, Ted pressed the garage door opener.

“Cats like me,” Sorcha said. “We understand
each other.”

“I never understand cats or women.” Ted
unhooked his seatbelt and peered back at Sorcha. “Maybe you can
teach me.”

Max pulled into the garage. “Maybe not.” He
heard his voice, hard and sharp-edged.

“You got a problem?” Ted asked.

“Sorcha’s injured. She doesn’t remember who
she is. I don’t want you taking advantage of her while she’s a
guest in my house.” He pushed open the car door and jumped out.
Subject closed.

Inside the kitchen, Max headed straight to
the refrigerator. Ted dropped off a bag on the table and followed
on his heels. Max took out the carton of milk and stepped back, Ted
stepping forward. The refrigerator dance, Max thought. He wasn’t
surprised to see Sorcha grab a can of tuna from the pantry.

“You need other food besides tuna and meat,”
he said.

“Why?”

He gulped from the lip of the carton, then
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s not healthy to
have a limited diet.”

Ted took the sub left over from yesterday.
“What are you? The nutrition police?”

Max gave Ted a look that should have soured
Ted’s stomach. The can opener whirred. Max put back the milk and
grabbed a wrapped ice cream sandwich from a box in the freezer. On
impulse, he grabbed another one.

Leaving the can’s lid in the opener, Sorcha
grabbed a fork and sat at the table. At least she was using a fork
now. Yesterday Caroline had told her she should use a plate, and
Ted had asked, “Why dirty one?”

Caroline had stepped back, her brows up, her
mouth opening and closing but no words coming out, looking as
shocked as if Ted had asked why break the Ten Commandments. Max had
turned away to hide a grin. With her casual manners, Sorcha fit in
with him and Ted, accepting what they did without a frown or a
raised eyebrow and in return not caring what anyone thought of her.
Like a guy with strange eating habits in a sexy body.

Max handed her the ice cream sandwich. “Try
this.”

She turned it around and examined from every
angle, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. He took it back, ripped
off the wrapper and handed to her again.

“Eat.”

“What is it?”

“Something good.”

“Chocolate and ice cream,” Ted said.
“Something all women like.”

“I’m not all women.”

His cheek stuffed with a quarter of the sub
sandwich, Ted nodded. “That’s for sure.”

Max agreed silently. Sorcha wasn’t like any
woman he knew. If he was a UFO enthusiast, he’d wonder if she was
an alien. He bit into his ice cream sandwich, chewed, swallowed.
She watched him with her green eyes that reminded him of Belle.
“See,” he said. “It’s good.”

Still watching him, she sank her teeth into
the corner, taking a tiny bite. Her eyes flared wide. She
swallowed. Took a bigger bite. As she tasted, a purr came from her
throat. In less than two minutes, she was licking residues of
chocolate off her fingers.

“That’s wonderful!”

“Knew you’d like it,” Max said, watching her
suck the tip of her middle finger.

Leaving the can of tuna on the table, Sorcha
jumped up, crossed to the freezer and took out another ice cream
sandwich. “Chocolate and ice cream?” she said with her mouth full.
“I’ve heard about them.”

“We should’ve bought more tuna and ice cream
instead of books,” Ted said.

“Books?” She bit off a giant bite of the ice
cream sandwich then ate greedily.

Max forced himself to turn away. He upended
the bag on the table and books tumbled onto the wood top. “For you.
Children’s books to learn how to read.”

“I learned the letter B today! And the number
nine.” Sorcha rushed to the table, her mouth full with the rest of
the ice cream sandwich. Chocolate streaking her hand, she grabbed
the top book. Her mouth formed a moue, as if she held a dead
animal. “What’s this?”

“A favorite.
The Cat in the Hat.
”

“That’s silly. Cats don’t wear hats.”

Ted laughed. “No, they don’t.”

She dropped the book and grabbed another one.
“A dog?”

“A red dog. Clifford. The saleslady said his
books are a big hit.”

“I don’t like dogs.” The book thumped to the
table.

“Try this one,” Ted said. “It’s about a train
who thought it could.”

“Oh.” She took the book and held it
reverently. “I think I can too.”

Max stood and pushed away from the table.
“Ted can teach you how to read. All right with you, Ted?”

Ted glanced at the microwave clock. “Sure,
why not. I’ve got an hour before I have to leave for work. We can
get a start.”

“Give your notice,” Max said.

“Yes, boss. Where you going?” He swiveled to
watch Sorcha get up from her seat. “If you’re getting another ice
cream sandwich, get me one too.”

Instead of walking to the freezer, she turned
to Max, her arms raised, her face glowing. She took a dancing leap
forward and her body smacked against his. Her arms hugging him, she
rubbed her face back and forth against his shoulder.

For a second, he stood as still as a tree,
inhaling her honey scent and taking pleasure in the soft thrust of
her breasts against his chest. Then he cupped his hands on her
shoulders and pried her an inch away.

“I don’t need payment for helping you
out.”

She frowned into his eyes as if she was
trying to figure out a puzzle. “It’s not payment. I only do what I
want to do.”

He propelled her back another two inches and
stepped to the side.

“Didn’t you like it?” she asked, her voice
wounded.

“That’s not the point. It’s not appropriate.
You’re in my care and I’m not going to take advantage of your
gratitude.”

Ted made a sound of choked laughter. Max
glared at him, glad for the excuse to rip his gaze away from
Sorcha’s bewildered face. In another second, he might forget his
reasons for pushing her away.

She was a complication, and this was the
wrong time for complications. The worst time.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” Max said
to Ted, his voice gruff.

Ted glanced out the window. “More than you’re
going to be in another minute. Guess who’s got company?”

Max strode to the window and spotted the
redheaded woman climbing out of the beige car. He groaned and Ted
laughed again. From the corner of his eye, he caught a movement
next to him. He didn’t have to look down to know Sorcha stood
inches away. He already sensed her, the cells of his body reacting
to her nearness.

“You’re going to meet my mother,” he
said.

“I have to warn you.” Ted came up on her
other side and dropped his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t take it
personally, but I don’t think she’ll like you.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I won’t like her
either.”

Ted laughed.

Max grimaced. This was going to be as much
fun as having his taxes audited.

“So.” Rose stood inside the kitchen, her
shoulders straight and her head angled back. Even though she was
shorter than Belle, Rose looked down her nose at her. “You’re the
woman who smashed into the ditch and is claiming to have
amnesia.”

“That’s me.” Belle scratched her nose, not
caring if Rose liked her. Rose never liked her, and that was okay
because Belle didn’t like her back. Rose always stuck to Max like a
refrigerator magnet. She didn’t seem to know that grown kittens
needed to go off on their own. “I went into the ditch. I have
amnesia.”

Max rested his hand on Belle’s shoulder.
“Mom,” he said in the same tone of voice he used when he caught
Belle nibbling his plants.

“Don’t you want to get your memory back?”
Rose asked, not taking her eyes from Belle’s face.

“I like remembering.”

“Then you need to see a doctor. Immediately.
Staying in an unfamiliar environment with strangers is going to
inhibit your memory.”

Belle took a backward step, and Max released
her shoulder. Rose better not try to make her leave. Even without
her claws, she could take Rose down.

“Mom, this is none of your business,” Max
said.

Her head high, Belle went to her seat at the
kitchen table. Ignoring Rose always worked when she was a cat. She
put her elbows on the table, picked up her fork and dug into the
can of tuna.

“You’re my son,” Rose was saying. “What you
do is always my—” Her voice rose. “What are you doing?”

Belle pulled the fork out of her mouth. Was
Rose talking to her?

“She’s eating.” Ted’s voice shook as if he
wanted to laugh

His mother glared at him before turning her
I’m-mad-at-you face to Belle. “Apparently you’ve forgotten your
manners.” Her gaze took in the ice cream wrappers on the table.
“Along with the need to clean up after yourself.”

Chewing her tuna, Belle nodded.

Ted clamped his lips together but a laugh
snorted out of his nose.

Max’s eyebrows met. “Mom, stay out of
it.”

“This is pathetic. She can’t lie around the
house all day eating bon bons.”

Belle glanced at Ted. “Bon bons?”

“Chocolate,” he murmured. “I think.”

“I’d like to eat bon bons.”

Rose sniffed. “Is she mentally retarded?
Caroline said she wasn’t quite right in the head.”