by Anna Leonard
You could call Agent Patrick, a treacherous thought snuck into her brain, and Lily squelched it. It had been a lovely dinner. And that was that. She wasn’t going to give in to a foolish schoolgirl crush. Or even a foolish adult crush. She would call Aggie; he would tell her if anything new had come up.
The phone rang just as she opened the door from her garage into the town house condo, and Lily felt her heart race, just a little bit, with anticipation. She placed the mail on the small table in the foyer and went to answer it.
“Yes?”
An obscure sense of disappointment flooded her when the caller turned out to be a telemarketer, rather than Detective Petrosian.
Or Agent Patrick, that treacherous voice said, practically pouting.
“Stop it,” she told herself sternly, hanging up on the telemarketer midspiel. Yes, dinner had been enjoyable, despite the rather gruesome topic of discussion. But he was here on an investigation, and then he would be gone again. And she wasn’t going to think about getting involved in a long-distance relationship after one dinner—and a working dinner at that!
“Especially since there is absolutely no reason to think that he’s ever going to get in touch with you again,” a different, more practical but equally annoying voice inside her head told her.
Lily laughed, and rubbed her face with both hands, smearing what was left of her eye makeup. “You’re tired. And he freaked you out more than you realized with his talk about serial killers and whatnot.” The fact that he didn’t believe that the person who hurt those cats was, in fact, a serial killer, was reassuring…but she didn’t like knowing that there was someone who thought it was okay, for whatever version of okay, to do that to innocent animals, either. And why had he done it? Not just once, but three times, if Agent Patrick was right, and all three incidents were linked?
Or maybe more than three times. The cops had found three sites, but what Patrick had said suggested that these guys didn’t just start out full blown. They started small, with one cat maybe. Then the thrill wore off, and they had to—what was the word?—escalate.
Part of being the city’s unofficial official cat specialist meant knowing when to actually act like one.
She wasn’t an FBI agent or a cop. She couldn’t do anything to stop the guy. But there was something she could do.
Picking up the phone again, Lily dialed a familiar number.
“Felidae No-Kill Cat Shelter, Nancy speaking.” Lily could hear the sounds of a cat meowing in the background—they must have let Jones wander the halls again. A twenty-pound panther-wannabe, Jones was too big to be easily adopted, despite her sweet personality, so she had ended up being the office cat.
“Nancy, it’s Lily. Is Ronnie in tonight? Can you get her for me, please? Thanks.”
When the director picked up the phone, Lily wasted no time getting to the point. “Ronnie, I need you to okay Halloween protocol, amended for any cat with a spotted coat. Effective immediately, and especially for breeding females and kittens.”
The Halloween protocol was a ban on the adoption of any black or mostly black cats the last few weeks of October. Not every shelter did it, but the previous year’s incident—the one that had landed her an unwilling guest spot on the news—had made them all deeply uneasy. Ronnie’s feeling had always been that anyone who wanted a black cat on October 28 would still want it on November 2, and she wasn’t going to risk a cat on some crazy who wanted to sacrifice it to Satan or some other nonsense. The case just gave her the reason to enforce the ban.
“This has to do with your visitors yesterday?” Ronnie didn’t know anything more than the fact that Aggie had come to ask her about something in an official capacity. There had been enough going on in the news last night to keep that relatively small story out of the limelight, and if it had been in the local paper, Lily hadn’t seen it.
“Yes, and I can’t say anything more, Ronnie, I’m sorry. But you might want to look and see if we adopted out any spotted tabbies, especially females, to anyone new in the past year. Especially someone new. Just in case the police need the information.”
There was a slight hesitation, then Ronnie came through, making Lily let out a breath she hadn’t realized that she was holding. “I’ll have Mike go through the files tonight, if it’s slow, Agent Patrick and I’ll call the county shelter, too, let them know what we’re doing. Is there anything we need to know that you can tell us?”
“Not really, no.” Lily shrugged, even though the other woman couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry. If I could, I would, really.” Anything that affected the shelter was Ronnie’s business, after all. But she didn’t feel as if she could say anything more, at least not without checking with Aggie and Patrick first. “It’s probably nothing. I’m probably just overreacting.”
“Uh-huh.” Ronnie’s opinion of that came through loud and clear. They both knew that Lily—practical, think-it-through, measure-twice-and-then-measure-again Lily—didn’t overreact.
Not unless there was cause.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lily said, and hung up the phone. It was after 7:00 p.m. and Aggie was off shift. She’d make some dinner, and get some sleep, and talk to him tomorrow morning.
Chapter 6
“You’re our Fibbie?”
Patrick managed not to wince at the shelter receptionist’s breezy greeting. “That would be me, yes.” He wasn’t exactly nostalgic for the bad old days when “Federal Bureau of Investigation” made people shiver, but sometimes familiarity really did breed contempt. Or worse. And how the hell did they know—he hadn’t exactly been flashing his badge in the shelter….
The tiny redhead seemed inordinately pleased with herself. “We pulled the file together.”
Patrick relaxed a little. Lily must have told them it was a federal priority, in order to get the material he had asked for so quickly. It wasn’t a problem.
“There’s not a lot of stuff. Adoptions slowed down after the spring, and we actually had a run on reds and tiger stripes, not so many spotted.” The redhead paused in her babble. “Which is weird, actually. Like Mother Nature knew this guy was coming and dried up the available pool. I mentioned it to a friend last night, and he said he hadn’t seen any spotted or even many striped cats out and about either lately.”
He accepted the inch-thick manila folder with a restrained sigh, tuning her chatter out. They’d managed to keep the killings out of the media, but there wasn’t much you could do to stop gossip short of issuing a gag order, and the only way to ensure that would work was to actually gag the participants. Somehow, Patrick didn’t think Lily would go for being gagged. Although…
Right. Brain on the job, Agent Patrick.
“Nancy, I’m going to bring the new calico into the soci—oh.”
Speak of the devil.
“Lily.”
She was wearing jeans again, topped with a red sweater, and high-top sneakers. Her mass of dark, curly hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that brushed her shoulders when her head turned. God, she was adorable.
“Agent Patrick.” Something in his expression must have changed, because her face softened, and she relented. “Jon. Here for the files?”
He lifted his hand to show that he did, indeed, have the information. “Thanks for getting it together.” The shelter had been more help so far than the local cops. And cops gossiped just as much, if not more.
“I just made a phone call,” she said, dismissing his thanks. “The staff here put everything together. I hope it’s useful.” She half turned, as though to go back into the shelter, away from him. Something about the slope of her shoulder reminded him of the curve of a cat’s tail, the way it dipped and rose, and that triggered another thought in his head. Trying to nail it down, he held up a hand to stop her from leaving before it coalesced.
“Yeah?” she asked, pausing with a look he couldn’t quite identify. Not suspicion, but…
“I’m going to ask another favor,” he said, suddenly seeing a possible lead to f
ollow, a thread to pull. His brain did that sometimes, seeing A and J and somehow coming up with 42. That was what made him good at his job; even when the lead didn’t pan out, it brought them closer to something that might. Or a dead end, but you never knew until you investigated.
That’s why the I was in FBI.
“Yes?” She was definitely wary now. He plowed on, the more he spoke the more solid the idea becoming in his mind. Somewhere in his brain he knew that he was imposing, asking too much of her, but he shoved it aside.
“I need you to do some digging for me. You said something that first night about a crazy who tried to adopt a cat last year for some kind of nasty use?”
“Yes…I had the shelter freeze all adoptions of cats matching the description of the ones this guy’s been using, for the duration.”
“Excellent, excellent. But you have had a problem in the past?”
“Yeah. Only once for us. But it happens all across the country.” She leaned against the wall, watching him. Nancy was looking from one of them to the other, like a spectator at a tennis match, clearly entertained.
He noticed her watching, and shook his head. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“We are talking, right here.” Her chin was set on stubborn, he noted, and wondered what he had done this time. And why he knew that the way her jaw firmed like that meant she was feeling mulish.
“Lily.” He meant it to be cajoling. It came out slightly amused, with a note of pleading. It seemed to work.
“All right. Come on.” She led him into the back hallway, past a glass-walled room where dozens of kittens and cats frolicked on ropes and platforms. She pushed open a door and ushered him inside.
It was about the size of a broom closet, but with a soft carpet underfoot, and a bench covered in the same carpeting.
She noticed him looking around, clearly curious. “Meeting room. Where people can bond with a cat they plan to take home.”
He was, reluctantly, impressed. “You guys have it all thought out, huh?” He had to admit that he had never really thought about what went into adopting out an animal.
“We try. Giving cats homes, it’s maybe not up there with saving the world, but…”
“No, it’s up there. All the studies say that people with pets are happier, healthier—better adjusted. If everyone had a cat to go home to, maybe I’d be able to stay home more often too.”
Something happened there, right then: he felt it. A tangible connection between the two of them, the same thing he’d felt when they’d had dinner together. From the startled expression on her face, she had felt it—something—as well. He was suddenly aware of the fact that the room was very small, and they were standing awfully close together.
No. Oh, no. He did not have time for this.
“You had a favor you wanted to ask,” she reminded him, trying to redirect the conversation.
“Yeah. Favor.” A drop of sweat was forming on her upper lip, and he fought down the urge to lick it off. “I’m curious about the pattern of cat adoption, if there’s a period of time that a certain type of cat’s adopted, at a given time of year. And if any one type of person—male, female, old or young—adopts any one specific type.”
“And you expect me to do all that, off our computers, in my spare time?” She started to laugh.
“What, you can’t do it?” His smile was a challenge, but she was smart enough not to fall for it.
“Better men than you have tried to talk me into things, Agent Patrick. And no, that oh-so-charming smile of yours isn’t going to work.”
The smile, if anything, grew wider. “I’ll take that under advisement. Do you think you’d be able to do a quick search, see what you can turn up—just for your own shelter, of course.”
“Of course.” Her dry sarcasm was almost off the chart, and he thought that he might just have to take her back to the hotel with him. Nothing sexual—okay, almost nothing sexual—she just managed to hit all his buttons, in a good way. A very good way.
Mind out of the gutter, Patrick. “Also, if you could see what turns up by way of rituals that might use circles rather than the traditional pentacle or whatnot? Specifically, anything that might signify or require the use of cats, or touch on cats in any way?”
Lily eyed him the way she might a particularly large, possibly rabid dog. “Oh, sure. Why not? You don’t have some eager-beaver researcher at the bureau who handles this sort of thing with a mega supercomputer?”
He let go of the charm for just a second. “And by the time I got through channels just to request the paperwork, it would be next Tuesday already. This is so low down on the pole it’s barely visible.”
It wasn’t fun to admit things like that—you always wanted to think that your case was the hottest thing on the wire—but the truth was, with nobody except a few stray cats threatened, it was a wonder they were letting him stay out here past the initial once-over ruled out an incipient serial killer. Taxpayers’ dollars for his hotel room, et cetera. So long as he could make the case that this might lead to a better understanding of the deviant psychology that led to serial killers, his boss would give him rope, but the easiest way to do that was to make it as cheap as possible for the bureau. And that meant not calling on resources until he could justify them on more than a fishing trip.
If he was wrong, he wasted a little of Lily’s time and the taxpayers’ already allocated dollars. If he was right…he had a possible monograph to write on the topic, which would go into his personnel file, help build his theory and bring his name a little more recognition, and ease the next step upward on the ladder. Plus, possibly, someday it would help identify and capture a killer before he graduated to animals, much less humans.
It was all good.
He smiled at her again, bringing forward just enough charm to balance his need, and put on his best don’t-make-me-beg face. She might say the smile didn’t work, but he never let go of a proven tool. “Please?”
“I like you better when you aren’t trying to be so damn charming,” she told him, and walked out of the meeting room.
He blinked, and then grinned. A real grin, not the one he’d just been using.
“You, Jon T., just got nailed dead to rights.”
He definitely wanted to wrap her up and take her home. And very much in a sexual way, too.
Several hours later, Lily still had a warm glow when she thought about the dumbstruck expression on Agent Patrick’s face as she left him in the meeting room. It was almost—almost—worth spending her afternoon here, instead of going home the way she had planned.
She tucked one foot underneath her on the chair and closed a file, tossing it down onto the thick pile on the floor and opening another from the pile on the desk. Although going home would have been more useful. The shelter kept detailed records on what cats were adopted by whom, and when, including chipping details and medical history, but the color markings were often pretty vague, and even once they started attaching photos…well, she’d just say that the volunteer with the camera was no Diane Arbus.
“I can’t believe I let him talk me into this,” she said, tossing that file and dropping it to join the others. Several hundred down, another pile to go.
“Yes, it seemed as though it took so much arm-twisting and coaxing.” Ronnie was sorting through piles at the desk across the office, her back to Lily. “Because you’d otherwise be off doing all sorts of exciting things…laundry was on the schedule for today, wasn’t it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with having a routine. It’s very soothing to know what you’re going to be doing, when. Plus, I need clean socks.”
Ronnie just laughed. If Lily trusted Petrosian, she liked Ronnie. The older woman never tried to mother her, or be buddies, or anything other than her boss, with the clear structure of that relationship giving them both a place to stand. But there was no mistaking the fact that Ronnie cared, and cared enough to do it on Lily’s terms.
“Lil?”
Nancy stu
ck her head into the office, her strawberry-colored mop of hair looking like a Day-Glo dandelion about to go to seed. “I was just about to shut down for the night—just wanted to let you know that your Fibbie’s back.”
Lily rolled her eyes heavenward. “Since when did he become my Fibbie? Don’t anyone answer that. What does he want?”
“Dinner.”
All three women jumped slightly when the agent appeared in the door next to Nancy.
“Sorry. I get sort of used to walking in, it’s a badge thing.”
Arrogance, Lily thought, practically oozed out of his pores. A sort of “you’ll accept my right to do this” attitude that was all the more annoying because damned if Ronnie and Nancy didn’t do exactly that.
She also hadn’t realized that it was dinnertime already. The afternoon had slipped by without her noticing. They really needed an office with a window.
“Are you inviting, or demanding?”
The words were hanging in the air, pregnant with challenge, before she realized she was the one talking.
His dark eyes turned to her, and she shivered. How had she forgotten how intense his attention could be? No wonder Nancy jumped to fetch her. Far more effective than the charm, that.
“Demanding an invite?” he parried.
Ronnie laughed. “If you don’t take him, I will, and Mike might be a little annoyed by that.”
Lily blushed, and Patrick pressed his advantage. “Come on, you’ve spent all day doing research for me, dinner’s the least I can do while you tell me what you found out.”
Nancy, still in the doorway just behind the agent, nodded emphatically, making Lily blush even more. “Girl, you need to spend more time with the two-legged sorts, I told you that a dozen times.”
Trying to recover from the three-pronged attack, she picked up another file, then tossed it onto her desk and gave in. “I agree…. Assuming your assumption was correct that I’ve done research—of any duration—for you at all.”
He grinned again, supremely confident. She couldn’t resist. She didn’t even try.