Cattitude (37 page)

The gun felt too light to be deadly, but she
leveled it at the man on the ground. She’d seen this done on TV and
knew what to do. She crooked her index finger through the hole by
the trigger the same instant the man shoved his arm beneath Sorcha.
With a jerk of his arm, he sent Sorcha flying through the air, the
small gray body arcing over Belle’s head.

Howling like an angry dog, he pushed up to a
sitting position, his head, arms and hands bleeding.

Behind Belle came a squeal and scuffling
noises. Good, Sorcha was all right. Not that Belle had doubted
Sorcha would land on her feet. After all, Sorcha was a cat.

Stepping forward, Belle aimed the gun at the
man’s round face. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to kill
you and enjoy doing it.”

He paled, his complexion the color of the
driveway stones, his eyes on the gun barrel.

“I’ll pay you,” he said, his voice squeaking.
“A hundred thousand.”

Belle’s grip on the gun didn’t waver. It
would be so easy to shoot him now. But what would be the fun in
that?

Before killing vermin, she liked to play with
it first.

“Should I shoot you here?” Her voice cooing,
she aimed the gun at the spot between his gaping eyes. Then, with a
swift gesture, she lowered the barrel, aiming it at the spot
between his legs. All males, no matter their species, valued that
part of their anatomy. “Or here?”

His hands clapped over his crotch. “No! I
know you, Sorcha. You wouldn’t do that.”

She laughed. From the tree behind her, she
heard the rustle of leaves. Sorcha. Preparing for another attack if
needed? Or just watching the fun?

Belle wanted to glance up and share her
laughter with Sorcha, but she wasn’t done playing.

“Five hundred thousand,” he said, his voice
desperate.

“How much did you promise
him?
” Belle
didn’t take her stare off the man, but his gaze darted to the side
where Phil sprawled unmoving.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please.”

“I know! I think I’ll start here.” She
jiggled the gun barrel, and a wet spot started between his legs,
growing bigger, the light gray color turning charcoal. With a
smile, she swept the gun barrel upward, aiming it at his head. “And
end here.”

He moaned and closed his eyes, as if waiting
for the bullet to shoot into his head.

Belle’s lips tightened. This was no fun. The
weak human was giving up too soon. A mouse would still be running
in frantic circles, trying to escape.

Playtime was over. In all the TV shows she
watched, this was when the human woman told the man to get up and
she’d take him to the police. The man would get up, grab the gun
and attack her. Sometimes he killed her right away. Other times the
hero would come and save her.

Humans were sometimes very stupid.

Belle was shifting the gun barrel a quarter
inch higher when she heard her name being called and someone
crashed through the woods.

Max!

If she hurried, she could shoot the man
before Max reached them.

“Belle!” Max saw her standing, aiming a gun
at someone on the ground. She was alive! She wasn’t shot! His heart
leapt inside his chest and joy pulsed through him.

“Don’t shoot,” he called as he avoided a
football-sized rock. A branch swiped his cheek, and he brushed it
away, running as if his life were at stake.

If Belle shot someone, she’d go to jail.
She’d lose her freedom. His chest ached at the thought. If need be,
he’d go to jail in her place.

“Belle, don’t!”

He skidded to a stop. She was glowering at a
fortyish man in gray pants and a golf shirt. The man’s face and
hands were scratched and bleeding, and he reeked of urine.

“Who’s he?”

“I don’t know. He shot Phil and tried to kill
me.”

Max glanced around. Instead of Phil, he saw a
mound topped with blond hair about forty feet to Belle’s left. A
groan came from the mound.

“Caroline?” he said.

“She tried to kill me first,” Belle said
matter-of-factly. “Phil shot her, then this man—” She jerked the
gun down and the man on the ground mewled. “—shot Phil.”

Max looked to the right and saw Phil, another
mound. What the hell was this about? Caroline he understood, but—
His eyes narrowed.

“He must be the man who killed Sorcha’s
fiancé.”

“No wonder she was so ferocious.” Belle
smiled and took a quick glance at the tree behind her. “Good job,
Sorcha!” she called.

A meow answered her.

The bloodied man shifted. In an instant,
Belle pointed the gun at him, her hand steady.

Max started to reach for the gun, but his
hand was trembling. She could’ve been killed. One of these mounds
could’ve been her.

Slamming down his instinct to take control,
he pulled back. “I wanted to save you,” he said.

“I don’t need your protection.”

A surprised laugh came out of his throat.
“No, you don’t,” he said. Even as a woman, Belle was independent
and arrogant. All she asked from him was love. And just because she
had a little, well, oddity in her background, he’d run from her and
almost lost her.

He unclipped his cell phone from his belt and
dialed 911.

“This woman is crazy,” the man on the ground
said. “She’s the one who killed them, not me.”

“I don’t think I’ll kill you after all.”
Belle aimed the gun a little lower. “But I wouldn’t mind shooting
you down there. My finger might slip and it will be an
accident.”

“Eeee!” The man grabbed his testicles.

The dispatcher came on the phone and Max told
her two people had been shot. After he gave her the address and
directions, she asked if the shots were fatal.

A grunt came from Phil. Caroline rolled to
her side.

“Get her gun,” Belle said.

“They’re not dead yet.” Max hung up the cell
phone and hurried over to Caroline. A gun lay on the ground about
two feet away from her sporty tennis shoes. He grabbed it by the
barrel, careful not to get his fingerprints on the handle.

Caroline pushed up to a sitting position,
looking down at her chest. Blood spurted out of a hole in her upper
right breast.

She burst into tears. “This is horrible,” she
said between sobs. “I’ll never be able to wear a low-cut gown
again.”

“Luckily prison uniforms are high cut,”
Sorcha said, her voice cheerful.

Caroline sobbed harder. Max didn’t feel any
pity for her. Not after she’d tried to kill Belle.

He strode to Phil, still carrying the gun by
the barrel. As he bent forward, Phil opened his eyes, lifting a
hand to his head.

“Are you okay?” Max’s gaze traced a stream of
blood to the starting point by Phil’s shoulder.

Phil started to nod and groaned. Wincing, he
touched the back of his head. “I think I fell and hit my head on a
rock.” His voice was faint.

“An ambulance is on the way.”

Closing his eyes, Phil winced again. “Shit,”
he said, the word gasping out. He raised his head. “Could you—”

Bending, Max took away the rock and tossed it
to the side.

“Thanks.” Phil lowered his head and closed
his eyes. Sweat beaded his face, and Phil knew he was fighting a
boatful of pain.

Max moved back to Belle, standing behind her.
Feeling oddly hesitant, he curved his hand on her shoulder, noting
his trembling had stopped. He could take the gun, take control as
usual, be the man who took care of everyone.

Except Belle. She’d proved she didn’t need
anyone to take care of her.

He bent his head, his mouth level with her
ear. “I don’t care what you were before this,” he said, his voice
low. “But I want to be with you always, not just when I come back
from my travels. I’ll stay home with you if that’s what you
want.”

She shook her head. “No.”

His hand tightened on her shoulder. There was
a lump in his throat, and he swallowed. “If you want to trade
bodies with Sorcha again, I understand. It’s my fault for listening
to my mind instead of my heart.”

“No.”

“No?” His heart thundered in his chest.

From a distance came the wail of sirens.

“Belle? Is there a chance you’ll stay with
me?”

She leaned back against him. The tension
seeped out of his body, and he wrapped his arms around her
ribcage.

“I almost died tonight,” she said.

He held her closer.

“Staying here without you,” she went on,
“doesn’t seem as important as being with you.”

“This will still be your home.”

“Where you are is my home. If you want to
travel to those faraway places, I’ll travel with you.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent.
“You are my world.” He thought of an old saying,
Home is where
the heart is.
They would have it painted and hang it on a
wall.

“You sound just like Brian on
The Love
Chronicles,
” she said.

“Brian,” he murmured in her ear, “is a very
smart man.”

***

Sorcha peered at the scene from her perch in
the tree. Belle wanted to remain a woman. That meant she could stay
a cat!

She could return to Gwen, the one person who
loved her with all her heart, without expecting anything back. Gwen
loved her the way a dog loved. Unconditionally.

She flew down the tree, thumped onto the
ground. Belle’s head turned toward the sound.

“Sorcha,” Belle said, “I’m sorry, but I want
to remain a human.”

The siren was still moments away but louder,
coming nearer. Sorcha stared at Belle, giving her the message:
Being changed into a cat is the best thing that ever happened to
me.

Belle nodded. “Are you going to be okay? I
can’t let you stay with us. I’d be afraid to touch you.”

Sorcha shivered and stepped back. If Belle
was afraid, she was more afraid.

“You were very brave tonight,” Belle said.
“You saved my life.”

Sorcha cocked her head. She had been brave.
She did save Belle’s life. Now she had to go live her own. Even if
Gwen had to sneak her food and water, she’d be happier being a cat
with Gwen then she ever was being a woman, even with Fletcher.

She meowed a goodbye, then dashed into the
woods toward Gwen’s house. Behind her, she heard Deavers offer Max
more money to let him go. Did he say one million? Max’s harsh
laughter cut off Deavers’ voice, then all their voices faded as
Sorcha ran through the woods like an Olympic gold medalist. If the
gold medalist were lucky enough to be a cat.

In her mad dash, it didn’t take long to reach
the mini-mansion. She ran out of the trees toward the house—and
slid to a stop on the damp grass.

Three cars were parked on the driveway. A red
sports car, a white station wagon, and a brown car with an open
trunk that she recognized as Katie’s. Katie and Gwen stood by the
front drive along with two other women and a bunch of suitcases.
Then Katie started to throw suitcases into the trunk.

What was going on? Did Gwen’s mother and
father want Gwen to go to them? Sorcha’s heartbeat hammered inside
her even as she discounted that idea. More likely, Gwen’s parents
wanted to punish her for running away by sending her to boarding
school.

It would break Gwen’s lonely heart.

It would break Sorcha’s.

She needed to hear what they were saying.
Scooting low, she dashed to the front bushes.

“Look! A cat!”

A foot from the front bushes, Sorcha froze.
She stared at the woman who was pointing at her and laughing.

“Cats are good luck,” she said, her molasses
voice matching her molasses skin. She was a hefty woman and every
time she laughed, her huge breasts jiggled.

A thinner woman with skin closer to the color
of caramel said, “We should take it to the pound.”

“She’s mine!” Gwen ran toward Sorcha.
“Princess is mine, and no one’s taking her from me.”

The next instant she was hugging Sorcha and
kissing the top of her head. “I love you,” she said. “I love
you.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” the molasses voice
said.

“You’re going to let her keep it?” Katie
asked, indignant. “You’re
rewarding
her for her
misbehavior?”

“If you want me to send that letter of
reference,” the thin woman said, “I suggest you leave this
moment.”

A tear dropped from Gwen’s chin onto Sorcha’s
head. “You can stay with me, Princess. Did you hear? My new nanny
likes you.” She kissed Sorcha’s damp head and whispered, “She likes
me
too. Everything is better and it’s all because of
you.”

A car door slammed. Cuddled against Gwen’s
scrawny chest, Sorcha heard the car speed along the driveway, away
from them.

“This is just like the ending of a fairy
tale,” Gwen said. “The wicked witch is gone, and we’re going to
live happily ever after.”

Gwen purred and looked at Gwen, giving her a
message:
It’s not the end. It’s the beginning.

The beginning of her life as a cat. She
wouldn’t trade it for all the tuna in the sea.

Belle thought it was too bad she had to keep
the gun aimed at the man on the ground when she’d rather be having
sex with Max. Sirens screamed closer. Belle was glad Max stood
behind her, so close she could feel his heat and smell his scent.
Not because she needed him to complete her, like Amanda on
The
Love Chronicles
needed Brad—at least in yesterday’s episode—but
because having him near made her feel like purring.

A movement from the corner of her eye caught
her attention. Tory raced through the woods from the direction of
the house.

“Max! Sorcha! What’s going on? I got a call
from the Sheriff’s dispatcher. She said you hung up on her and two
people were shot and you won’t answer your cell phone. What hap—”
She saw the mound that was Phil and gasped. Then she ran toward
him, her face contorted. “Phil! Phil! Please, don’t be dead.”