Secrets (8 page)

A window popped up requiring another password.
This might be a different level of security
. He keyed his electronics to run through password possibilities. The speed of the search was fast, but the waiting made him squirm in his seat. He beat out the seconds with his gloved finger on the top of the desk.

He jerked his attention to a sound he heard from somewhere close. Peering through the walls into the hallway, he caught the light of a flashlight bobbing a few doors away and the guard carrying it.

Time to jumpstart this project. An alert prompt on the screen made him sigh.
Finally. I'm in deeper.

And then he had it. Legal communications between William and his lawyer.
Correction. Sleazy lawyer.

All the while listening to advancing footsteps, Casey ripped through a list of dated emails and documents until he found several that referred to property acquisition. Namely, a directive to acquire Michelle's property at any cost, and quickly. And more. Specific details of plans related to her property.

He grabbed his cell phone and snapped pics of the documents.
Bingo!

Again, he peered through the wall. This time no security guard.
Probably checking out another room.

He slowly twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open a sliver. Now was his chance to exit. Adrenaline rushed through him, tightening his muscles and readying him for swift escape.

Silently he ran up the four flights of stairs to the Big Guy's office. Being a were-cat again paid off with superior agility and endurance, but he stood catching his breath for seconds, before slipping into the dark hall and sprinting to the door with the nameplate that read
William Carter, CEO
. Casey smirked.
He left off King of the World and other such superlatives.

Again, unlocking the doors—outer and inner—was quick work.
Destination two.

He knew he was pushing his time envelope and went right to Carter's file drawers. He was betting that William was computer savvy enough, but preferred hands on and hard copies of his documents. The first drawer he tried was locked, but Casey didn't miss a beat. He slipped his fingers along the top of the cabinet and found the latch that would release all four drawers. A quick jimmy, and he continued his search. He bet the contents of the top drawer would give him what he wanted. Files named “case studies” and “research projects to-date” stood out to him and he quickly scanned the contents.

His heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears, he began putting together a loose outline of William's intentions. A low growl rumbled quietly in his throat. He snapped photos with his cell phone of specific pages, then continued his search. He backtracked through the files to make sure he hadn't missed anything important, but when he saw “Pretid” and “property acquisitions,” he suspected he'd found invaluable information for his client and Michelle's problem. The cell phone couldn't click fast enough as he photographed each page in the files, his ears attentive to any possible intrusion. He scanned the receptionist's office on the other side of the wall. Only darkness. Quietly, he slipped through Carter's office into the adjoining secretary's office, then slanted open the door and scanned the hallway. Dark and empty. He crept swiftly down the hall to the stairway, then stopped.

Nearby, the sound of an elevator door opening sent him sprinting down another hall.

“Wait there. You. Stop!” Another security guard stood in the second hall.

Casey instantly pivoted and headed for a wall of windows as two guards raced toward him.

“I said stop!” ordered one.

The guard brought up his gun and took his stance. Casey brushed a look in his direction, then checked to confirm that his tools and his phone were safely stowed inside his pockets. He leaped with his shoulder toward the window, but the pop of a gun, followed by a powerful thud in his side sent him sprawling clumsily out the window.

His feet slammed onto the pavement and he struggled for balance. One last glance up at the guards standing menacingly at the window and he faded into the shadows. He trotted to his car, dragging in breaths as best he could. “Way to go, Case,” he muttered to himself. “Way to wake up the neighborhood.”

He rested against his car for a split second, then pulled off his mask, tore at his clothing, and ripped off the Kevlar vest under his shirt. He breathed in deep breaths of the night air, regaining his strength.

Disgust filtered through as he drove home, mixing with the pain the bullet had inflicted. As intrusions and data searches went, his visit to Carter's place had gone very well. He'd gotten what he wanted. But he'd botched it. Now things would get more complicated. Now the police would be called and an investigation would ensue. It was hard to shrug off his mistakes, but he knew he'd done a good job of covering his tracks. He'd done what he had to do. He just hoped it didn't turn around and bite him, or more importantly, Michelle.

• • •

Michelle fingered a button on her shirt, listening to one of her fosters reporting that the kittens he'd been caring for were ready for adoption.

“Thanks, Jamal. I'm trying to find them a permanent home. Do you think you could participate in an adoption event that's coming up? You could bring the mom cat and her kittens.”

“Of course. Just send me details and I'll be there with the little family.” His voice was pleasant, optimistic. It was honey for her heart.

“Will do.” Her phone beeped. “Oh, I've got another call I should take. Thanks, Jamal! You're the best.”

The name on her phone was that of a board member for Cats Alive. Michelle pulled up her composure and clicked on answer. “Hi, Jackson. What's up? Are you calling as a friend or a board member?”

“Hey, Michelle. Does it matter?” He chuckled into the phone.

“No, I just need to know what hat to put on.” Lacey's husband offered much to Cats Alive. He had business savvy and a big heart. Like him, everyone on her board was a friend. But doing business meant adopting a professional attitude. It helped her keep her bearings.

“Okay, then, put on your non-profit owner hat. I've been looking over the quarterly tax information. It looks like you've done a good job of crossing your Ts and dotting your Is.”

“Thanks! Why do I feel that's the compliment before the criticism?”

“I don't want to be critical. I do want what's best for you and Cats Alive. We're running on fumes, it looks like. I wonder about a fundraiser. And maybe we need an actual accountant. Someone who would remove any possibility of popping a red flag with the IRS.”

“That would be excellent. I've tackled the taxes for several years because someone had to do it. An expert would be great. But you just said we have little operating funds.”

“And you don't think a fundraiser would enable us to hire someone?”

“I can always hope. But you know me, I'm willing to take on anything that will help us take care of more cats and get them homed. If it means doing paperwork myself, so be it. If you have another way, spill.”

Jackson laughed again. “I don't have many thoughts, but how about we talk about fundraiser ideas at the next board meeting. We haven't done one in a while. I'll table the accountant idea until we improve our bank account.”

“Sounds like a plan. Jackson, do you know what I dream of? A large facility for Cats Alive that offers comprehensive services, in a cage-free sanctuary for all cats, regardless of their adoptability. We would offer a permanent comfortable home with access to outdoor enclosures and veterinarian care, as well as adoption services. Do you think we can improve our bank account enough to do that?”

Silence stretched between them. “I think it's a grand plan, Michelle, one I could certainly get behind. I don't mean to sound an alarm. I appreciate your skills and willingness to do what needs to be done. I'm probably overreacting.”

“Thanks. We'll brainstorm at the meeting.”

The phone call ended, Michelle tapped her pencil against the table. Jackson's concern about the IRS was a worthy concern, but she didn't know any other way than what she'd been doing.

Although Jackson's suggestion needled her insides, Michelle moved on to her next project, that of the return of one of her rescues. It saddened her heart. But she blamed herself. Over the course of running Cats Alive she'd come to understand the importance of following her gut. Every time she overrode her instincts and believed in the adopter in question, the cat was returned. The reasons didn't matter. It amounted to the same thing. The cat had a home and then had it ripped away.

In this case, a perfectly lovable and adorable gray shorthaired named Ally was again unwanted, all because the college guy Michelle had believed in didn't actually have what it took to provide a permanent home. If she'd listened to her gut, she wouldn't have homed a cat with the guy. He'd seemed like a very reliable and likable young man, but she'd sensed he wasn't ready for responsibility.

Thoughts rammed through her head. She wanted to stick her finger in his face and remind him that he came to her. He'd begged for a cat. She'd told him the cat deserved a permanent commitment. He agreed.

But it was her fault. She'd hoped so hard for Ally that she let hope distort her instincts. When she'd taken her back, all she'd told the kid was she wanted what was best for the cat and for him. Clearly it wasn't a good fit. And she'd smiled at him.

Of course it was true. So was the fact that people could be so shallow, so unwilling to stick with a commitment, even one so meaningful to a gray, furry soul.

She checked her clock. Eight o'clock. Still early enough to call a foster for Ally, now lying in her lap. Michelle rubbed a hand along the sleeping cat's back and she responded with a gentle purr. “I love you, Ally,” she murmured.

Forty-five minutes later fosters George and Jane Pribbles carried Ally, carrier, blanket, and all, out to their car. Michelle frowned as their car backed out into the lane. It wasn't fair.

She put out food and water for ferals, pausing to ground herself with the brisk breeze and sounds of dried leaves rustling. Still for several minutes, she couldn't stop herself. She squinted out into the field beyond the hedge, hoping to catch a glimpse of the lynx again. It was silly to think it might visit again. It was a wild animal. Even so, she stood waiting and hoping. Listening for a sound in the darkness that could be the lynx walking close.

As minutes passed, Michelle remembered the reason she'd come outside and realized her presence here would deter hungry cats and kittens. With one last look around, she walked inside.

Jojo jumped into a kitchen chair, meowing, while Tiger stared at Michelle. “Hi, guys.” At the sound of the kibble pouring, Izabelle and Munchy joined the gathering. Taking care of her own cats wouldn't make the transition for Ally any easier, but it did relieve the scrambling helplessness in her body. She knew some of that fear belonged to Ally. But she also knew it sent her own fears up an octave, as well.

Suddenly she was there again. The scent of the college man's cologne in her head. Trembling, shaking, as she did that night on the quad in her freshman year when the son of a well-known and prosperous local businessman pushed her to a secluded spot and forced her to the ground. Helpless, she'd tried to scream, but he'd covered her mouth and threatened to kill her with the knife in his other hand.

She'd tried to scramble away, kicked and shoved. That knife came close to her throat and she'd gone limp.

Panic bloomed in her chest as she stood in her kitchen, reliving the moment. He'd taken so much from her that night. And then the trial had taken what was left—all her sense of herself, her confidence, her pleasure in relationships, her security—and replaced it all with shame and fear. Her counselor had told her those feelings were normal responses for rape victims.
At least I'm normal,
she thought wryly.

Her only choice was to move on despite his acquittal and live as though injustice didn't matter. Every thought of the grin on his face when he walked out of the courtroom stabbed her like knives. The memory pulled at her arms to circle her body.

She shook her head.
No. I will not do this.

She reached for salvation from a window, pushing it up and grabbing the cool air from outside to fill her lungs. Another shake of her long hair—an attempt to bring herself to the present moment—and the impressions from the past began to fade. She gripped the windowsill, willing for a complete return to the now. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she held her breath. Something large, something furry, something gorgeous slipped through the hedge and stopped in the middle of the yard. The lynx sat, his eyes luminous, and cocked his head one way and then the other. He emanated peace and serenity. She allowed it in and she soaked in it, completely silent. She didn't need to say a word. His confidence spoke for her. He didn't need assurances, but he gave them to her, miraculously.

Without fear, she smiled at him. The animal chuffed, once, twice. Then he trotted off, turning back once, then slipping through the hedge and into the night. Was the lynx limping? The thought of an injury made her scowl. She wanted to help, but of course that wouldn't be possible. She walked outside anyway.

Seconds later, a loud yelping cry from the field prickled her skin. More wild yowl than growl, the sound echoed loudly, profoundly. Goosebumps prickled her skin. She crouched under the hedge and walked a few steps into the field, her eyes peering into the darkness for the lynx, just to make sure the animal wasn't hurt. But if he was out there among the grasses and trees, he was well camouflaged and she couldn't see him.

Curious thoughts skipped through her mind. His presence was illogical, and yet he had visited again. His behavior wasn't normal, and yet it seemed deliberate. The moment settled inside her, strange, warm, and comfortable.