Mal ignored her and looked at Wolfe. “You’re a little nuts and now have a kitten in your pocket.”
Wolfe nodded.
“And you, our leader.” Mal focused on Angus. “Not only are you obsessed with a serial killer case that might just exist in your mind and splits your focus, but you have a high-heel-loving dog that’s also an alcoholic.”
“What’s your point?” Force asked, his dark eyebrows slashing down.
His point? What the hell was his point? He scrubbed both hands down his whiskered jaw. “I’m not going to ask what could go wrong. You know why? I just want to know what’s going to go right.”
“Probably not much,” Wolfe said cheerfully. Then he fed another Goldfish Cracker to his kitten while the dog clip-clopped around the room and scratched up something called Jimmy Choos.
Chapter Fifteen
Pippa rolled over in the big bed, the scent of Malcolm West all over her. She blinked. The house was quiet—peacefully so. A note by the bed caught her eye, and she lifted it.
Hey, Beautiful,
I had to go in to work for a little while to deal with the shooting yesterday. Again, I’m sorry I brought my past to your door and almost got you shot. Last night was amazing. I’ll bring you a treat from town.
Yours,
M
Oddly enough, she’d never received a love note before. Of course, she hadn’t spent much time dating either. She stretched again and winced as all sorts of aches and pains flared to life in all sorts of interesting places. Last night had been amazing. Not mellow either.
She hadn’t realized she could feel like that. Wild and free. Totally taken.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she snuggled down in surprisingly soft sheets. Malcolm West. Would he still like her if he knew the truth? Sometimes her doubts threatened to drown her. But she had to believe in herself. If she didn’t, who would?
Rain pattered quietly against the window, and she let herself fall back to sleep.
The dream was a comfortable one compared to some of the others. They were regular, whether or not she took a sleeping pill.
* * *
She was nine years old again—almost ten. “But I don’t want to leave my friends,” she’d protested to her mother as they walked into the entryway of the big house outside town. People in light-colored clothing smiled and nodded as they moved around, all working on something. Dusting, vacuuming, carrying food.
Her mama held her hand and looked down, a new smile on her face. It had been hard the last four years, after her daddy died. He’d been a hero. A real one in the army. But then Mama had gone to work, a lot of work, and she always had tired lines around her eyes.
The lines were gone today.
“You’ll like it here, sweetheart,” her mama said. “I promise. I found us a new family.”
She didn’t want a new family.
“Come. You have to meet him.” Her mama pulled her past wicker furniture and down a long hallway. Some people sat along the way, their eyes closed, their legs crossed. It was weird, and she had to be careful not to step on them.
They reached a room at the end, and her mama knocked.
“Enter.” It was a man’s voice, but it sounded funny.
Her mama moved inside, her step almost a hop. “Prophet. I’d like you to meet my daughter.”
The man looked a little bit like a movie star. He wore white pants and a tank top, and his hair curled to his shoulders. His eyes were a light brown, almost gold, and they looked her up and down. His expression went from a small smile to total concentration. “Hello, Mary.”
She looked up at her mama. “My name isn’t Mary.”
Her mom tightened her hold, and it hurt a little bit. “We all get new names here. It’s a new start, sweetheart.”
