Page 50 of Herding Cat

“Hey, it was dangerous in there,” he said, gesturing at the warehouse, which was now nearly fully engulfed.

“I’m sure it was.” Cat chuckled and held Mae closer. “I wonder how the fire started.”

“Oh, matches,” Mae said, staring at the conflagration with something slightly resembling pride on her tiny features.

Cat gulped audibly. “Um, Mae...did you start that fire?”

In response, she pulled a box of wooden matches from her pocket and shook them like a maraca. “Mrs. Parsons says don’t play with matches, but I don’t see why. They came in very handy today. That man wanted to hurt you.” She wrapped her arms around Cat’s neck and squeezed.

For her part, Cat sent Garrett a horrified glance. “You started a fire to save me?”

Mae pulled back and set her palms on either side of Cat’s cheeks. “Yes. I could not let them hurt you.”

“But darling...you could have died.”

Surely she saw that? How utterly dangerous her remedy had been?

Or not.

“I’m swift.”

Cat blinked. “Swift?”

“Yes. I run fast. I knew I would get out before that fat man.” She waved to the lump on the pushcart, who was being attended to by Tate and Luke. Although interrogated was probably a better word. Whatever.

“Oh, Lord have mercy.”

Mae sent Cat a huge grin. “That’s what Mrs. Parsons says!”

“Does she? Imagine that.”

Yeah. Enough of this. Garrett was ready to move things along. “We should get you back to Mrs. Parsons—”

“Awww. But I was just having fun.”

“And get you back to the hotel.” He glowered at Cat.

For the first time in, well, forever, she agreed. “I could use a long bath after that.”

Well, hell. It took a while to evict that vision from his mind.

Tate and Luke agreed to stay at the site until the police came—even now the sirens were approaching—while Garrett borrowed the sedan and took Mae back to Mrs. Parsons.

It was a tearful parting, but Cat promised to come visit again tomorrow, which finally placated the little girl.

Hopefully tomorrow would be incident free.

And then he took Cat back to their new hotel. Took her up to her room. Drew her a bath and waited while she soaked.

And soaked.

And soaked.

When she was done soaking—finally—he took her to bed and made love to her like a man possessed. He needed to burn off the adrenaline of the day, the week, the mission. And she needed it too.

Unspoken in their passion was the painful acknowledgement that this would probably be the last time.

This was over. Or should be.