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“Just go! You can’t stay here! You have to go!”
Again, there was nothing. I reached down and picked up a magazine, tossing it toward the sofa. “I said go!”
This was perfect.
Ravage would be there any minute, and I was being held hostage by a stupid rat. I’d spent an hour trying to make myself look sexy, and now I was on the coffee table, throwing stuff at a bloodthirsty rodent. Frustrated, I shouted again, “Get out now!”
“Emery?” I heard Ravage knock. “You okay in there?”
Before I could stop myself, I screeched, “Help!”
The doorknob turned and rattled, and when that didn’t work, Ravage burst through the door, looking like he was ready to take someone out. His gaze dropped from my face to the hem of my nightie, then snapped right back up with an expression that looked like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but it landed, low and warm, in the pit of my stomach. His brows furrowed with concern. “What’s going on?”
“Watch out!” I pointed to his feet. “He’s right there.”
“Who?”
“The rat!”
“A rat?” Ravage looked down at the floor, scanning the room as he asked, “Where?”
“Under the sofa.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! I just saw it.” I pointed to the sofa. “He was right there a second ago.”
“I don’t see him.”
“Well, he’s here! I promise you that.” There was another blur over by the recliner, and I screamed, “There! He’s over there!”
Ravage’s head turned just in time to see the little gray blur scurry across the floor and slip beneath the chair. He turned his attention back to me, and he was smiling like the Cheshire cat. “That’s your rat?”
“It’s not funny, Ravage!” I hissed. “You have to get him.”
“Well, first, that’s not a rat… That’s a field mouse that’s not even big enough to be called a mouse.”
“I don’t care what you want to call it. He’s in my apartment, and I don’t want him here.” I wrapped my arms around my waist, hugging myself. “It could have the plague or rabies. One bite, and we’re dead.”
“I think you’re being a bit dramatic there, doll.”
“Get it, Ravage!”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll get it.” He glanced at the clock, and then at me. “How long have you been standing up there?”
“Long enough!”
“Um-hmm.” He walked over to the kitchen, poured me a glass of wine, and brought it over to me. “This wasn’t really what I had planned for the night.”
“A big ditto to that.” I took the glass and took a long sip. “If I’d known I had a stupid mouse, I would’ve started drinking a long time ago.”
“Definitely dramatic.”
“Hey! I’m under distress.”
“I see that.”
