reflected there.
Marc stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He seemed unsure if he wanted to commit himself further by stepping into the room, and his reluctance to impose upon her was twice as appealing as his tough guy facade.
“Here,” she said, shoving the towel at him.
He hesitated, his eyes on the way her wet tank top molded to her chest. “I think you need it more than I do,” he said gruffly.
She didn’t have to glance down to know the circles of her nipples were revealed by the damp fabric. She could read it in his hot gaze. Clenching her hands into fists, she whirled away from him, storming up the staircase to change her shirt.
Outside the door to her bedroom, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Someone had been in her house. Someone had…“Oh God,” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Marley.”
In the middle of the bed, the cat was stretched on its back, spread-eagled, tied to the wrought-iron posts with black thread. Its coat was dark with congealed blood, and it appeared to have been disemboweled.
“Oh my God,” she repeated, nausea rising to her throat.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Marc pushed her back against the open door, putting his body in front of hers protectively. “Go outside,” he said after looking into the bedroom. “I’ll check the rest of the house.”
She nodded, tearing her eyes away from the mutilated cat. Above the bed, a newspaper clipping was pinned to the wall with a large kitchen knife. She didn’t need a closer look to know what it depicted. Shuddering, she navigated the stairs on weak, rubbery legs.
Marc waited until she was safely outside before moving. Feeling numb, she closed the front door behind her and hugged her arms around herself until he came out again.
“It wasn’t your cat,” he said.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see the horrifying image.
“Your cat is under the bed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Grumpy-faced little calico, right?”
“Tortoiseshell,” she corrected, intensely relieved.
“I have to go.”
“You-what?”
“Lacy and some others are on the way.”
She blinked at him in confusion. “Aren’t they close by? Watching? How could they have let this happen?”
“Your lawyer’s cease and desist order put a halt to surveillance this morning.”
“I didn’t know.”
His expression indicated he thought otherwise. “Don’t go back inside until they get here,” he suggested, then got in his car and drove away, his tires making slick tracks in the dark, still-wet street.
Detective Lacy and two uniformed officers gave her house a perfunctory search, using the bare minimum of effort, resources and congeniality.
Sidney gathered that Greg’s oh-so-helpful interference had not endeared her to the Oceanside Police Department.
The newspaper, knife and thread the perpetrator used were hers. Other than the dead cat, there was no evidence of a break-in. One of the officers took a few photographs, another dusted for prints, and after Sidney offered to take care of the carcass, they left.
As soon as they were gone, Sidney locked and relocked all the windows and the doors, checked and rechecked them, ran her hands over every edge and corner, searching for the point of entry. Finding nothing, she also felt around, groping furniture and rummaging through shelves, looking for an impression of the cat-killing vandal.
If he’d worn gloves, that explained the lack of fingerprints, but had he also done it to thwart her? Then again, how could he know she used her sense of touch for psychic readings?
The newspaper article had maligned her character and attacked her integrity, but it hadn’t revealed that particular secret.
Sidney secured Marley in a pet carrier, afraid she would try to hide again or run away, and went about the unpleasant task of dealing with the remains. She cut the makeshift bonds and folded the limp, lifeless body into a heavy-duty garbage bag, then stripped the bed. Into another bag went the sheets, pillow covers, mattress pad and even her beloved chenille blanket. Thankfully the mattress itself wasn’t damaged.
The bag of linens went in the trash, the cat in her freezer. It would have to keep until tomorrow when she would drop it off at Vincent Veterinary Clinic.
That done, she decided to clean and sanitize every square inch of her house. She felt dirty, just standing inside it, almost as if the villain had soiled her belongings the same way he’d soiled the ladies’ room at Guajome Lake Park.
She scrubbed down the floors, walls, bathrooms, windows and countertops. She sprayed the mattress, pillows and couch cushions with disinfectant. When the doorbell rang she was dusting the top of the bookshelf. Sidney was so startled by the sound she almost fell off the chair she was standing on.
It was Marc. Folding her arms over her chest and tapping her foot, she made it clear his presence was unwelcome.
He took in her frazzled appearance, from the dusting rag in her gloved hands to her hair, covered by a hillbilly handkerchief, and had the nerve to smile. “How’s your cat?”
“Which one?”
“The live one.”
“She’s edgy. Like me. What do you want?”
“I’ve been assigned to protect you.”
“Spy on me, you mean?”
“No. That would be grounds for a lawsuit.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Look, Sidney, I can make sure anyone who comes in here has to get by me first, but I can’t do it from outside.”
“And if I refuse?”
He sighed. “Then I guess I’ll wait for you to go to sleep, jimmy that loose latch again and come in anyway.”
“What loose latch?”
He winked at her. “Let me in, and I’ll fix it.”
God, he was infuriating. And so charming, when he wanted to be, that she felt some of her anger seep away. “Where will you sleep?”
He breezed by her. “I’ll take the couch.”
She shut the door behind him. “I was going to sleep there. My bed is…” Her throat closed up around the words.
His eyes wandered over her face. “Have you eaten?”
She shook her head, swallowing back tears.
“You need to,” he decided, striding into her kitchen and browsing the fridge. “What have you got?”
“There’s some fresh meat in the freezer,” she said, unable to stop the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her.
He looked. “Very funny. Why is it in there?”
“I’m taking the body to Bill tomorrow.”
“For an autopsy?”
“Just a disposal,” she said, coming up behind him. “Why? Do you think he could find out something?”
“It’s worth a try.” He transferred the plastic-wrapped body from the freezer to the refrigerator. “Freezing can alter the evidence, disrupt the consistency of the organs, change the weight of body fluids.”
She suppressed a fresh wave of nausea.
He slammed the fridge shut. “Let’s go out to eat.”
