Home to a tiny turd.
“Recognize it?”
From her vantage point, it had no visible markings and looked like well, shit. She took a few steps forward, then thought better of it.
“Do I recognize the piece of shit lying on your rug?”
“You should, as it belongs to a friend of yours.”
Oh, turd. “He’s—he’s here? Where? Is he scared?”
“No, he’s not scared. He’s using my home as a toilet.” Furious, he rubbed his forehead. “Could you explain to me why there is a shitting cat, a suitcase full of clothes, and what looks like a makeshift bed in a storeroom at Score Property?”
Emma had heard that in moments like this your life flashes before your eyes, and while that may be true, she would have hoped the recap would be more pleasant. She definitely could have done without the memory of her father being hauled away by the cops for the fifth or tenth time, or the moment she found Daisy unconscious on the bathroom floor with a needle dangling from her arm. And the more recent memory of coming home from work two days ago to find her locks had been changed by her douche bag of a landlord could die and go to hell.
Staying in an unused storeroom below Score Property’s offices with broken printers, ancient shredders, and fifties-era metal fans while she was “between” apartments had never been part of her life plan, but sometimes you had to make do. Ray’s constant demands had tapped out her savings, and as the months had worn on, and her earnings at the club hadn’t materialized to Ray’s satisfaction, she’d given more and more of her regular salary over. The result was a slip further into debt until she couldn’t make rent.
The only bill she couldn’t surrender was her phone. She needed it to stay in touch with Daisy, and it was the one thing Brody would be suspicious of if she no longer had it. He liked to check in when he had things he needed her to pick up on the way to work.
Brody was speaking, no doubt asking very legitimate questions about how it had come to pass that a hobo camp had been set up in his backyard, but she was no longer paying attention to him. Moving around, she hunkered down and peered under the furniture. Fear placed her on the defensive.
“You’d better not have frightened him. Kevin is very highly strung.”
“Your cat’s called Kevin?”
Ignoring him, she crept along the edges of the sofa on her knees, searching for her frightened kitty. “Kevin, where are you?” A pair of demonic eyes stared out at her from beneath a white Barcalounger.
“There you are! Here, baby, come to Mama.”
Kevin hissed. Emma sensed another bowel movement in his immediate future.
“Please, Kev. I’m here now. I’m sorry I left you for so long.” Over her shoulder, she found Brody riveted to her hitched-high ass.
“Really?”
“Yet again, you’re shoving your ass in my general direction and questioning my reaction.”
Okay, she’d give him that.
Kevin chose her moment of distraction to make a dash for it and whizzed by her. With surprising reflexes, Brody caught Kevin and bundled him in his arms. Her terrified kitty struggled and scratched.
“God, I hate cats,” Brody said absently, but he held a firm grip. Not overly tight, but solidly enough to calm Kevin’s squirming little body.
“He doesn’t do well around strangers. Especially when they profess hatred for his species.”
“So you keep him locked up in a storeroom with a suitcase for company? It seems you have more revelations to amaze me with, Emma, and you’d better start now.”
Instead of coming clean, she sidestepped like the pro she was. “How did you find him?”
“One of the security guys heard something and when he investigated, the cat went a little nuts.”
“How nuts?” She stared at Kevin, dreading what she was going to hear.
“To hear Security’s take on it, he aimed for the jugular like the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.”
“The what?”
That adorable crimp she wanted to smooth with her tongue appeared between Brody’s eyes. “Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There’s this scene where an innocent-looking bunny attacks King Arthur and his knights…” He trailed off with a cough. “Your cat attacked and when Security finally got him under control, they discovered a suitcase with your name on the label and assorted shredded clothing.”
Oh, Kevin.
“He also pissed all over them.”
“Kev, I was about to come visit you with—” The full force of Brody’s words struck her. “Did you say he pissed all over my clothes? After he shredded them?”
“I so hate to be nosy, Emma, but maybe you could tell me how your insane feline and ripped-up, cat-piss-stained clothing came to be hanging tight with a bunch of obsolete office equipment in your place of work?”
“It’s complicated.”
No shit, his expression said before he added a brusque, “Explain.”
“I live in a garden apartment and it flooded a week ago.”
“There’s been no rain.”