Deadly Gamble

Tucker didn’t react. Not to Nick, not to the cat.

They might as well have been invisible.

“He can’t see us,” Nick said.

“Shit,” I said.

Tucker gave me a wounded look. “I didn’t expect you to be glad to see me,” he said, “but you don’t have to swear.”

This from a guy who hung out in a biker bar when he wasn’t on duty.

“He’s right,” Nick said smugly. “It’s very unladylike to curse.”

“Shut up!” I snapped.

Tucker squinted. “What?”

I felt heat sting my cheekbones. “Never mind.” I glanced at Chester, who was grooming himself again. I won’t go into the details. After all, I wouldn’t want to come off as unladylike or anything.

“Never mind?” Tucker retorted. “First you ask me in for a grilled cheese, then you—”

“Just never mind,” I said, rubbing my temples. “You didn’t drop off a cat earlier today, did you?”

“Drop off a cat?”

I was losing patience, and possibly hemorrhaging brain cells at the same time. “Can we just stop doing the echo thing?”

“It’s very annoying,” Nick submitted.

I bit back another “Shut up.” Said nothing, because that seemed safest.

“Mojo, what the hell are you talking about?” Tucker demanded.

“You haven’t—well—seen a cat around? A white one, with blue eyes and a fluffy tail?”

Tucker crossed to me, took me gently but resolutely by one arm and squired me to the couch. “Sit down,” he said, somewhat after the fact. “Put your head between your knees or something.”

Nick chuckled.

I glared at him. Tucker caught me and followed my gaze. And saw nothing, of course.

“What’s going on, Mojo?”

“It’s been a difficult day.” More truth. My God, I was getting good at it.

“I’ll get you some water,” Tucker decided. He looked pretty worried, and that pleased me. When he went into the kitchen, I waved at Nick to get out.

He must have been running on alkaloid. Not even a flicker.

I heard the refrigerator door open, close again.

A pause followed.

“Mojo?”

I tried to sound normal. “Yes?”

“How come there’s a plate of tuna on the floor?”

Nick gave me a pointed, how-will-you-get-out-of-this-one look.

“Go screw yourself,” I told him.

Tucker appeared in the kitchen doorway, with a bottle of water in one hand. “Did you say something?”

I smiled endearingly. “No,” I lied. Hell, it’s just easier to do what comes naturally.

“So what’s with the fish?” Tucker pressed.

“I was sort of hoping to get a cat,” I said.

Chester nestled against my side, purring. I just barely caught myself before I would have stroked his back.

“O—kay,” Tucker said.

I went for perky. “Do you still want that grilled cheese?”

Tucker looked around the room and, for a second or so, I thought he might have sensed something. “No,” he decided. “I think you need to get out for a while. How about a steak and some vino at my place?”

I wanted to go home with Tuck. I really wanted to go. He was a great cook and an even better lover, but there were solid reasons for the decision we’d made. He was still entangled with his ex-wife, and I didn’t want to be Transition Woman. Hot sex, easy promises, and then either back to the old setup or on to a new one. And here’s me, in the middle, trampled.

With most guys, that experience would have been a mere bummer. With Tucker, it might mean checking into Heartbreak Hotel and never checking out again.

“Bad idea,” I said. “Steak, vino and your place, I mean. For reasons previously stated.”

“Bad idea for a lot of reasons,” Nick interjected.

Shut the frick up, I thought fiercely, smiling tenderly at Tucker, and I think Decease-o picked up on the brain waves, because he looked insulted and tugged at his shirt cuffs, the way he always did when he was miffed.

Tucker sighed. His broad shoulders sloped slightly. “Listen, Mojo, I know we agreed—”

“To be friends,” I finished for him.

“Friends,” Nick scoffed.

I ignored him. I’d tell him off later, if his batteries didn’t run down before Tucker left.

Chester nudged me again. It was harder to ignore him.