Chapter Ten
When I return, the dining room is empty.
Except for the cat, who sits and watches me with judgment in her gray eyes. Does she smell Bea’s desire in the air? Does she smell mine? Of course she does; she’s a cat. Why do I care? I can’t help but want her to like me, this scared little girl with razor-sharp claws.
I peek into the bedroom, but the white sheets are neat and tidy. I’m half-tempted to check behind the dresser, as if Bea might have shoved herself into a corner.
And then the music starts.
Like the kind that came streaming over the Internet, but far better than anything the tiny speakers in my phone could have reproduced. The sound draws me back through the living room to the other end of the penthouse.
I pause at the doorway, uncertain of my welcome.
Notes filter
