Page 89 of Big Bad Wolfe

“Battery Operated Boyfriend.”

He choked, spewed coffee.Holy shit.

Unsure whether he was amused or insulted, he coughed, sucked in air. Leaving a woman unsatisfied wasnothow he rolled.

Checkmate, Wolfe.

Because any response to her statement in either direction would land him in the hot zone.

A brisk knock on the front door pulled his balls out of the firing line.“There’s your dad.”

But it wasn’t Dean at the door. Mia entered wearing a troubled expression and carrying a big box exquisitely wrapped in silver and white wedding bells paper and topped with a lavish sparkling silver bow. “Hi. I need to talk to you guys.”

“Mia, you shouldn’t have,” Jillian said, indicating the gift.

“I didn’t.” Mia handed the box to Jillian. “It was on your front doorstep.”

Jillian read the attached tag. “‘Jillian, wishing you many more special days like this one. All your work at the Center never goes unnoticed.’Awww.The kids must’ve chipped in for a group gift.”

She carried it to the sofa. Tugged apart the bow, eagerly opened the wrapping, lifted the lid off the box. A ragged gasp tore out of her, her face bleaching deathly pale.

“Jillian?” Zane strode across the room. “What—”

“OhGod!”she cried, shoving the box away. “Oh myGod!”

The box fell off the sofa, and a mangled white furry body soaked in grisly red tumbled out onto the carpet.

Mia made a gagging sound.

Jillian reeled. “A-Aragorn. Th-they k-killed my—”

Zane caught her as she burst into tears and her knees gave out. He held her close, but he was staring at the grim mess. “No. No,wait a sec.”

He sat a sobbing Jillian on the sofa, bent to examine the body. “It’s not him. It’s not even a real cat.” He touched the still-sticky red, rubbed it between his fingertips. Sniffed. “It’s a stuffed toy cat ripped apart … with paint on it.”

He knelt in front of Jillian, who had her arms wrapped tight around her middle and was rocking herself. “Jillian, it’s fake.” He embraced her. “It’s not a real cat.Jillian, it’s not Aragorn.”

She dragged in a shuddering breath. Then another. “A-are y-you-sure?”

“Positive.” He rubbed her back. “Easy, now, sweetheart. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

“W-where is he, then? A-Aragorn. H-have you seen him this m-morning?”

“Not yet, but he’s not my biggest fan. I’ll go check—”

“No,” Mia said. “I’ll go.”

Zane glanced up at his friend. Her face was sickly green and she was shaking, but her spine was stiff and anger tightened her fine features. He half rose. “You need to sit down yourself. Here—”

“Stay with Jillian, Zane.” Mia’s chin jutted at the familiar stubborn angle. “I’ll find the cat. He likes me better anyway.” She stalked away, calling Aragorn’s name.

“C-Casey,” Jillian stuttered. “If he comes home and sees this … I need to clean it up.”

“I’ll clean it up,” Zane replied in a low voice, again rubbing her back. “I need to preserve the evidence correctly anyhow. You just relax … and breathe.”

He held her for another few minutes until she steadied. He collected and bagged the evidence. After stashing it in the garage, he spot-cleaned the rug with carpet cleaner Jillian had under the sink.

She watched him, lips trembling. “Is the paint coming out?”

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