Page 33 of Bait and Switch
Fuck off. If lots of things.
If he wanted to gain anything close to respect from Casey Lundin. Which he did. Which irritated him but also meant that the filthy and probably flea-ridden cat horking down dry kibble was staying with him for the immediate future.
“You need a bath.”
The cat looked up at the sound of his voice and gave him a look that telegraphedYou and what army?
“It’s gonna happen. Not tonight, but it’s gonna happen.”
While the cat ate—looking a bit like a dragon hunched around its hoard, guarding it against hairy-footed creatures—Gabe dug around for something soft for it to sleep on. It wasn’t as if he had spare blankets sitting around, but he dug up one last bath towel and decided that the sacrifice was worth it. The thing could be washed or burned later. Folding it into a thick square, he set it by the food dish and then pondered a cat box before deciding it had lived outside for a while and knew what to do. Hopefully.
“Good night, cat.”
It was going to need a name if it decided to stick around. Because there was that too. The cat had an air of arrogant independence that told Gabe anything it did—eat, sleep, pee in the right place—was its choice and had nothing to do with Gabe’s approval.
“Fine, I get the message. We’ll see how this goes.” Talking to a cat was probably some kind of slippery slope to madness, but at this point, who was going to know? He was a bachelor living aboard a rickety sailboat with no “visible means of support” and only Elton Cox at his back. Who cared if he talked to a cat.
The ice cream he and Casey had shared maybe didn’t count as dinner, but after the past day and a half, Gabe was exhausted and too tired to make anything. Not even on the stove he hadn’t had a chance to use yet.
Leaving the cat to its own devices, he ducked his head, stepped into the cabin, and changed into a pair of thick cotton sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. He left his regular clothes on one of the closet shelves with a note-to-self that he needed to do a couple loads of laundry.
Glancing out the window again, he saw that it was no longer snowing. Good. Maybe the temperatures would warm up a bit because even with a working heater, the temperature on theTickettended to vacillate.
“Goodnight, cat.”
Crawling into the bunk, he lay back and listened to the sounds he was starting to get used to—ripples lapping against the hull, the crack of the lines against the mast, the creak of the lumber that had been forced into boat shape. His brain, too busy for immediate sleep, kept going over what had happened that day and what he’d learned about his ex.
Had Peter grown up playing in the island’s parks? Had he run barefoot across the rocks, barnacles, and oyster shells that seemed to be what Heartstone had to offer when it came to beaches? Gabe imagined a younger Peter at the grocery store, waiting in line for soft-serve ice cream or hanging out at the Pizza Joint with high school friends. Did he have siblings?
Gabe had no idea.
The awful truth was that he’d never known Peter at all. They’d been two stupid ships in the night that anchored close together for a while but never bothered to share anything real about themselves. On Gabe’s part, not sharing was a lifetime habit. Growing up under Heidi’s influence meant he knew better than to share much personal information even when he wanted to. That was how you got burned. That was how people found you after you’d dumped a con. He snorted and rolled onto his side.
Likely, when he and Peter had bumped into each other at the networking event, Peter had recognized Gabe as a like-minded soul. He’d correctly figured Gabe would be safe because he wouldn’t ask any uncomfortable questions. Say, questions about his childhood, etcetera. And Gabe hadn’t. He hadn’t bothered toask any fucking thing, not even a question where Peter’s answer would’ve been a lie.
“Fuck, I’m an asshole.”
Out in the main cabin, there was a heavy thump, and after listening for a second, he realized it had been the cat. It must’ve jumped up on something, maybe the bench seat or windowsill. Was it sitting on the sill, peering out into the night, being a watch-cat? With thoughts of feral cats and the events of the past couple of days swirling in his head, Gabe finally fell asleep and into uneasy dreams.
At first, he was back in the Central District of Seattle, running from the growling watchdog and its handler. But then, as dreams inexplicably do, Peter was calling to him from the other side of a short fence, not the chain-link he’d been racing for. There was an open gate at the far end and Peter was mouthingThis way. Gabe veered Peter’s direction and then the dog was gone. Now they were running down the Riddle Bay dock as if the gate had led right to Heartstone and the marina. Peter was moving fast, and it was Gabe’s turn to call out for him, to tell him he needed to stop, that the dock was slick with snow and ice and he would slip into the cold water. But also, as is the way with some dreams, he formed the words but couldn’t make a sound. Peter couldn’t hear him and was going to go into the icy water.
“Stooopp,” Dream Gabe hissed. Fear forced the words out just as something heavy landed in the center of his chest. His eyes popped open, and he met the panicked emerald gaze of the cat. It mewed and clawed at his chin as if ordering him to wake up.
“Wha—?” But the rest of his question went unasked as Gabe’s nose twitched and the acrid scent of smoke filled his nostrils.
Fire.
Fuck. The dock was no place for a fire, too much flammable shit. It was almost winter, so it couldn’t be chalked up to sometourist having an illegal bonfire on the closest beach. This time of year, it was only Casey and now, Gabe out here.
“Shit.”
The cat made to dart off, but Gabe managed to grab it. Quickly, he wrapped the squirming animal in his blanket so it couldn’t claw him to shreds. He’d ask forgiveness later. Tucking the animal against his chest, he ran into the cabin and peeked out the dockside window.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
Across the way, theShangri-Lawas already fully engulfed in flames. And if that wasn’t terrifying enough, footprints in the crusty snow led over toThe Golden Ticket. A creaking sound alerted him to a shadowy figure dockside lurking near the stern. Thankful he’d left his work boots where they were easy to find and hard to trip over, Gabe jammed his feet into them and popped open the window.
“Hey!” he yelled. “What the fuck! Get the hell out of here!”
