“Hell no!” Jax said, shocking me as he lit on my shoulder. “I’m not going to ride in no purse. I’ll be fine with Rex. Tink’s diaphragm, Dad. Where do you think I’ve been sleeping for the last four days?”

“Tink’s diaph—” Jenks sputtered. “Watch your mouth, young man.”

This was not happening.

Jax dropped down to snuggle in the hollow of Rex’s tummy, almost disappearing in the soft kitten fur. Jenks took several breaths, his shoulders so tense you could crack eggs on them.

“We have to go,” I whispered. “We can talk about this later.”

Jenks nodded, and with the wobbling pace of a drunk made his way to the front of the exhibit, Jenks holding the kitten and me opening doors. The scent of books and carpet made the air smell dead as we crept into the gift shop. I fearfully looked for flashing red and blue lights outside, relieved at finding only a comforting darkness and a quiet cobble street.

I said nothing when Jenks awkwardly got his wallet out from his back pocket with one hand and left every last dollar of cash I had given him on the counter. He nodded respectfully to the camera behind the mirror, and we left as we had come in.

We didn’t see anyone on the way back to the parking lot, but I didn’t take one good breath until the van door slammed shut behind me. Fingers shaking, I started the engine, carefully backing up and finding my way to the strip.

“Rache,” Jenks said, eyes on the kitten in his arms as he broke his conspicuous silence. “Can we stop at that grocery store and pick up some cat food? I’ve got a coupon.”

And so it begins, I thought, mentally adding a litter pan and litter. And a can opener. And a little saucer for water. And maybe a fuzzy mouse or ten.

I glanced at Jenks out of the corner of my eye, his smooth, long fingers gentling the fur between Rex’s ears as the kitten purred loud enough to be heard over the van. Jax was cuddled between her paws, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. A misty smile came over me and I felt myself relax. We’d get rid of her as soon as we found a good home.

Ri-i-i-i-ight.

Ten

“He’s fine,” I said into my cell phone, stomach tight as Rex stalked Jax across the bed. The pixy was sitting dejectedly on the lamp shade, his feet swinging while his dad lectured him.

“How did you find him so quick?” Kisten asked, his voice thin and tiny from too many towers between us.

I took a breath to tell Jenks about the cat, but he bent without slowing his harangue to scoop up the orange ball of warrior-in-training and hold her close, soothing her into forgetting what she was doing. My held breath escaped and I paused to remember what I had been saying.

“He was at a butterfly exhibit.” I twisted in my seat by the curtained window, aiming the battered remote at the TV to click off the local ten o’clock news. There’d been no late-breaking story about intruders at the store, so it looked as if we’d be okay. I’d have been willing to bet that no one would even look at the camera records, despite the cash Jenks had left.