Olivia knew her words were the right ones. Chase narrowed her eyes and twisted her mouth to the side and then glanced around at the dimming light in the living area. Then she glanced back at the kitchen, at the closed cabinet harboring the thankfully no longer hissing feline. “Fine. I’m not scared to stay here.”
Then Chase put her bag back on the table and turned to Zeke. “Rain check on the chili, handsome?”
“I can do better than that. I’ll bring over some wood for the fireplace and enough chili for you both and won’t even ask about what you two did at Foghat’s.”
“Our hero,” Chase said.
“Nah, just a guy.” Zeke flushed, and that’s when Olivia realized she might have a problem with these two.
CHAPTER NINE
The absolute quiet of the cabin paired with springs that poked Chase every time she shifted her position on the musty couch had kept her from falling back asleep after she first woke. So when enough milky light streamed into the living room for her to see exactly how ugly the place was, Chase uncurled from the warmth of the sleeping bag and foggily headed toward the kitchen to see if there was a coffeepot.
Because she needed coffee like an addict needed—wait, scratch that—she just needed something to clear her head and chase away the chill. Coffee would do the trick.
Not that she actually knew how to make coffee. Well, unless it was Keurig. And she’d lay down a hundo that there wasn’t a Keurig in this joint.
Besides, if she banged around in the kitchen long enough, Olivia would probably wake up and make coffee for her. She squinted toward Olivia, who lay perfectly still, on her back, arms crossed like she was a waxed figure in a museum.
Come to think of it, that’s what the woman reminded Chase of—a perfect mannequin maneuvered into positions that were supposed to mimic a real person but didn’t quite succeed.
Chase tiptoed out of the living room in the fuzzy socks she’d tossed into her bag at the last minute only because Olivia had said to bring a jacket. Now she knew why. Brrr! The fire had long died in the grate, and the chilly morning air caused prickles to skate on her skin as she moved toward the kitchen.
The weak morning light revealed a tired-looking kitchen that had been modern maybe in the 1980s. Yellow Formica countertops, white appliances, and a linoleum floor that bore rust marks from long-ago chairs were the good things about the kitchen. Stained window treatments and strange wall art shaped like owls reminded her of something from a Hitchcock film. And then Chase noticed the open cabinet door, which meant . . .
She looked frantically around only to find the beast sitting above her head on top of the refrigerator.
“Holy shit,” she squeaked, moving back from the fridge, keeping her gaze on the cat studying her unblinkingly from its perch, its tail curled around its feet. Chase wasn’t sure if it was merely observing her or if a ferocious attack was nigh. Cats didn’t show their hands. Or was that paws? Too bad they didn’t have opposable thumbs, because they’d kick ass in a poker game. No tells from this creepy cat.