Sarah lay on the sofa. Her stomach growled hungrily, but she was reluctant to move. It would be different if a feast awaited her, but she was carefully rationing the remainder of the peanut butter Ritz crackers and carrots. Had three of her crackers this morning with half a withered carrot. Would have three more and the other half of the carrot tonight. She had to make her food last until she got paid. Charlie had gobbled his kibble the second it hit the bowl and was now in a happy stupor. He’d wedged the lower half of his body between her arm and her body, and the upper half of his torso was draped across her chest. He kneaded her softly, purring up a storm while he nuzzled his face against her neck. Charlie had ignored her when she’d returned to the apartment. Pretended he could care less whether she came or went. But after he was fed and she’d flopped on the sofa, he’d jumped up, snuggled in, the day’s abandonment forgiven.

She’d heard his royal highness’s car arrive a few minutes ago. Found she was holding her breath slightly, hoping he’d like what she had done. She’d worked like a dog. Would be aching tomorrow, for sure, but it had been worth it. There was something satisfying about making his home shine. She’d felt almost as if the house were thanking her. She yawned, rolled her shoulders to release some of the tension. Charlie was not amused. Stopped purring, gave a little warning growl, unsheathing his claws to hold her in place.

Boom . . . boom . . . boom! Someone knocked on the door, startling the two of them. Charlie’s claws went from partially extended to clamping on. “Ouch, Charlie!” Sarah disengaged his sharp nails and dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor.

Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . .

“Hold your horses,” Sarah muttered, rising to her feet. “What do you want to bet,” she said to Charlie as she crossed to the door, “that he’s not here to thank me most graciously for the work I’ve done?” She swung the door open. Mick was standing on the landing, surrounded by darkness. There was an angry, wounded look in his eyes, like a wild creature caught in the leg trap. “Yes?”

“Where’s my food?” he demanded indignantly.

“Your what?”

“You heard me.” He set his jaw, as if daring her to take a shot.

Okay. So, she was officially working for a paranoid madman. She exhaled slowly. “I didn’t steal your food. I cleaned your fridge, but the shelves were already empty. Perhaps your friends cleared out your fridge before they left.”