Page 40 of Avenging Angel

Even so, I was me.

And women were missing.

So I replied, “Yeah. Okay. Why not?”

* * *

It was later.

Luna was gone.

Cleo and I were lying on my bed.

I was in my nightie, on my back, upside down in bed, my heels resting on my scallop-topped, pale-yellow padded headboard.

Cleo had her butt aimed toward my face and her head on a pillow.

Ice queen mode during cuddle time, friendly puppy when a strange lady carrying a Hermès bag was walking out of my apartment toward us after breaking into it.

Figured.

I had my head turned to what I’d meticulously been building on my wall.

It had taken me a year after I’d cottoned on to what I thought was a pattern before I kicked it up to high gear.

But I was no detective.

I had a ton of info on that wall and zero idea what any of it meant.

“What the hell am I doing?” I muttered to myself.

My phone rang.

I reached for it on the pink, peach and yellow butterfly print comforter on my bed.

The screen told me it was an unknown number.

But I took the call because…

Why not?

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe.”

My belly dipped.

It was Cap.

I rolled to the side, into Cleo, and came face to face with a dog butt.

I lifted up on a forearm and looked at my Alexa on the nightstand.

It was ten to ten.

I fell again to my back and asked, “Is your thing over?”

“Yeah.”