Kitty Takes a Holiday (Kitty Norville 3)

“You take it one day at a time, Ben. Some days are easier than others. But you just have to work through it.”

He scowled. “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of the losers on your show.”

That stung like a kick in the gut. My callers weren’t losers—they were my audience. My fans. I wanted to defend them. But yeah, they had problems. A guy like Ben? He didn’t have problems. He was a tough guy.

“Then stop acting like a loser,” I said.

“That’s rich, coming from someone who ran off to the woods with her tail between her legs—”

I took a step toward him, teeth bared in a silent growl, my hands clenched into fists. He flinched back in a sudden panic, jerking the chair off its front legs. We stared at each other for a moment—I dared him to take me. I dared him to say what he was thinking.

He looked down. Then he pulled his hands through his hair and leaned his elbows on the table. “What the hell’s happening to me?” he muttered.

I turned away. I knew what was happening to him, but how did I explain it all? A whole new set of body language and emotions—I’d been living with them for years now. I took them for granted.

“Right, you two are even freaking me out,” Cormac said, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. He stood. “I’m taking a walk.”

“Cormac.” Ben reached across the table, stopping him for a moment. The tableau held until Ben took a breath and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for saddling you with this.”

The hunter looked away, and his face tensed, pursing into an expression I couldn’t read. Some emotion was there, that he was trying desperately to hide.

“No,” he said. “I’m the one who got you into this mess. I’m sorry.”

As he had so many times before during the past week, he walked out the door. Taking a walk. It was how he coped with the long, awkward silences.

Ben’s arm still lay draped across the table, and he sighed, almost bowing his head to its surface. “I knew he was going to do that. I knew he was going to blame himself.”

I went to Ben—slowly this time, nonthreateningly. He glanced sideways at me, warily, but didn’t flinch. I touched his shoulder, held my hand there. Didn’t say anything for once, but I smiled when he leaned into the touch.

Miracle of miracles, Ben listened to me. He went back to work. Borrowed my phone to check his voice mail, used my computer and Internet connection to check his

e-mail, replied to a couple of panicked messages from clients. He had his own practice, small enough for one person to run but enough to make a living, fully in keeping with his independent character. Evidently, he’d decided that if he was going to live, he’d better get back to work. Werewolves still had to pay the rent. The human half did, anyway.

We had venison for dinner again. That stuff never got old. Though I was beginning to think I should invest in a grill, so we didn’t have to keep sticking them under the broiler. Cormac ate leaning up against the counter, Ben and I sat at the table. The meal felt almost normal. Nobody was staring at anybody, nobody asked to get shot, and Cormac had put his guns away.

We talked about my evil stalker.

“How long’s this been going on?” Ben asked.

“About ten days. The first one happened right before you got here,” I said. “Okay, so whoever has it in for me knows what I am. Why didn’t something happen last night? Why didn’t they go after the wolf half?”

“They’re scared,” Ben said. “You’re strongest at the full moon. They’re not going to want to confront that.”

Cormac said, “He’s right. Full moon’s the worst night to go after a werewolf. You wait until the morning after. Get ’em while they’re sleeping it off.” He smiled.

Even Ben shook his head at that one. “You just got a whole hell of a lot creepier.”

“Me? I haven’t changed a bit.” He gave Ben a hard look.

I wasn’t going to let that topic go any further than it already had. “They didn’t come after me this morning. They were scared enough to stay inside last night, but didn’t know to come looking for me this morning.”

“They don’t know what they’re doing.” Ben looked to Cormac for confirmation.

The hunter tapped the flat of his steak knife thoughtfully against his opposite hand. “If they’d wanted to kill you all it would take was a sniper sitting up on the road. Deputy Rosco could do it. They’re just trying to scare you into leaving.”

“So who is ‘they’? Or he, or she, or it?” I said.

Ben continued the brainstorming. “Someone who doesn’t want to kill you and doesn’t know what they’re doing.”