Meg put her hand on the door, in front of my face.
I didn’t have to look. I felt her glare, the heat radiating off her body. Her breath feathered against my cheek. She knew I knew. Things would never be the same with us.
If I didn’t react, she could stand there forever. She wanted me to react. She wanted to scare me. Where was T.J.? I didn’t dare turn to look to see if he was still in the living room.
For a split second I thought that maybe T.J. was in on all this as well, though on which side I couldn’t say. He wouldn’t stand up for me in a fight. Suddenly, t
he whole world was against me.
Meg spoke, her voice low. “If he ever has to choose between me and you, don’t think for a minute that he’ll pick you.” She meant Carl. She could have him.
“He won’t fight for you,” she continued. She grimaced, an expression of distaste. “He’s spineless.”
She may have been right. He was still in the bedroom, and if I screamed, I wasn’t sure he’d come to help me.
Whispering, I said, “I don’t want to fight you, Meg. I don’t want anything.”
“Nothing? Nothing at all?”
That wasn’t true. Gritting my teeth, I braced for her to hit me. “I want to keep the show.”
Her hand moved. I flinched, gasping. But she only touched my chin, then brushed her finger along my jaw before closing her fist and drawing away.
She opened the door for me and let me go.
T.J. was waiting at his bike, fiddling with some arcane bit of engineering.
“Can we go now?” I said, hugging myself.
“You okay? You’re shaking.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and mounted the bike. I crawled up behind him.
“Did you know Carl and Meg are fighting?”
“They’re always fighting.”
Not like this. I choked on the words. Closing my eyes, I hugged him tight.
I never watched the local TV news, so I didn’t have to work too hard to avoid watching it tonight, to see if Angela Bryant had filmed my better side or not.
But at 6:15 P.M. exactly, Ozzie called.
“Kitty. Did you know you’re on the news?”
Morbidly, I sort of hoped there’d be a plane crash or something that would bump a prostitute’s murder off the news entirely.
“I had a feeling,” I said tiredly.
“What’s up with that?”
“Didn’t the TV say anything?”
“They just said, and I quote, ‘Well-known radio personality Kitty Norville is involved with the investigation.’ That doesn’t sound too great. You didn’t—I mean, you’re not really involved, are you?”
“Geez, Ozzie, you really think I could do something like that?”
“I know you wouldn’t. But there’s that whole werewolf thing . . .”
I sighed. I couldn’t win. “I’m an unofficial consultant. That’s it.”