“What do I have to do for you to give him to me? Safely?”
The confusion in his face cleared, and he shook his head. “You think you have to . . . why would you think you had to do something? You don’t have to do anything.”
“So you’re not threatening him to get me to do what you want?”
Jesus, if he hadn’t thought of using Squeaks to gain her cooperation, then she didn’t need to give him the idea.
Zander closed his eyes for a moment and she froze, waiting for what he was going to say, certain that he was going to hold Squeaks for ransom.
“No, Little Thief, I’m not going to hold him for ransom.” He tucked Squeaks in close to her. She grabbed the mouse with her hand and brought him to her nose without thinking, rubbing it back and forth.
It was something she always did to soothe herself, to make herself feel more at ease.
Then she realized what she’d just done. Her cheeks heated, and she closed her eyes, mortified.
“Does he have a name?”
She wasn’t looking at him.
“Little Thief, does your mouse have a name?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“What is it?”
“Squeaks.”
“That’s a very good name for a mouse.”
She thought so. She thought she’d been very clever when she’d given it to him.
“He looks like a well-loved mouse.”
“He is.” It was a risk telling him that. Giving him something over her. But then, she’d already shown her hand, hadn’t she?
“I want you to hold on tight to Squeaks while I lift you up, all right?”
“No, no, it’s not all right. Zander, no!” she cried out.
But in what she was coming to think was typical-Zander fashion, he ignored her and just did what he thought was best. Suddenly, she was in his arms and he was heading towards the door.
It took her a while to breathe through the pain, to fight the urge to vomit. And by the time she’d managed to bring herself back into her body, they were already in the parking lot.
“Wait! My stuff.”
“Honey will get it all. You didn’t have much.”
Was that a note of censure in his voice? Why would he care about what she did and didn’t have?
Another thought occurred to her as a door to a dark green van opened to let them in.
“Did Carl take his things? He had a khaki backpack,” she explained.
Zander didn’t even pause, just climbed into the back of the van and set her down on a bench seat.
Again, more pain engulfed her, and some heavy breathing ensued.
“She’s not going to vomit in my van, is she?” someone grumbled from the driver’s seat. “Someone get her a vomit bag. I don’t want a mess in my van, I just cleaned it.”