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  A little before four, Tabitha slid into the black lace teddy, resisting the urge to fondle her breasts through the lacy knit that stimulated her skin by mere touch. She looked good in black and knew it. A long camel-colored merino wool coat covered her modestly, even though Davey wouldn’t be on duty and the elevator would be unattended at so early an hour. She still felt no different and was really beginning to think the potion was impotent. Damn! All the planning for nothing.

  But she was already at Brenton’s door and she could always just either use the money excuse or throw caution to the wind and discard the coat and jump on Brenton. He had been stressed earlier so perhaps her attentions would be welcome.

  She knocked assuredly. There was only silence from within. She knocked harder but still no one stirred. Frustrated, Tabitha kicked the door hard enough to wake even the most dedicated sleeper. Nothing. Tabitha tried the door and of course it was locked securely. She returned to her room and tried calling Brenton’s emergency after-hours number. He didn’t pick up. A sudden thought occurred to Tabitha. What if he’d had some sort of reaction to the potion and was lying unconscious inside his suite?

  She controlled the impulse to overreact. It was about as useful as chasing her tail and not nearly as much fun. She calmed herself and thought about the next step. She called down at the desk and spoke to the night concierge. When had Mr. Calder last checked his messages? The concierge reported, not since yesterday afternoon but when he returned he would forward them.

  Tabitha’s ears perked up. Returned? Mr. Calder had left the hotel?

  Maurice, the night concierge, was patient. Yes, he had gone out an hour ago with two men and said he would be gone for a few days on business. He left no message for Miss Fenwick and no indication exactly when he would return. Only…

  Tabitha caught the hesitation in Maurice’s usually monotone falsetto. “What?” she insisted.

  Maurice had not liked the ilk of the men who accompanied Mr. Calder. They were not of his kind. They wore badly fitted suits and cheap cologne and reeked of cigars. Not the fine Cubans or Monacos, but the fat stogies found at the racetrack. Not to mention showing up at such an uncivilized hour and demanding access to Mr. Calder’s rooms. Tabitha could picture Maurice’s delicate nostrils flaring with disdain. Of course, he, Maurice, called up to Mr. Calder’s suite and to his surprise Mr. Calder had told Maurice to send up the men. Soon after they had all left together.

  Tabitha pondered on this after she had hung up. What the devil was going on with Brenton? He had acted like recouping the nine thousand dollars was the end-all of priorities and now he had simply left without notice. It was most peculiar. Tabitha smelled a rat and not the four-legged variety!

  There was no other recourse. She had to get into his suite and look around. Maybe he had left a note, forgetting she didn’t have a new key for his rooms. Or at the very least, perhaps he had left a clue for her. She definitely needed to do some prowling around. Before she hung up she asked Maurice if Mr. Calder had left a key copy for her at the desk. No?

  Well, Brenton was either under duress or something had come up that preceded the importance of the money. At least he didn’t appear to be ill from the potion. It really must have been impotent. Well, that was something to take up with Grandmother after this Brenton mystery was solved.

  It didn’t take long for Tabitha to hatch her next plan of action. She headed back up to the penthouse. She didn’t want to cause a ruckus by breaking the door in, but for her of course there was always another way.

  Tucked in an out of the way corner of the penthouse hall was a small walk-in supply closet. Since only Brenton and a handful of staff were allowed in the penthouse, this was left unlocked. It contained an assortment of mops, brooms and cleaning supplies.

  When Tabitha opened the door the pungent sharp aroma of Pine-Sol and lemony cleaner assailed her nostrils causing her to wince as her magnified sense of smell committed suicide and a sharp pain went through her sinus. She resisted the urge to take off running down the hall to escape the awful cacophony that raced through her body. Cleaning solvents were about as appealing as cat litter and were tantamount to sniffing glue. She tried not to twitch, knowing that was pure cat instinct and fought it down.

  In the corner of the supply closet was a ladder for reaching high places and a small toolbox with a hammer and assorted size screwdrivers. And most important, high above in the ceiling was the air conditioning and heating vent. Using the ladder to reach, Tabitha unswiveled the two screws holding the vent in place with a Phillips screwdriver. Then perched on the ladder she transformed and jumped into the crawlspace.

  Ugh, the dust and grime were despicable! Brenton had better appreciate this extra effort she was going to on his behalf. Never mind she had tried to drug him earlier that evening. That was beside the point. And what was really annoying was the fact she and Brenton should have been chasing each other around the room, hitting the sheets and doing to each other wonderfully mystical and flagrantly sexual things! Instead, Tabitha was crawling through a passageway of corrugated metal that was as cold as it was uninviting and creaky.

  Tabitha came to the first vent in the penthouse suite’s ceiling. Her elliptical pupils peered through the slats of the vent. Living room vent. Odd, all the lights were on in the room. She wanted the bedroom so she could jump down onto the nice soft bed. She kept going, glad of her small feline body that could maneuver easily in the compact space. When she reached the next vent she spied the king-size bed to the right, below. It would be an easy jump. But, the one thing Tabitha had forgotten was the screws on the outside of the vent. In her feline form she lacked the strength to dislodge the grill.

  Damn, she’d have to transfer to human form inside the duct. Ooh, it was going to be a tight fit! She growled as she changed, her hips wedging uncomfortably against the vent sides. She hated being dirty and this was nothing short of grungy! Never mind she was naked, as her clothes had slid to the floor of the supply closet when she changed into cat form. Her skin was streaked with dirt and a filmy oily substance from the corrugated metal. Her annoyance gave extra impetus to her punch as using the heel of her hand she crunched into the vent. It popped off and fell to the floor below; the screws flying in all directions as the soft ceiling fittings gave way.

  Tabitha launched herself out of the vent and bounced in human form onto the bed. The smell of Brenton rose from the covers reminding Tabitha of what she was missing. He’d better have a good excuse for this. Tabitha looked around the bedroom. The lights were on here as well. If Brenton had planned to be gone for a few days wouldn’t he have shut off the lights?

  Tabitha padded to the George III mahogany tallboy and standing on her tiptoes peeked inside the top drawers. Black and white Hugo Boss briefs were neatly folded inside along with rows of Calvin Klein socks in every shade of the rainbow and then some. One by one she pulled open drawers. Enrico Venturi dress shirts in bold dark colors and pastels neatly folded in tissue paper, as if just back from the cleaners, caught her eye. Crisp white Trussardi shirts that would need steaming to keep them wrinkle-free were stacked lovingly within. If anything was missing, it wasn’t in quantity as the drawers were all full.

  Tabitha entered Brenton’s temple of worship—his cedar paneled, built to specification, walk-in closet. Racks of dark Valenti and Canali cashmere and wool suits hung neatly like soldiers at inanimate attention. Brenton’s charcoal Emilio Yuste from Spain was in attendance as well as his Gianfranco Rossi gray sharkskin imported from Italy. On the opposite wall were the more informal pieces of Brenton’s stylish wardrobe; his Marc Jacobs denim-washed jeans and rust-colored tweed Zegna sportcoat and the only item Tabitha didn’t care for on Brenton, a houndstooth cashmere coat.

  A revolving rack held Versace, Armani and Charvet ties. A similar rack displayed DKNY, Baltazar and Brenton’s favored Versace Medusa Belt. Cubbyhole shoe shelves held Cole Haan croc slip-ons, Prada loafers and Gucci dress shoes in various colors. But the most alarming item of al
l was hanging front and center, a walnut brown Zegna rich napa leather jacket.

  Brenton never left that jacket behind when he went out. Ever! He swore he wanted to be buried in that jacket no matter if it went with whatever else he was wearing. And for a clotheshorse like Brenton, that was a bold statement. What the hell was going on?

  Tabitha left the closet almost reverently. Her danger senses were twitching on overkill. She spotted the golden tan Venturi shirt Brenton had been wearing when she had last seen him, thrown in a pile at the foot of the bed, carelessly as if he couldn’t be bothered before selecting another shirt. Now that was just like Brenton. He must have been in the process of changing clothes when Maurice had called up about his two visitors, then for whatever reason he had changed his mind and just left as is. Nothing seemed out of place in the suite and there were no signs of a struggle. Odd, Brenton’s cell phone was lying on the nightstand by the bed. He always took it with him, wherever he went, day or night.

  Thinking practically, Tabitha donned the tan shirt to cover her nakedness and leaving the vent panel on the floor, she went through the rooms and turned off the lights before exiting through the front door. As she clicked the door closed behind her the gleam of metal caught her eye in the large potted Neanthe Bella palm next to the entryway of the suite. On closer inspection it turned out to be Brenton’s TAG Heuer chronograph watch, the expensive timepiece tossed haphazardly or dropped into the palm. Nothing about this made any sense.

  Tabitha retrieved the watch and grabbed her clothes from the supply closet before returning to her room. She couldn’t stand the grime and oil on her person and spent the better half of an hour scrubbing herself clean in the shower. As dawn broke over the eastern sky Tabitha curled up on the bed, but sleep was elusive. The shirt of Brenton’s lay at the foot of the bed and Tabitha could still vaguely detect his scent on it even from that distance. She retrieved the shirt and cradled it to her, the spicy amber and cinnamon smell of Tuscany and Brenton’s own manly scent comforted her as she fell into an uneasy slumber wondering—where was Brenton?

  Chapter Five

  She couldn’t have slept for long as she awoke hot and clammy, too uncomfortable to ignore. Her breasts tingled, as she lay naked on top of the covers with only Brenton’s shirt covering her partially. In her sleep she must have rolled it on top of her. But why was she burning up? The soft silky material was in no way thick enough to keep her warm, nonetheless a raging inferno.

  She sat up and the shirt fell to her waist. It touched off a trail of sparks as it tumbled to her lap and landed across the top of her pubis. The heat was building again and now it centered in her mons. How much heat could she stand? she wondered, as suddenly a shaft of white-hot pain sent her shooting backward to lie prone again on the bed. The pain eased to a pleasant tingling inside her cunt that reflexively made her clench and release her vaginal muscles as if gripping a cock in the act of sex. The tingling became an electric sensation that made her whole body vibrate as if a dildo were inside her pulsing and making her shake in anticipation.

  The sleeve of Brenton’s shirt fell onto Tabitha’s labia and she screamed in a sudden orgasm that shook her from head to toe. The fire was not assuaged however and Tabitha writhed in agony of a sexual nature that begged for release. God, it felt so bad, yet so good! She must do something! Her hand grasped the shirt and she tried to move it aside to touch herself. But the shirt clung insidiously to her nether lips, seeming to feed from her. Tabitha grasped the other sleeve and brought it down, sliding it between her musky folds. The tingling began again. She worked the sleeve back and forth, seesawing it against her cleft. The heat began to intensify and she pushed the cuff inside her.

  Of its own volition her cunt contracted around the material and began to spasm in rapid succession. In her mind the shirt became a cock, soft as silk yet hard as a pulsing rocket invading her inner recesses, insistent and welcome but invasive and trespassing all at the same time. Tabitha didn’t want her contact with Brenton to be in this surrogate way but she was helpless to stop the impulse that drove her on. She swore it was Brenton’s cock hitting her womb as she shot upward to a sitting position and screamed with an orgasm that washed from her head to her toes and caused a gush of liquid to flow from her onto the shirt.

  Panting, Tabitha stared around her empty room. Had she been dreaming? The shirt was still half inside her, resting against her thighs. To her shock the burning was starting again. Tabitha grabbed the shirt and flung it off her body. Within seconds the heat dissipated and Tabitha was left in a state of post-coital bemusement, ashamed she had experienced an orgasm that left her former attempts at self-fulfillment far behind, yet she was alone and only Brenton’s shirt had brought about the reaction. What the hell was going on?

  There would be no further sleep for Tabitha and she rolled sluggishly out of bed, her limbs leaden and weighted down. Despite her two orgasms she still felt unfulfilled and irritable. There had been physical release but mentally she was wound as tight as a spring as if she had been merely teased. The eruption of orgasm was only skin deep and her soul still hungered with an emptiness that demanded to be assuaged. It was a feeling Tabitha compared to walking on an electrified tightrope that shocked you for walking yet you didn’t dare fall and were forced to endure the discomfort.

  The weak morning light indicated a heavy cloud layer as Tabitha showered and dressed in sage pleated pants and a coral knit tunic that highlighted her hair vividly. She contemplated her next move over cold cereal with whole milk. She more or less played with the cereal and lapped up the milk but she wasn’t very hungry only wanted to avoid a noisy complaining stomach.

  She walked through the hotel on her rounds, checking in at the front desk. Brenton hadn’t called or left any messages. Every little noise caused Tabitha to start and she knew if she were in cat form her hair would be standing on end. All her instincts told her something was wrong but she had no proof to call the police, and trying to convince them her feline senses were right 99.9 percent of the time would only get her time in the loony bin so she spent the day restless and pacing. By late afternoon, unable to nap, she had to get out for some fresh air or she’d scream! As she passed the front desk, the new day concierge, a buxom blonde named Suzy, who Tabitha knew Brenton had personally hired, called out to her.

  “Ms. Fenwick?”

  Tabitha turned and arched an eyebrow in inquiry.

  “A message just came in from Brenton. He asks that you meet him across the street in front of the Gina Mia Restaurant at 5:00.”

  Tabitha disliked the familiarity of Suzy calling Brenton by his first name, but Brenton insisted all his employees drop protocol. Tabitha entertained no such rule and liked to be addressed as Ms. Fenwick, especially by Brenton’s jelly bean sweetie. “Did he say anything else?”

  “No. Only that, then he hung up before I could even say goodbye.”

  Tabitha frowned. She didn’t feel any better about the message. Would Suzy even know if it were really Brenton calling, or would she take the caller at his word? But it was a risk Tabitha would have to take. She had no choice. If Brenton was in danger she needed to find out from whom and so far this was her only lead. She looked at her dependable Timex strapped to her wrist. Four-fifty. The Gina Mia was just a stone’s throw away. She’d get to the restaurant a few minutes early and scout around. Maybe she would see something or someone until either Brenton, or whoever had called, showed up.

  Tabitha was almost out the door when she heard Suzy call her back. “Ms. Fenwick, it’s Brenton. Oh, he’s hung up again!”

  Tabitha was developing a headache and irritably called, “What did he say?”

  “He wants you to meet him at Casey O’Malley’s Pub at five instead.”

  Tabitha swore under her breath. Casey O’Malley’s was no stone’s throw distance, but rather in an older part of town frequented by a rough crowd. Tabitha was no alley cat and did not relish going there alone at dusk. And there was no way to be there on time. Damn Brent
on! What was his game?

  She took a cab to the old factory district and had the driver park across the street from O’Malley’s so she could size the place up. The grizzled, unshaven taxi driver looked at Tabitha’s small person and asked, “You sure this is where you want to be dropped, lady? This ain’t no tearoom, ya know?”

  “Believe me, it’s not my idea of a good time,” Tabitha muttered as she paid the driver.

  She started to ask him to wait but the cab driver must have read her mind. “Sorry toots, a parked cab in this part of town is a sitting duck. You’re on your own. Got a cell phone?”

  Tabitha shook her head. Damn, why hadn’t she brought Brenton’s cell? It wasn’t as if it were doing any good sitting on his nightstand. But she gingerly stepped from the cab into the gloomy dusk, observing as a few roughnecks crossed the street in mid-block, not caring if the word jaywalking applied or not. She watched as the cab drove off then waited to cross as a car drove by.

  Tabitha’s feline instinct was to run in front of car headlights. They drew her like a moth to a flame and she always had to fight the urge to commit near suicide. It was a definite cat thing and one that defied logic. Usually she was able to bite her lip to keep her mind sidetracked and the urge held at bay. This evening she waited on pins and needles and after the car went by she started across the street. She became aware of three things at once…the smell of an acrid cigar, the sound of footsteps behind her and the sound of a car engine being gunned.

  Out of the gloom a dark sedan screeched as its tires spun on blacktop, gripping the pavement and shooting forward, its headlights off and heading with deadly intent straight for Tabitha. The lack of headlights worked in Tabitha’s favor, as they couldn’t mesmerize her into freezing. With the reflexes of a cat Tabitha sprinted forward and the car fender just missed her.