companion stopped Calli’s breath. Tall, dark-haired, and impossibly handsome, he stood feet apart, arms crossed, his startling blue eyes momentarily raised to glance at her as he finished his sentence. “…might be happier in another area.” He offered Calli the sort of wry half smile that would floor a woman who was not immune to men. “Morning.”
She smiled instead of trying to speak, glad that a neighbor had decided to complain about the noise last night. At least she knew the glass and bottle breaker looked like a gangster, not the sort of man to cross. She just might not complain about the noise if it happened again.
As for his current accommodation, she wouldn’t recommend saving too many of the trees growing in the jungle at the front, among them Tecoma, feral olives, and Rhamnus, the blowfly bush. A recent hacking showed a weed-covered path. Steps led up to a once gracious veranda, tessellated like the step and most likely missing tiles, too. Overgrown branches and leaves hid the rest of the house.
A few more puffing breaths past the same unsightly overgrowth took her to rusting iron gates guarding an opening wide enough to drive a carriage through. The building behind looked like a two-car garage with an addition, possibly on old laundry house. The roof had caved in. In front, sat a couple of work trucks—one with a tray, and both possibly dumped for the duration of the resident’s stay. She hoped this would be short if he planned to host more loud parties with his carnivorous pals.
Though, not even a gangster would have a party every night. She could be a good uncomplaining, cowardly neighbor once a week if need be. To go out herself wasn’t an option. She didn’t intend to socialize for quite a while, not until she had lived down her humiliating fall from grace.
Her downhill trek led her to a group of shops, comprising a doctor’s surgery, a chemist, a physiotherapist, a dentist, and a small supermarket. On the other side of the road she spotted a pizza shop and a coffee bar, which unfortunately advertised an array of small cakes. Farther down the road sat a petrol station and a hotel. She wouldn’t need to go too far for anything she needed.
She jogged back up the hill with the makings of her lunch. The cat made a faint mewing sound as she entered the cottage.
“No, I didn’t forget you,” she said, using a throaty whisper and a faked smile. She tried clearing her throat again. “Who could? Now, look what I bought for you. Why don’t you move yourself off that nice clean carpet and come into the kitchen to eat?”
The cat blinked, slowly stood, and slithered over to her, making that strange noise the whole time.
“Food.” Calli winced in revulsion as filthy fur touched her leg. “Follow me.” She went into the kitchen area and opened the can. The stench of fish wafted out. “Ah, the aroma of the sea. Nice fish. Yum, yum. C’mon, c’mon. That’s me calling you without a voice.”
The cat wearily subsided on the floor near the couch.
She planted her fists on her hips. “Don’t you dare die now that I’ve spent half my money on your food. Don’t you dare.”
Apparently the cat didn’t heed whispered threats. The thing closed its eyes. Her skin crawling, Calli marched over and picked up the cat, which appeared to be mainly matted fur covering fine delicate bones. For no reason that she could name, because she didn’t like cats, her eyes filled with tears. “You’re starving. You couldn’t even make it to the food. Don’t worry. I’ll put it right under your nose.” Suppressing her distaste, and blinking back tears, she moved the cat to the dish and the saucer. The cat wobbled onto its feet and nosed at the milk, then began to lap, slowly and delicately. When the tiny puddle of milk half disappeared, the cat looked at the food and then at Calli.
“You don’t have to eat it all right now. When you have energy, you can start.” The cat licked the fur on its chest. Tears squirted from Calli’s eyes. Starving and filthy, the cat still had some pride in its appearance. Although Calli didn’t care much about hers these days, she knew a lesson when she saw one.
“Okay. You’ve won me for the time being. I won’t call the rescue. I’ll take you to the vet instead. We’ll give you a chance. Everyone deserves a chance.” She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.
She was an everyone, too.
* * * *
Kellen Dee, known as Kell by his brothers and friends, and Killer by guys who wanted to deride his luck with the female sex, swept the discarded nails into a pile. The shapely young jogger this morning had been a welcome sight. The job he would begin this week was starting to look more interesting.
The well-heeled residents in this area were reputed to be doctors, but only specialists; lawyers, but mainly high court judges; politicians from either party; businessmen, the most successful; and anyone else with up to three million to spend on a house.
The jogger could be a wife of any of the aforementioned, and he would probably never know, but her beautiful long legs had been an enervating sight. If he could watch her every morning, he would be happy to stay for the three months he had estimated he would need here to run a chainsaw through the garden and effectively swing a sledgehammer inside the house.
He glanced idly around the room at the top of the main area where he would begin his destruction this morning, having taken a couple of days off work to make sure of a good start on his new renovation project. All the old cupboards needed to be removed from the bedrooms, as well as a water-stained part of the ceiling in the upstairs hallway. Fortunately, unlike his current housemate, he didn’t have a hangover. Abstemious, and not about to end up like his alcoholic father, he had kept his intake last night to a single glass of beer.
The staircase creaked and Trent appeared. Tall and gangly, with light hair and eyes, he had a peaceful nature. He also thought he had an artistic bent, which left him open to constant ragging.
“I saw Steve outside. What did he want?” Trent massaged his forehead, wincing when the light from the window hit his eyes.
“He thought he’d left his sunglasses here last night.”
Trent creaked out a laugh. “Is he having separation anxiety already?” Steve, briefly the employer of Kell and Trent in his theater set construction business, last year had married Lonny, ex-hairdresser and stylist to the stars, and now had a one-year-old pesky son.
Kell shrugged. “Maybe.”
“He tried to get me to leave with him again last night. I told him I wanted to finish this house with you first.”
“He’s a hometown boy. For him, moving to Sydney is a big deal.”
“Yeah, but he’ll do better with his business there. How about Lonny, though? A contract for a TV makeover show. You and me, we’re getting left behind.”
Kell squared his shoulders. No one would leave him behind. He had plans and nothing or no one would distract him from his course. “Don’t fret. You’ll be back working with him in a couple of months.”
Trent nodded and heaved a sigh. “You starting in here?”
Kell nodded. “I think I can reuse some of the wood.”
“From the cupboards? Yeah. Good quality stuff, man. What are you going to do with it?”
“Haven’t decided. I’ll put it into storage. See these floorboards? Jarrah.” Kell licked three fingers, squatted, and moistened the boards.
