Free Undone by Moonlight by Wendy Etherington Page A

Devin’s record.”
    “I’d say he’s zero for one.” Victoria poured more wine into her
glass. “Wouldn’t you?”
    “V, please,” Shelby admonished.
    In consolation, Victoria added wine into the other two glasses.
“Just reminding you both of where we stand. What man wouldn’t want our
brilliant, buxom Calla? The dude is either gay, crazy or carrying serious
baggage.”
    “But he’s a good cop,” Calla reminded her. “You said so a few
minutes ago.”
    “I think he gets the job done at all cost,” Victoria
responded.
    “An attitude that leads to either justice or trouble,” Shelby
pointed out. “In his case, that could easily translate to a professional splotch
or two.” Shelby met Calla’s gaze. “Everybody has regrets.”
    Everything her friends said was true. Why was Calla hanging on
to the dream that Devin would one day notice her and be grateful she was by his
side? Why was she hurt and surprised he wouldn’t tell her about his past?
    He’d certainly never claimed or pretended to be Mr. Sunshine,
but she was Pollyanna.
    * * *
    H UDDLED ON THE SOFA with a cup of tea gone cold, a fleece blanket and a
weepy romance DVD, Calla blinked dazedly at the knocking sound at her apartment
door.
    Anger, frustration, wine and most of her dinner in a take-out
box wasn’t the combination for a peaceful night apparently.
    Grumbling under her breath, she tossed aside the blanket and
stumbled to the door. If this was her neighbor, ancient Mrs. Winsley, who
thought somebody was breaking into her apartment every other minute, she was
going to forget she was a nice person.
    She flung open the door, prepared to blast whoever dared stand
on the other side and invade her nightmare.
    It was Devin.
    A fluffy beige cat was tucked in the crooked of his arm. At her
appearance, the cat blinked its big green eyes and meowed with great
annoyance.
    Her heart melted. Though the cat’s coloring was a combo of her
and Devin, it obviously had his personality. Good grief.
    Dragging her gaze from the cat, she met the identical green of
Devin’s eyes. She steeled herself against the urge to get lost in the regret
reflected back at her. “I’m surprised you remember where I live.”
    “I’m a cop. Well, sort of. I can still investigate.”
    “And Fluffy?” When he looked baffled, she pointed at the cat.
“I don’t remember you having a pet.”
    “An adoption notice went out on the NYPD email loop. His owner
was killed in a hit and run. I thought you two might get along.”
    A hit and run. There was no end to the man’s romantic
streak.
    “Do you take bribes?” she asked on a sigh instead of in a
temper. The cat was incredibly cute, after all.
    “No.”
    She opened the door wider and moved aside so Devin could enter.
“Lucky for you, I do.”
    “Fluffy?” he questioned as they headed toward the living room.
“I was thinking something cooler like Sharky.”
    Calla considered the ball of fluff with the killer eyes.
“Sharky it is.” When she reached the kitchen, she opened the fridge door. “I
don’t know what to feed a traumatized cat.”
    Devin held up a black plastic container, the kind the
restaurants used for delivery. “I brought this.”
    Inside was leftover chicken casserole. She supposed it had been
a lot for one person. Of course, if he hadn’t been so difficult, he could have
had three others join him for dinner.
    Shaking aside the critical thought, she dished out a healthy
spoonful on a saucer and put it on the kitchen floor. After Devin set the cat
down, Sharky pounced as if he hadn’t eaten in a month.
    Calla studied him to delay the inevitable confrontation with
Devin. “If he keeps that up, he’ll be the size of tiger.”
    “He’s been staying with Sergeant Franklin the last few days,
and his diet is mostly street cart tacos and diet soda.”
    “A gourmet cat?”
    “He’ll fit right in with this gang. He can be the mascot. Do
you want to keep him?”
    You or him? Calla almost asked.