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The cat was still racing away, so I ran after it, not caring how ridiculous I looked running in a suit.
About halfway down the block, the cat disappeared.
“What the hell?” I muttered. And there was the sign—Forbidden Fangs Tattoo. I hurried over and shoved open the front door.
The inside smelled faintly of blood, but threaded in with that was a truly delectable scent signature. It was like walking through a field of lilies at midnight. I searched the room for the source, pushing aside my previous need to reclaim my credit card.
A man was lying on a low padded table, but the scent I was picking up was distinctly feminine. It had to be coming from the tattoo artist sitting next to him and holding a buzzing gun. She had long blond hair which she’d pulled into a ponytail, although a couple of shorter strands had escaped and hung next to her ears. A ring glinted in one of her blond eyebrows, and there was a half-sleeve tattoo on her upper arm.
She was gorgeous.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice melodic, like a minor key.
Then I remembered why I was here. “Your cat stole something of mine. My credit card.”
She peered under the padded table and said, “Your Lordship King Snugglebumpkins, you didn’t do anything like that, did you?”
I couldn’t believe the string of nonsense she’d called that wolf-sized mop of fur and thievery. This woman wasn’t just gorgeous. She was crazy.
“I know he stole it,” I say.
“I believe it,” the guy on the table said.
The woman rolled her eyes and adjusted the hem of her red dress over her knee. That dress was sexy as fuck, but I couldn’t let myself get distracted.
“That cat just tried to murder me,” the guy said, hooking his fingers in air quotes as he said ‘cat.’
As he spoke, I squinted to see what kind of ink the artist was putting into his skin. It looked like douchecanoe.
“Hold on,” I said. “You can’t write that on your client! Dude, do you know what she’s putting on your back?”
“I’m fixing it, asshole,” the woman said sweetly. “Now if you’re done insulting my cat and throwing around false accusations, I’d appreciate it if you went along on your way.”
I set down my bag and coffee and pulled my phone from my pocket. “I’m calling the police.”
“What? On my cat?” the woman said.
“It’s a thief!”
“It’s a cat.”
I peered under the table. Glowing yellow eyes met my gaze, and the animal hissed. I said, “It’s the devil.”