Page 90 of Client Privilege

“I’m here for Buster,” I managed, my voice wavering. “My cat.”

Her expression softened with recognition. “You must be Alex. We’ve been expecting you.” She pulled out a clipboard with forms. “If you could just fill these out, I’ll go get him ready.”

As I signed the papers with trembling hands, Damian stood close, a steady presence at my shoulder. His proximity no longer made meflinch—when had that changed?

“He’s underweight,” the woman explained when she returned, “and he’ll need special food for a while. The vet has prescribed some medication for a respiratory infection, but otherwise, he’s in remarkably good shape considering what he’s been through.”

She disappeared into the back and returned moments later carrying a pet carrier. Through the mesh door, I could see a familiar grey shape.

“Buster,” I whispered, dropping to my knees.

The carrier door opened, and slowly, cautiously, Buster emerged. He looked thinner than I remembered, his once-plush coat dull and patchy in places. But his eyes—those intelligent green eyes—were exactly the same.

He sniffed the air, took a tentative step forward, then froze. I held my breath, terrified he wouldn’t remember me.

Then he made a small chirping sound—the same noise he’d always made when greeting me—and rushed forward, butting his head against my outstretched hand.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I gathered him into my arms, burying my face in his fur. He purred, the vibration travelling through my chest like a healing wave.

“Hey, buddy,” I murmured. “I missed you so much.”

I looked up to find Damian watching us, his expression soft with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.

“Thank you,” I said to the shelter worker, who was discreetly wiping her own eyes.

“He’s a special cat,” she replied. “The officers said he was quite vocal when they found him locked in that room. Like he knew help had finally arrived.”

Pride swelled in my chest. “He’s always been clever.”

With Buster secure in his carrier and a bag of supplies in hand, we headed to Damian’s car. The drive home—to Damian’s home, Ireminded myself—passed in a blur of emotion.

“I can’t believe he’s really here,” I said, fingers pressed against the carrier door where Buster had pushed his paw through the mesh to touch me.

“Cats are remarkably resilient,” Damian said, glancing over with a smile. “Much like their owners.”

The compliment warmed me in unexpected ways.

“WELCOME HOME, BUSTER,” I said, setting the carrier down in Damian’s living room.

We’d spent the morning preparing the house—setting up a litter box in the guest bathroom, arranging a plush bed in my room, and cat-proofing as much as possible. Damian had surprised me by returning from a mysterious errand with bags from the pet store containing toys, scratching posts, and what he called “feline enrichment devices.”

“I did some research,” he’d explained when I’d stared at him in amazement.

Now, as Buster cautiously explored his new surroundings, Damian sat on the couch watching with the focused attention he usually reserved for legal briefs.

“Is he always this methodical?” he asked as Buster diligently sniffed each corner of the room.

I nodded, settling beside him. “He likes to know his territory. Marcus used to hate how he’d inspect everything new that came into the apartment.”

The mention of Marcus’s name no longer sent ice through my veins.

“Smart cat,” Damian commented. “Suspicious of Marcus’s possessions from the start.”

The joke startled a laugh from me. “I should have paid more attentionto his instincts.”

Buster completed his inspection and jumped onto the couch, carefully positioning himself in the space between Damian and me. He kneaded the cushion, purring loudly.

“I think he approves,” Damian said, cautiously extending a hand for Buster to sniff.