Page 18 of Purrfectly Outfoxed

More nothing.

But I can hear her out in the living room. Humming. Actually humming while she probably prances around enjoying her victory.

Fine.

Two can play at that game.

I close my eyes and do what she’s doing—push her presence to the back of my mind, building my own mental wall. It’s harder than I expected. She’s like a constant hum in my consciousness, but I manage to shove it down, mute it, until the connection is barely a whisper.

There.

Now I can focus.

I need to get out of this room.

Chapter 6

Jasper

Pushing off the washing machine, I stand and survey my prison. It’s a decent-sized laundry room—washer, dryer, a folding counter, cabinets above and below, and a utility sink. The door to the house is locked from the outside with no handle on this side.

But on the opposite wall is a door to the backyard. I walk over to it and turn the knob. Locked. And of course there’s no key.

I step back to consider my options and notice the tiny rectangle at the very bottom of it—a cat door.

Of course. Bea probably had it installed so Tabitha could go outside whenever she wanted.Spoiled brat.But at least it’s perfect for me.

I drop the blanket and shift, bones compressing and reshaping until I’m back on four legs. Then I pad over to the cat door and press my nose against it.

It doesn’t budge. Seems it’s one of those fancy magnetic ones that only opens for pets wearing special collars.

And I don’t have a collar.

Shit.

I shift back to human form and crouch down, examining the door more closely. There’s got to be a manual override or something?—

Wait.

Maybe there’s something in the cabinets.

I yank open the lower cabinet doors, rummaging through cleaning supplies, spare light bulbs, and—hello—a small toolkit. Inside: a screwdriver, some duct tape, a measuring tape. But nothing that looks like the magnetic key to the cat door. Damn.

I stand up and start rummaging through the other cabinets. There has to be something in here I can use to get out without also causing property damage. And that’s when I spot them. In a little dish between the detergent and fabric softer are a handful of hair elastics and bobby pins. Perfect.

I grab two of the hairpins and bend them into shape, crouching in front of the outside door to examine the lock. I’m not the greatest at this, but I’ve been in enough tricky situations to have a decent success rate.

“Here goes.” I slide the first bobby pin into the keyhole as a tension wrench, apply slight pressure, then use the second one as a pick. It takes a few tries—my fingers are cold and my patience is wearing thin—but finally, I hear the click.

The lock gives.

The door swings open.

“Freedom,” I whisper, grinning as I get up and step out into the crisp fall morning. The yard is beautiful—well-maintained flower beds, a little garden area, that gazebo I noticed yesterday. Bea clearly loves her outdoor space.

But I’m not out here to admire the landscaping.

My eyes dart to where I hid my backpack yesterday, and I do another quick scan of the yard before I dart out and grab it, using the cover of the gazebo to pull on my pants beforetaking everything else back into the laundry room, where I hide it behind a box of Christmas decorations in the back of a cabinet.