Page 16 of Hunt Me

Milo’s been watching the vet too, but for different reasons. He claims it’s because he’s going to need a vet on our payroll, which means he’ll need to pull Palmer into our confidence. A bit like the doctors under my father’s thumb.

Only there’s a look in Milo’s eyes every time the vet comes up, and I have a feeling it has nothing to do with the health of cats. But he is Milo’s preferred target, so that’s where I’m heading, in the opposite direction from the cemetery, which is where I’d rather be.

With my little rabbit, bent over and begging for me.

I tamp down my frustration as I pull into the parking lot, but my hands are trembling slightly with barely restrained need as I turn the car off and jump out of the truck to grab the cage.

The cat’s breathing is still labored, which pulls my thoughts away from Denver, and I walk through the front doors. There’s a small queue of people, so I push my way past them and set the cage on the counter.

The dark-haired woman at the desk looks appropriately terrified. I probably should have cleaned up the blood from the cat scratches on my face before wandering in here, but I’m so used to it that I forget it freaks other people out.

“Can I…help you?” she says, slow and cautious.

I attempt to speak, but my tongue feels stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’m not doing well with words right now, so I lift my hands and sign, ‘Help.’

ASL is my default for when my brain and mouth refuse to connect, and it has been ever since Nico came into my life and showed me a way to communicate when I went mute. But I quickly learned that Nico and everyone else who uses ASL are not the majority, so it’s always a crapshoot when I sign.

She blinks at me in confusion, and I fight the urge to groan and smack my head on the counter. There is a strong and large Deaf community in this little town, but they have their own bubble, and clearly, this vet office isn’t part of it.

Swallowing heavily, I manage to get in enough breath and loosen my tongue just enough to say, “Cat.”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks, still looking terrified, which is probably appropriate.

I growl and gesture at the cat. It takes twice as much effort now to say, “Sick.”

She licks her lips, and for a moment, I think she might be about to call the cops, which will be an even bigger problem. Sure, it’s a problem we can fix, but I know it’ll piss my brothers and my father off. The whole point of this job is to get it done—quick and dirty—before anyone notices us.

Our sanctuary means not having to put dirty cops and politicians on our books. It might not be something I handle, but I know Percy doesn’t want the complications, so I do my best to smile in a way that doesn’t make me look like a psychopathic killer.

The receptionist sucks in a breath, and her hand starts to reach for the phone, but before she can do anything, a wooden door behind her slides open, and there he is.

Palmer. He looks taller in here somehow—slender in his white coat that’s hanging open around his scrubs. They’re light blue with dogs on them. He’s wearing frameless glasses perched high on his nose, and his light brown hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it.

He looks as tired as I feel most days, but he manages a much friendlier smile than I’m able to, and he walks up, peering at the cage on the counter. “Feral cat?”

I nod my fist, then my head, in case he doesn’t know any ASL.

“Come with me,” he says and beckons me along. I hear the woman make a noise of protest, but Palmer deliberately ignores her as he leads me into the small corridor. My head is immediately filled with the sound of a high-pitched puppy barking, and it’s painful. I want to cover my ears, but I’m holding the cage, so I’m forced to endure it.

It doesn’t help that the hallway also smells like a combination of dog shit and cleaner, and it’s sending me into a sensory overload. I don’t know how much longer I can endure this. The lights are fluorescent and too bright, the room he leads me into echoes, and the cat has decided to join the choir, and in spite of breathing heavily and not moving from its side, it begins to yowl.

“Can you tell me where you found this guy?” Palmer asks as he slides the exam room door closed, then takes the cage from me.

Relieved of my burden, I back up against the wall and tip my head down in an attempt to soothe myself. What I really want to do is pace the room and flick my fingers. The stimming usually keeps me from having a meltdown when things become too much, but I also know it tends to bother people who aren’t used to me.

And sometimes people who are.

I grunt and swallow heavily. “Cemetery.”

He hums for a beat as he looks over the small, furry creature, then opens the cage door. “Was he sick like this when you found him?”

I lift my hand and sign, ‘No,’ when he looks over at me. ‘Cat fine when I caught it. Sick after.’

He frowns and looks only a little confused. “Sorry, I know some ASL, but I’m not fluent. Are you Deaf?”

I shake my head.

He doesn’t ask me to explain, and that is a huge point in his favor. “Sign it again,” he asks, so I do, slowing down for him. “The cat was…fine,” he tries, and I nod, “when you got it?” I nod again. “Sick after?” I nod one last time, and he looks somewhat relieved. “Okay. I can work with that.” He hesitates, then asks, “You’re not hard of hearing, are you? Because if you need an interpreter, I can get one. We have?—”