Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 85: Breaking News #2

"...and turn herself in. Nicole d’Armand, if you’re watching this, please do the right thing. For Nancy, for our unborn child, for all of us."

Pregnant. Officer Nancy was pregnant.

The news anchor’s voice fades to a dull buzz in my ears. My stomach churns. No, I didn’t kill her. But I was there. I survived. And she didn’t.

The TV clicks off, plunging the room into silence. The black screen stares at me. Jim stands nearby, remote in hand, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"Why are you helping me?"

"I’m doing as I’m told. That is all."

I frown. "By who?"

Jim’s lips curl into a secretive smile. "Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?"

The remote thumps onto the bed beside me as Jim tosses it at me. Then he saunters away, unperturbed by any of this situation, and settles back into his armchair.

Everything about him is the picture of relaxation as his eyes drift shut and he stretches out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. As if he hasn’t just kidnapped someone.

"Enjoy the show," he mumbles, already half-asleep.

I hesitate, eyeing the remote like it might bite. Part of me wants to hurl it at his smug face, but I resist. No point in antagonizing my captor. Instead, I inch up the bed, pulling the comforter over my legs. The pillows are soft against my back as I lean into them, trying to find a comfortable position despite the knot of anxiety in my stomach.

The TV flickers to life with a click. I scroll through channels, but no one else is currently covering anything about me.

I pause on a news station, my breath catching as Logan’s face fills the screen. The anchors’ voices wash over me, their words barely registering at first.

"...trial date moved to tomorrow. Have you ever seen anything like this, Tom?"

"Never in my career, Sam. Especially not at the defense’s request. It’s unprecedented."

"What kind of power do you think is behind this? To rush a trial like this..."

"It’s anyone’s guess, but it has to be substantial. And did you hear about Logan’s attorney, Marcus Ashby? The confidence he’s showing is remarkable."

"Absolutely. He claims the prosecution has no evidence and expects the charges to be dropped almost immediately. It’s a bold stance. But if he has the power to force a speedy trial like this, I’m starting to think there’s something to it, Tom."

My eyes flick to Jim, still seemingly asleep in his chair. His chest rises and falls steadily, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s more aware than he’s letting on. I turn back to the TV, trying to glean any information I can about Logan’s situation.

The anchors are done speculating, knowing as little as the rest of us. Then it’s more news. Just run-of-the-mill stuff.

As I fiddle with the remote, it takes very little time to realize this TV doesn’t have anything going for it. Basic cable, off bunny ears. No premium channels, no streaming services. Nothing that allows apps, where I might be able to somehow get in touch with someone. There’s usually an internet browser app.

This TV is definitely older. Not "smart."

A sharp pain suddenly pierces my foot, and I can’t hold back a scream. I jerk upright, throwing the blanket off in a panic. To my utter shock, Princess Paws lays there, one paw forward and her tail held high as she lets out a cheerful mew.

"What the—" I sputter, looking from the kitten to Jim and back again. He hasn’t moved an inch.

"Didn’t want her to starve while you were gone," he drawls, not bothering to open his eyes.

I stare at him, then at Princess Paws, who’s now kneading the comforter with her tiny paws. For him to grab my cat, he would have had to break into my apartment.

That’s somehow even more terrifying than kidnapping me right off an elevator.

But I can’t deny the rush of relief at seeing a familiar face—even if it’s just my cat.

"Come here, you little troublemaker," I murmur, scooping her up. She purrs contentedly as I cradle her against my chest, her warmth a small comfort in this bizarre situation.

I glance at Jim again, still feigning sleep. Is this some kind of psychological tactic? Bringing my pet to make me feel more at ease? Or is there something else going on here?

Princess Paws squirms in my arms, clearly done with cuddles for now. I set her down on the bed, watching as she explores her new surroundings with typical feline curiosity. She sniffs at the remote, bats at a loose thread on the comforter, then settles into a loaf position at the foot of the bed, her eyes fixed on me.

"I don’t suppose you brought her litter box too?" I ask Jim, not really expecting an answer.

He cracks one eye open. "Bathroom. Under the sink. She’s figured out how to open the door to get in. Smart little thing."

I blink, surprised. "You... brought her litter box?"

"Like I said, didn’t want her to starve. Or make a mess." He closes his eye again, apparently done with the conversation.

I shake my head, bewildered. This whole situation is surreal. I’m being held captive in a luxury hotel room by a man who claims to be following orders from some mysterious higher power. I’m wanted for a murder I didn’t commit. My boyfriend—if I can even call Logan that—is facing trial tomorrow. And now my kitten is here, complete with her litter box.

It’s almost too much to process. I lean back against the pillows, absently stroking Princess Paws as she climbs onto my lap. The TV drones on in the background, but I’m not really listening anymore. My mind is racing, trying to piece together this bizarre puzzle.

Who’s behind all of this?

I glance at Jim again, still motionless in his chair.

The kitten purrs loudly, kneading my thigh with her tiny paws. Despite everything, I can’t help but smile. At least I’m not completely alone in this mess.