Sugar and Spite by G. A. McKevett Page B

have time to waste. Dirk’s in jail with scumbags that he busted. Not a good position for any cop to be in. Have you heard anything from Ryan or John?”
    “They haven’t checked in yet, but…”
    Savannah had a bad feeling. She didn’t like “buts”. “But what?”
    “That Macon person did. He left another message. He’s got your e-mail address now, and he wrote to you.” When Savannah didn’t respond, Tammy pushed a little. “I printed it out,” she said, offering her a sheet of paper. “If you want to read it, you can—”
    “No, thanks, Tammy. I don’t think so.”
    “Okay.” Tammy looked a little hurt and a lot confused. “I’ll leave it here in the mail-in bin for when you get ready to—”
    “Throw it away. I won’t want to read it. Now or later.”
    Tammy hesitated, then placed it carefully in the garbage can. She gave Savannah a concerned look. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”
    “Last spring, I think,” she replied. “Why? Is it autumn? Time to go back into the cave?”
    “Maybe you should chow down on some blackberries and apples first. I think that’s what bears do before they hibernate.”
    “Are you implying I’m grouchy?”
    Tammy gave her a sympathetic smile. “No more than would be expected under the circumstances. Seriously, can I make you a nice sandwich or something?”
    Savannah knew she was sincere, but she shuddered to think what sort of “healthy” concoction would come out of her kitchen with Chef Tammy in charge. Maybe a tofu and bean sprout omelet with green weed juice chaser to wash it down.
    “Thanks anyway,” she said. “I think I’ll just go make myself a cup of herbal tea or one of your protein drinks.”
    Tammy raised one eyebrow. “Do you really expect me to believe that you’re going to drink something good for you, something with a vitamin or mineral in it?”
    “Or maybe just a cup of hot chocolate with a big old scoop of Cool Whip on top.”
    “Now
that
sounds like you.”
    Savannah made her way into the kitchen, followed by the cats, who seemed to think that anytime she entered that room, they would receive nibblets of some sort. They had her well-trained. “All right, all right,” she said as she opened their special “cookie” jar and took out Kitty Snackaroos, bits of foul-smelling, dry cat food shaped like goldfish that stank like a bait-and-tackle shop. The cats had never even seen a goldfish in their lives. But they had a Pavlovian response to the clanking of the cookie-jar top and wound themselves around her ankles, purring loudly.
    It was when she bent over to drop the food into their bowls that black spots began to dance in front of her eyes. She heard the cats purring, but the humming sounded as though it were coming through some sort of filter, and in the far, far distance, she could barely hear Tammy asking her something.
    The strength went out of her legs and they buckled. Then the floor came rushing up at her… and hit her right in the face. But, fortunately, by that time, she was already completely unconscious, so she didn’t feel a thing.
     
    * * *
     
    When Savannah came to, she was lying on her own bed upstairs. Ryan Stone stood on the left side of the bed, a worried look on his handsome face. On the right was John Gibson, who was holding her wrist, staring at his watch, and timing her pulse.
    “There we go, lass,” he said, “opening those lovely blue eyes of yours. You had us all in quite a dither there for a while. But you’re fine now.” He shone a tiny penlight in first one of her eyes, then the next. “Ah, yes,” he said in a doctory tone. “Pupils equal and responsive. I don’t think any great damage was done by her colliding with the kitchen floor.”
    “The kitchen… oh, yeah…” She groaned. “I remember now. I was going to make myself something to drink. I leaned over to feed the cats and… poof.”
    “Poof, indeed!” John tenderly brushed a curl back from her forehead, while