A/N: I do not own The Cal Leandros novels. They belong to Rob Thurman. All kudos to her.

At the end of Roadkill, how were Robin and Salome reunited?


"I am not calling that damn cat!" I spat. "She was the one who fucking left!"

"We go nowhere until I find Salome," Robin declared.

"I am not-!" I started to say again. Niko's hand to the back of my head interrupted me.

"Call the damn cat so we can leave," he said, voice tight but tired. Nik didn't swear often, but after the day we'd just had... There were lines bracketing his mouth. He had just seen me almost-die, too. He looked tired, exasperated, and ready to go home.

Hell, I didn't blame him, I was ready to go home too. But Goodfellow didn't want to leave his damn dead cat, never mind the fact she'd skipped out on her own. She could probably make it back to New York on her own, car surfing all the way. We'd be driving, again, but without Rafferty and Catcher the car would be roomier. And smell less of kibble breath. Delilah and the other wolves had already booked it, and we'd gotten all the way to the car before Goodfellow had brought up Salome. Me, I could care less. She'd split, she could lose her ride.

Except Goodfellow wasn't leaving without his mummified menace.

"She's probably not in the park," Niko sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his long nose. "Most likely she's somewhere down the road. Get in, Robin, and we'll drive down to look for her."

Robin thought about it, then nodded and got in. I slouched down in the front seat, rubbing at the hole in my bloody shirt. Singed bullet-hole. Getting shot in the lung sucked. But it didn't even ache, thanks to Rafferty. Niko didn't say anything about my slouch, but he reached over and grabbed the seatbelt. I grabbed it back and buckled it myself before he could strangle me with it. He glanced at me and his lips twitched down.

"Hey, Cyrano, sure we can't just leave her?" I muttered, staring out the window. Sitting down felt nice, even if my shirt was drying to my skin with the blood.

"Robin seems attached, for reasons unknown," he answered back, but quietly. He sighed, and looked a little less tired. Don't ask me how he did it.

Despite my opinions, we stopped five miles out to call Salome. And again seven miles out. And again ten miles out. It was dark and the side of the road was rough and I damn near cracked my skull open tripping over a roadkill pair of sneakers. I was tired and cranky and so not in the mood for this bullshit. I wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. But Niko was listening to Robin who was calling Salome, and so I had to be out there calling the damn cat too. Niko wouldn't let me stay in the car and sleep. I tried. He just gave me a look that meant in a minute he would help me out of the car via a boot up the ass. So I got out and stalked around in the dark under the trees.

"Here kitty, kitty, fucking hellcat." I stopped and looked around. All I could really smell was my blood and the forest, green here and alive. "Stupid hairless excuse for a-YAH!"

Something had just dropped out of the tree onto my head. I wrenched at it, smelled Salome's cinnamon-like scent, and got my hand laid open and my leather jacket slashed as she launched herself off my head.

"Fucking cat!" My hand was bleeding everywhere, and I heard Salome yowl. I drew my Glock and came storming out from under the trees. I was going to give that dead excuse for a feline some new ventilation in her hollow skull.

Niko caught my wrist - the one with the gun - as I spotted Robin holding the mummified cat over his shoulder. "Mmm. We should clean that," he declared, calmly, eying my hand. "Goodfellow can sit in the back with Salome while we do."

Robin protested but Niko got his way. There were also Twinkies in the glove-box, and I ate a few one-handed while Niko cleaned and bandaged my left hand. Then, then we were ready to go home.

About fucking time.

At least I had the front seat all to myself and Niko.