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King of Love, to get a glimpse at Jeremy and tell me his aura color. Then, a quick look-see through Dad’s files would lead me to Jeremy’s perfect match.
    And if for some reason Dad couldn’t come through for me, then I’d rope my newfound brother, Oliver “Cutter” McCutchan, into taking a peek at this mystery man. He could also see auras, but he wasn’t a matchmaker (long story), but was a successful artist who incorporated auras into his paintings.
    One way or another, I was going to find out Jeremy’s aura color so I could be rid of him—and his cat—once and for all.
    Clench, unclench. “Tall, blond, in shape but not too skinny, and obviously, she has to like animals.”
    A small spiral of anxiety twisted through my stomach. “Like me?” I asked warily. Was this why Orlinda was involved? Was she trying to match him with me? Because I hated to break it to her, but it wasn’t going to happen.
    I had my perfect match already.
    “You’re okay,” he said.
    “Flatterer.”
    “You’re not really my type,” he added, not even trying to soften the blow. “You’re a little too...”
    “Careful now, Dr. Doolittle.”
    “Chatty.”
    It was one of the nicer insults I’ve had slung at me. I dabbed the tip of the pen on the questionnaire. “You don’t think Orlinda is trying to match us, do you?” I wanted to warn him if that was the case, I wasn’t playing this game.
    “Ebbie says no.”
    “She’s sure?”
    “She’s absolutely adamant.”
    Well...good.
    With a quick look at his watch, a black high-tech brand, he said, “I have to get going soon. Can we hurry this along?”
    I managed not to roll my eyes, and quickly read off questions, taking notes as I went along. So far, on paper, he seemed normal. Sitting across from him, I knew he was anything but.
    A night owl, he preferred jazz music and liked reading nonfiction. Yet he was psychic, a modern-day Dr. Doolittle, and he refused to work on missing person cases.
    I had to admit, I was intrigued. Who was Jeremy Cross?
    “Where did you grow up?” I asked.
    “I really have to go.”
    There were still a lot of empty lines on the questionnaire. “We still have a lot to cover.”
    He stood up, plucked Ebbie from the table, and cradled her in his arms. As natural as could be. Adoringly, she gazed at him.
    And in that instant, I knew that despite how “bad boy” Jeremy Cross seemed, he was a good guy. I had to help him. Some way. Somehow. I was afflicted with the Love Conquers All syndrome, and Jeremy had just become my latest project.
    Trying not to make it sound too important, I set the bait for an “accidental” run-in with my father. “You’ll have to come back for another meeting.”
    “Fine.” He tucked Ebbie into the carrier.
    “Doesn’t it get too hot in there for her?”
    “Ice packs.”
    Ah. I had no knowledge of cat carriers. My cat, Grendel, was a twenty-plus pound Maine Coon who, thankfully, had a vet who made house calls. Because there’s no way Grendel would fit into one of those bags. Maybe if it was a steamer trunk...
    His vet was Marisol Valerius, one of my best friends since childhood. I had to confess that for a fleeting second I thought she might make a good match for Jeremy, what with their connection to animals. But no. She was the opposite of tall and blond. And she had curves that could make a man dizzy. Plus, Jeremy wasn’t her kind of man, either. She liked the Matt Damon type. Blond. Boy-next-door with a heart-stopping grin.
    Not tall and dark with a dangerous edge.
    I eyed his scar. “What happened to your jaw?”
    “What happened to your leg?”
    Beneath the hem of my dress, a raised scar stood out against the tan skin of my left calf. I’d once been stabbed by a psychopath. I studied Jeremy. Was he saying his scar had come from a psychopath, too?
    His eyes gave nothing away. “I’ll call you,” he said, setting the carrier on the chair. “To set up another appointment.”
    “That’s fine.” I wanted