She took in a quick breath. Of all the crazy thoughts that had raced through her mind, the danger of being traced by her phone’s GPS had never occurred to her. Then she snapped her attention back to what really mattered. “This is no normal safe house. In fact, this is far, far from normal. Who are you? What are you really doing?”

He shot her a furious, filthy look and walked away.

“Oh, no you don’t.” She launched out of the chair as fast as she could, which admittedly wasn’t very fast. When she reached the doorway, he was crouching in front of the minifridge, shoving food from the grocery bags into the fridge. “You have a file on me. On my parents. You have a list of my high school friends. Why?”

“You know why.” He glared at her again. “You became unusual.”

“You had no right to dig into my past like that!” she snapped.

He snatched up a wrapped sandwich and stalked into the bedroom.

“Quit walking away from me!” Following him, she found that he had sat at one end of the bed.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees while he tore the wrapper open. With his gaze fixed on the food in his hands, he said between his teeth, “You’re rattled and spoiling for a fight. I get that. But I’ve been up all night casting spells, I didn’t have supper, and I’m going to eat a fucking sandwich. So get out of my face for a few fucking minutes.”

Gah! She wanted to strangle him. Her hands closed into fists, but after a moment she asked, more or less calmly, “Did you bring one for me?”

“What do you think?” He snapped off one end of his sandwich with strong, white teeth.

She thought maybe she needed a few fucking minutes too. Striding over to the fridge, she yanked open the door to stare at the food he had brought. There were three more wrapped sandwiches, two turkey and cheese, one beef and tomato. She snatched at one.

The only two places to sit in the basement were the bed or the desk chair. She wasn’t about to join him, and she didn’t feel like walking into Creepy Monitor Room again, so she ate her sandwich mechanically while standing in front of the microwave, forcing each mouthful down her throat. It tasted like sawdust and she could only manage to eat half, so she rewrapped the rest and put it into the fridge. Then she went back into the bedroom.

He had finished his sandwich and had lain back on the bed, one tanned forearm draped over his eyes. She took in details she had been too preoccupied to notice before. He wore a pair of faded jeans and well-used athletic shoes, and a gray T-shirt stretched tight over his wide chest and muscled arms.