When he was dressed, and her bra was tucked in her pocket, they walked out of his old room, arm in arm, and as he passed the mirror, he took the picture of the Madonna with him, slipping it into his jacket.

Downstairs, he turned off the lights and lowered the heat, and when they got to the front door, he paused and looked around. “I should clean this place up.”

He had a feeling he wouldn’t act on the impulse, however. Even though he had a crew of men he could send over to rip out all of the old crap and demo the baths and kitchen, he had a terrible inertia problem when it came to the house.

In a lot of ways, it sucked the will to live right out of him.

On the way back to the Iron Mask, he held Marie-Terese’s hand the whole time, except for when he had to shift.

Pulling into the club’s parking lot, he glanced over. As she stared out her window, the line of her chin and the way her hair fell over her shoulder were incredibly beautiful.

And then he realized what she was looking at. The alley on the far side that was cordoned off with crime scene tape.

“You want me to follow you home?” he said.

She nodded, her eyes still locked on where those kids had been killed. “Would you mind?”

“I would love to.” Man, trust from a woman could make a guy feel tall as a mountain.

Marie-Terese turned to face him. “Thank you…for everything.”

He leaned in slowly, in case kissing so close to where she had worked was going to be too much. She didn’t move out of the way, though, and as their lips met briefly, he inhaled deep.

Clean laundry and fresh woman. That was what she smelled like.

Better than any perfume ever made.

“Can I see you again?” he asked.

Ducking her head, she picked her purse up from the floor. “I hope so.”

With a last, too-quick smile, she sprang the door, got out, and went over to her car. Instead of using a security fob, she unlocked the thing using the actual key, and it took forever for the fucking thing to start.

He didn’t like that Camry of hers. Way too unreliable.

And while he was at it, he didn’t like how she’d avoided his eyes just now.

When her car finally decided to get with the program, she took off and he rode her bumper out of downtown and into another section of suburban houses. He knew immediately which one was hers: the little Cape Cod with the bars over every window, even those on the second floor. The car parked parallel to the curb right in front was no doubt the babysitter’s.