After all, maybe his preoccupation with murder was to quiet his own murderous intentions. Maybe he enjoyed writing true crime books the same way Ted Bundy had gotten a sick thrill from working at a crisis hotline center. He could be a killer. Anyone could. Yet, with nothing more to go on than her gut instinct and the look of sorrow, of longing, in Gabriel’s eyes, she didn’t believe that he was capable of violence. He was as damaged as she was, and it drew her to him.

“Do you have a box or something I can put the kitten in? I don’t want her getting under my car seats or the gas or brake pedals.”

“I’m sure I have something.” Gabriel jogged up the stairs and opened his apartment.

Sara followed more slowly, and by the time she got upstairs he already had a bowl of milk in his hand. He brought it to the floor in front of the couch, so Sara sat down on the hardwood floor, the kitten in her lap. It didn’t take long for the cat to smell food and venture forward, her back legs still on Sara, her front straining to reach the bowl. She lapped out tentatively, then more enthusiastically, drinking quickly. Once she glanced back, milk dripping off her nose and whiskers, and blinked at Sara before sticking her face back in the bowl.

Sara was so keeping the kitten. She was too adorable to give up, practical or not.

“Here’s a towel to use as a blanket,” Gabriel said, handing her a white towel smelling of fabric softener and so sharp in color that it looked bleached.

Gabriel had laundry skills.

“Thanks.” Sara took it, but added, “It’s probably going to get ruined. She needs a bath, and she’s going to get this towel filthy.”

“Why don’t you just give her a bath now? You don’t want to be carrying her around like that. And her fur’s all matted. It’s probably really uncomfortable for her, tugging her skin.”

Sara looked back at Gabriel as she ran her fingers lightly across the kitten’s fur. She had the sense that the room around her had gotten clear, the objects in it sharply focused, more real than they were earlier. It made no sense, but it seemed that she and Gabriel themselves were in sharper focus, and she ached again with the need to touch and be touched, to lay her head down on a man’s shoulder, and rest. The night was dark and silent, and her body weary from lack of sleep, but her mind skittered back and forth, manic and excited, the fear held completely at bay for once. She’d had a fun night. Hadn’t realized she still knew how.