It was disgusting to consider what he had put inside his body.

Gabriel reached for a spoon from his collection and tapped it on his desk.

Yet part of him would always crave the comfort, would always remember fondly the beauty of pouring water over the sugar-laden spoon and that moment of erotic anticipation as the absinthe turned from brilliant emerald to cloudy lime.

Part of him was still an addict, and until he conquered that once and for all, he was still cursed.

To be addicted to the addict. It was a terrible fate, and he would have to be careful he didn’t ensnare Sara into such a horrific ending.

Rafe’s name was on her cell phone screen, so Sara answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. How are you?”

His ears must have been burning. And for some reason, Sara felt guilty having discussed him with Gabriel, however vaguely. It still felt like she hadn’t been staunch enough in her support of Rafe during the latter part of the trial. It felt like she needed to make that up to him, over and over, by reminding people of his innocence.

“I’m doing good,” she said. “You haven’t left Florida yet, have you?” She really did want to see Rafe before he went to California.

“No. It will be at least two weeks. I have to tie up some loose ends.” He paused, than asked, “Are you really in New Orleans, Sara?”

She closed her eyes briefly. She hadn’t wanted him to know, hadn’t wanted him to worry. “Who told you that?”

“It’s in the friggin’ paper. But I know how capable they are of printing lies, so I wanted to check with you. Warn you that if you are there, they know.”

They. The mythical they who had followed her, photographed her, called her, asked rude and insensitive questions. Disrupted her mother’s funeral. Uncovered her brief stint in rehab and splashed it all over gleefully. The media.

“Yeah, I’m in New Orleans. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Can I ask what you’re doing there?”

That was a loaded question, and one she couldn’t really answer in its entirety. “I just needed to get away. I’m sightseeing. I took a three-month lease on an apartment.”

“An apartment? In the French Quarter? The Garden District?”

“No. Kenner.”

“Never heard of it. So sightseeing, huh? Okay.” He didn’t sound like he believed her, but neither did he pry. “Make sure you check out the cemeteries. Everyone says you have to see them.”

Not that she would normally seek out a jaunt through the cemetery, but in this case she could answer in all honesty. “I’ve already been there. Very interesting.”

“Eat some gumbo for me, and come home safely, alright?”

“I will. Thanks. And if you need any help with the move, let me know.”