I jumped up, and my chair crashed to the floor. "You thought I made this up so I could come over here in the middle of the night and crawl into your bed!"

The line to Morelli's mouth tightened. "Let me get this straight. Yesterday, someone actually blew up your car and your apartment. And now you want to move in with me? What, do you hate me? You're a walking disaster! You're Calamity Jane in fucking spandex!"

"I am not a walking disaster!" But he was right. I was a walking disaster. I was an accident waiting to happen. And I was going to cry. My chest ached and my throat felt like I'd swallowed a baseball and tears gushed out of my eyes. "Shit," I said, swiping the tears away.

Morelli grimaced and reached out to me. "Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Don't touch me!" I shrieked. "You're right. I'm a disaster. Look at me. I'm homeless. I'm carless. And I'm hysterical. What kind of a bounty hunter gets hysterical? A loser bounty hunter, that's what kind. A l-l-loser."

"Maybe milk wasn't the right choice here," Morelli said. "Maybe you could use some brandy."

"And there's more," I sobbed. "I lost forty bucks on craps, and I was the only one who didn't have a gun tonight!"

Morelli pulled me into his arms and held me close to him.

"That's okay, Steph. Forty dollars isn't so much. And lots of people don't have guns."

"Not in New Jersey. Not bounty hunters."

"There are some people in Jersey who don't have a gun."

"Oh yeah? Name one."

He held me at arm's length and grinned. "I think we should get you up to bed. You'll feel better in the morning."

"About the bed . . ."

He pushed me toward the stairs. "I have a spare bedroom made up."

"Thanks."

"And I'll leave my door open in case you get lonely."

And I'd lock my door in case I got weak.

I AWOKE DISORIENTED, staring at a ceiling that wasn't mine. The walls were covered with faded green paper patterned with barely discernible viney flowers. Comforting in an old-fashioned way. Morelli had inherited this house from his Aunt Rose and hadn't changed much. My guess was the simple white curtains that hung on the windows had been chosen by Rose. It was a small room with a queen-size bed and a single chest of drawers. The floors were wood, and Morelli had placed a rag throw rug beside the bed. It was a sunny room and much quieter than my own bedroom, which faced out to the parking lot. I was sleeping in one of Morelli's T-shirts, and I was now faced with grim reality. I had no clothes. No clean underwear, no shorts, no shoes, no nothing. First thing would be a trip to Macy's for an emergency wardrobe.