“It’s all good fun. No involvement necessary. I’m not asking for anything.”

“I know you’re not. I acted impetuously. But it can’t happen again.”

Constantine’s eyes walked over her body, and she could swear she saw the barest predatory gleam in them when he licked his lips and shrugged, then stood. His voice was no longer warm and cajoling. It was cold, the perfect match to hers, but there was genuine hurt and confusion, and she felt the pull, the need, the desire to be loved and to love, to connect.

“Suit yourself. It was nice knowing you, Justine Holliday.”

He started to walk away and she felt the shroud lift. What a dumb mistake she’d made, allowing her baser instincts to take over. Maybe when you’re settled here, maybe when you’ve made up your mind that this is permanent, then you can think about moving on for real.

She saw him disappear around the corner and squared her shoulders.

Stick to the plan. Stick to the plan.

And then she was up, on her feet, tossing bills on the table, running after him.

Secrets and Monsters

SECRETS AND MONSTERS

Then

They had to do something with the nursery.

Sutton couldn’t stand the idea of it sitting there like a shrine, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to dismantle it. It smelled good, and it smelled wrong. Baby powder and emptiness, the lavender-scented blankets still stacked up high on the table by the crib, vestiges of Just Jan and her tidy, almost architectural folding abilities. Sutton asked her once if she was into origami, and Just Jan had laughed and said no, she was just careful with her things, and her thick braids swung forward, two perfect, fat, winding snakes, and Sutton didn’t believe her.

OCD, maybe.

Was that safe for Dashiell, being around someone who was so precise?

And her inner voice reminded her she liked Jan, and Jan was good for Dashiell, good for her and for Ethan as well, and to stop being a jerk.

A week after Dashiell had died, Just Jan had offered to pack the nursery for her. Just Jan had thusly been sent packing herself, divested of her keys, the alarm codes changed, and a fat severance check in her back pocket. (Ethan’s doing. Sutton had tried to scratch her eyes out.)

There was no reason for Just Jan to exist for them anymore, anyway.

But now, Sutton was stuck, poor Sutton, all alone, in the doorway to her dead son’s room, having to make a decision. Close it down or keep it open?

Ethan, not surprisingly, had abdicated. He wouldn’t get near the nursery. He’d go down the back stairs to avoid having to step past the door, as if some unseen monster was going to reach out and grab him.