She led him up two flights to the third floor, and with her a step or two ahead of him, he couldn’t help but notice the way her jeans hugged her.

Holy Christ, she had a tight little ass.

He remembered all too well and hated himself for it.

Damn it all to hell.

He dragged his gaze away, tore his attention from her to the apartment building. On the third floor they reached a single unit tucked under the gables of the once-massive home. Thankfully, his gaze was centered higher now, over her crown as she unlocked the door. It appeared that the uppermost story housed only one unit whereas the lower two floors had been cut into two or three units. There was less square footage up here as the roof angle was sharp, and he guessed that the third floor might have originally been servants’ quarters.

From the landing at Kristi’s door, he was able to gaze across the small backyard of the apartment house, then over the massive stone wall surrounding All Saints. He could make out the tops of trees and the bell tower and steeply angled roof of the church. Other buildings, illuminated by watery street lamps, were visible through the trees. He recognized the portico of the library and a turret of Wagner House.

The lock clicked and Kristi shouldered open the door. “Come on in,” she said, stepping over the threshold. “It’s not much, but for the next year or two, if I can stomach dealing with the Calloways, it’s home.”

Still thinking this was a major mistake, he entered her apartment and closed the door behind him.

Kristi dropped her backpack onto a battered couch, stripped off her jacket, and hung it on a hook near the door. “Isn’t this place kinda funky-cool?” she asked with obvious pride. The hardwood floors were beaten and scratched, full of character. A fireplace with painted peeling bricks dominated one wall and peekaboo windows peered from dormers. The kitchen was barely a counter with holes cut into it for a sink and stove. There was a smell of age to the building that the candles and incense she’d scattered around the rooms couldn’t hide. Kristi’s home looked like it needed the kind of facelift he was giving his cousins’ bungalow, but she seemed to love it.

“Definitely funky. I’m not sure about the cool part.”

Amusement glimmered in her eyes. “And what would you know about cool?”

“Touché, Miss Bentz.” He smiled. She had a way of putting him into his place. “Cool is something I’m not into.”