“He should have let me die,” Abel said. “My fiancée died that day. And that kinda left me addled. She was lovely, Rina, half Korean, half Vietnamese. A thoroughly beautiful woman, not unlike yourself. Her name was Song Duc Lu. Ask Pete about her. He knew her well, though not as well as he thought…” He looked down.

With shaky hands, Rina drew her purse onto her lap. She felt safe in an odd sort of way. He’d had his opportunity and didn’t take it. Primitive thinking, but she held on to her logic as tightly as she clutched her purse.

“So you’re angry at Peter for saving your life,” Rina said. “For your girlfriend’s death. You’re crazy, Abel. You’re crazy and you’re right! Peter should have let you die.”

Abel broke into a slow smile that spoke of his tortured soul. Rina was suddenly ashamed of herself. She stared at him, at this shell of a man consumed by the poison of untimely loss. Rina knew the feeling well. Once, she’d been as bitter as he. But time and God had calmed her soul. She knew some people who’d returned to God during troubled periods, but most did not find their ultimate salvation in religion. Time was a different animal. Most raging souls were soothed by the passing of years. Abel had been one of the exceptions, his war experience turning him into a ghost. There had to be more to his story, but she didn’t want to engage him in any more conversation. Suddenly, the prospect of returning to New York didn’t seem nearly as gloomy.

“Look,” she said. “I…I’m sorry your fiancée died. But I didn’t kill her.”

Abel let out a bitter laugh. “True enough.”

His presence was suffocating. She had to get out of there. She tried to stand, but didn’t have the strength. In a clear voice, she said, “I’m a little shaky, Abel. Help me up.”

Abel regarded her face for a moment. Full of anger, yet he knew she’d forgive him. She was that type of person, the exact opposite of himself. Even after all he had done to her, she couldn’t sustain her hatred. He thought of her eyes as he’d threatened her. He’d known she couldn’t pull the trigger.

He stood up, offered her his hand, then pulled her up, holding her hand a little longer than he should have. And she knew it, too. But she seemed too weary to pull away. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the fingertips several times.

“You didn’t do it, did you?” Rina said.

“No.” Abel dropped her hand. “No, I didn’t. I’ve got lots of bad qualities. You’ve just seen one of them, Rina—I can’t let go of anything. But I don’t hurt women—ever.”