'Did you look in Bart's corner?' Bartender had this corner in the basement where he liked to stash things from time to time.

'No.'

'Then go look there, sweetie. Bart's probably been chomping on him, her, whatever.'

'Bart!' Ripley shouted in the imperious manner of little girls playing cross mothers. 'Did you take Skin-baby, Bart?'

It was strange the way even the most natural moments could seem awkward in the presence of someone new. In the day-to-day routine of things, nothing felt self-conscious; all the edges were sealed by familiarity. But add a stranger to the mix and everything changed. With newcomers came the specter of judgment.

After Ripley disappeared, Sam said, 'Skin-baby, huh?'

'Bart! You mangy mutt!' floated up the basement stairs.

'One of those creepy real-as-life dolls,' Thomas explained. 'They started calling it Skin-baby after they lost its clothes. For all the world it looks like a warm, pink baby…' He pursed his lips in a sour line. 'Only dead.'

When Sam failed to reply, Thomas added, 'My kids are weird.'

'Ahh, so they take after their father, then.'

'Some days I think it has more to do with nurture than nature.'

She looked at him pensively.

'What's wrong?' he asked, even though he knew. The madness of the last couple of days had thrust intimacy upon them. Now, in the cobweb-calm of morning, that intimacy seemed a shocking thing, like mysteriously waking up without underwear. She was confused, perhaps even more so than he was, given that she was risking her career.

And confused people tended to beat a hasty retreat.

'I should—'

'Look,' he interrupted. 'Have some breakfast with me and the kids. Get a feel for the Thomas Bible animal in his home environment. Do a little fact-finding before making any decisions.'

She stared, her face all the more lovely for the small signs of their previous night. Puffy-vulnerable eyes. Slightly disheveled hair. Ad hoc cosmetics. He thought of the blue heart she had made on her tackboard back in her cubicle. Don't…

'Sound fair?' he asked.

She nodded nervously. 'Sounds fair.'

He cursed himself for a fool as they walked to the kitchen. What the fuck was he doing? She wanted him—he could tell that much. But he couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted his help more. For some reason, this case had gotten its hooks into her—deep hooks.

And he wasn't interested in package deals.

My kids are all that matter.