I almost didn’t rent the apartment when I saw her there, but I really needed out of that storeroom, and this was the only thing I could afford. Once I got used to her, I couldn’t imagine the apartment without her.

As usual, I didn’t get a reply from Irma. Ian was in his running car when I braved the cold once again. At least it had quit raining at last. I held up an index finger to tell him to give me a minute, then ran next door and knocked lightly on Mable’s window. I didn’t want to wake her if she was already asleep, but she called out for me to come in.

“Hey, hon,” I said, dragging a frozen, wet sandwich out of the paper bag.

Mable was already in her pajamas and housecoat, getting ready to settle down for the evening. “Have you seen my brush?” she asked me. “The brown one?”

I chuckled. “Not lately. I brought your favorite, but it’s kind of squished. And frozen.”

“Oh, honey, squished and frozen are my middle names.”

Yesterday her middle name was suppository. Long story.

She hurried over, her face the picture of glee. Surely she could roast the sandwich to dry it out a bit. Make it crunchy.

“Can I borrow the car when Stan brings it back?”

“You can borrow it now. He doesn’t have it. Little shit wrecked it the other night.”

Alarmed, I asked, “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It was just a fender bender. Barely left a scratch. Nothing to write the governor about.”

That woman loved to write the governor. “That’s good. So it’s not in the shop?”

“Nope. It’s in my backyard. He doesn’t get to take it anymore until he pays for the damage.”

“God bless you. Kids these days.” I didn’t mention the fact that Stan and I were very close to the same age.

“But you can take it anytime, sweet cheeks.”

“Thank you,” I said, rushing around her counter to give her a squeeze.

She fought me off with a threatening wave of her spatula, but relented and let me give her a quick hug.

“Key’s on the hook.”

I grabbed the key to her Fiesta, wishing I’d known about the car situation beforehand. I could’ve avoided another evening with the cop voted most likely to be put on administrative leave pending a psych eval. It was a real award. Oh well, surveillance could begin later. It might be better if it did, in fact. I could check out Mr. V’s house after bedtime when everyone had settled in for the night.

I ran outside, held up my finger again to an ever-more-agitated Ian, and sprinted across the street, only almost busting my ass on the ice once. I saw a soft glow coming from inside the shed. He must have gotten oil for his lamp.

I picked my way carefully through the brush and to the fallen structure. “James?” I called out.

He didn’t like me to get too close, so I put the bag just outside what used to be the shed door.

“I’m leaving your sandwich here. I apologize for the state it’s in.”

After a moment, I heard a grunt and then a honk.

A honk!

Ian had honked at me. I whirled around and glared at him, though I doubted he could see me. I would not be honked at. That was absolutely the final straw. This ended tonight.

I could’ve just broken off our friendship right then and there and taken Mable’s car, but I wanted to explain to him why we couldn’t see each other anymore. And I wanted to do it in a public place. I didn’t trust him. Thinking back, I’d never really trusted him. Even that first night.

We drove to the café, which took all of two minutes, in absolute silence. He knew the honking thing had set me on edge, so he wisely kept his mouth shut. His emotions, however, raged behind his stony visage, and they spoke volumes. He was pissed. At me. For being mad at him. At least that was my guess. Of all the gall. I suddenly could not wait for our relationship to come to an end.

But I’d been wrong. Once we pulled up to the café, he turned off the engine and faced me. “Whose jacket is that?”

He was just noticing? Some cop.

“It’s a friend’s.”

“What friend? You don’t have any friends.”

“Well, fuck you very much,” I said, turning to leave.

He grabbed my arm for the second time that evening. I did a twisty move and jerked out of his grip. For the second time that evening.

“Look, Ian, this whole friendship thing we have going on isn’t really working out for me.”

“Really?”

“Really. I would love to be friends with you, but you don’t know where to draw the line. I see no other choice but to end our friendship altogether.”

The calmness that came over him should have been a sign. An indicator of what he was truly capable of. I felt anger swell hot and fast inside him, but on the outside, he was a picture of amiable reserve, the way a nun might be at a kegger.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone soft as though he were talking to a child. “Let’s just have dinner, okay? Then we can talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

He lowered his head, and I saw the shimmer of wetness gather between his lashes. But nowhere in his emotions did I pick up even a hint of remorse. “I’m so bad at this. I know. And I’m sorry, Janey. I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

Praise the Lord. At least we were finally back to being friends and nothing more. That, I could live with. Maybe.

“So, we’re friends, right?”

He raised a hopeful expression. “Right.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more. I just… Well, you’re really special to me, and I just worry about you.”

I had to admit, he was a good actor, but a coldness had settled over him. He was resting one hand on the keys still in the ignition as though waiting for my response. I had little choice but to do some character acting myself.

I smiled at him and, taking that extra step that always impresses directors, threw my arms around his neck. His anger dissipated, though not entirely, and he hugged me back.

When I pulled away, I said, “Let’s eat, yes?”

For the barest fraction of a microsecond, he narrowed his lids in suspicion.

I didn’t give him a chance to dwell on my sudden shift in moods very long. I bounced out of the car with a flirty “I’m starved.”

He followed at a slower pace, so I wrapped an arm in his, sending him a thousand different mixed signals. But his peace of mind was hardly my priority. I just wanted to be near people. People who could call the police should the need arise.

I totally needed a phone.

Making sure to sit where I could see the alley, I scooted into a booth. Ian tried to sit next to me. After I shot him a warning glare on the dos and don’ts of friendship, he moved to the other side.

Shayla, a tiny, fairylike creature who defined the phrase cuter than a bug’s ear, brought us some menus. “Can’t get enough of us?” she asked, teasing.

“It’s the excellent service.”

She giggled, took our drink orders, and went to wait on another table. I was half hoping Reyes would be in. Maybe we couldn’t have a relationship, but I could damned well look upon him when he presented himself to be looked upon. That wasn’t so much stalking as appreciating. Like art. And porn.