"You figure their parents were cousins?" Austin asked when she closed the door.

"I have no idea."

He yawned, stretched, and glanced over at Dean. "What's with him? He looks like he just tried to kill somebody."

Dean stared wide-eyed at the cat. "You can tell?"

Austin sighed and flicked an ear toward Claire. "What's he talking about?"

"When he heard Fred going upstairs in the elevator, he hesitated before racing off to save him."

"Not much point in removing only one of them," Austin agreed.

"You're not helping," Claire snapped before Dean could react. Crossing the lobby, she poked him in the chest. "Stop tearing yourself up over this. You aren't a horrible person. You've got to be the nicest guy I've ever met."

NICE GUYS FINISH LAST.

"Get out of my head."

WE WEREN'T TALKING TO YOU.

Oh, h.e.l.l...

"Dean?"

"If you don't need me for anything, I'd like to go downstairs and do some serious thinking about my life." He spun on one heel and hurried off before she could answer, which was probably a good thing since she couldn't think of anything constructive to say.

Walking over to the counter, she scooped Austin up into her arms and stroked the top of his head with her cheek. "This is not good."

"What? That after living unaffected next to h.e.l.l for almost a year. Dean spends a month and a half in your company and all of a sudden he's willing to kill?"

"He hesitated! Then he saved the guy!"

"Face the facts, Claire, you've got him tied in knots. He's not thinking, he's reacting and that's exactly the sort of situation h.e.l.l loves to exploit."

THE CAT'S RIGHT.

"Of course I am; but who asked you?"

She set him back on the counter. "I'm not Dean's problem."

JEALOUSY IS ONE OF OURS.

"He said he was fine with me and Jacques."

YOU'RE REALLY NOT A PEOPLE PERSON, ARE YOU?.

"Take your own advice and stop listening to h.e.l.l." Austin paused to lick at a bit of mussed fur. "Let Dean do his serious thinking, and maybe he'll solve the problem on his own."

"Cherie?"

"And speaking of problems."

Shooting Austin a warning look, she turned to face Jacques. Translucent in the light from the office window, he looked exactly the way he had the first day she'd set eyes on him. She realized that she'd been expecting their night together to have changed him, but, unfortunately, it seemed to have changed only her perception of him, men were just so much more attractive when they were opaque.

"You are more beautiful this morning than I have ever seen you." His eyes twinkled. It was a disconcerting effect since Claire could see the door through them. "I have been thinking. One night cannot balance so many years alone; perhaps this afternoon..."

"No."

His grin faded. "But cherie, was I not all I promise I would be?"

"Yes, but..."

The grin returned. "Give me flesh again, and we will drive away the but."

"Look, Jacques, you're dead, so you have nothing to do, but I'm alive and I have..."

STRANGE TASTE IN MEN.

Shut up. "... responsibilities."

Jacques looked interested. "Like what?"

"Like feeding the cat," Austin declared in a tone that suggested he shouldn't have had to mention it.

"And?" Jacques wondered.

"And that's not important right now. What's important is that you're dead and I'm alive..."

"Cherie, non."

"... and no matter how many times I give you flesh, you'll still be dead!" The words echoed in the empty lobby. From the look of pained betrayal on Jacques' face as he dematerialized, he wouldn't be back any time soon. "I didn't mean to hurt him," she sighed. "I just wanted him to..."

"Go away. And he did, congratulations." Critically inspecting a front paw, Austin snorted. "I'm not sure this is as clean as it could be."

Claire grabbed the edge of the counter, bent over, and rhythmically banged her head against the wood.

THAT WAS FUN.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

For the first time in weeks, as the pipes banged out the news that Claire was in the shower, Dean wasn't lost in daydreams of soap and water. Kneeling by the bed, he pulled out his old hockey bag, the only luggage he'd brought from back home. It was pretty obvious that Claire thought they could just go on as though he hadn't been willing to murder Faith Dunlop's boyfriend for no greater crime than being a total moron. Maybe she could, but that sort of thing changed a guy. Changed the way he looked at himself. Maybe it was time he moved on.

"I see Dean's truck is gone."

Claire picked up her breakfast dishes, stared at them for a moment, and then carried them over to the sink. "He left about ten minutes ago."