hit the window control and lowered the glass. The scent of steaming coffee wafted into the truck interior. Never had anything smelled so good.
Blade handed in a black mug. Steam rose from the liquid surface. “Just brewed it. Extradark. Hope you take it that way.”
She’d take any offering of food or drink no matter the strength or weakness. Thank goodness he’d paid for her beer last night. That left her twenty dollars in her pocket—left over from selling raspberries—and a half-full gas tank. It was terrible not to know who she was. But not having the funds to rent a room or pay for a hot meal? She would have to look into that home for amnesiacs he’d mentioned if she didn’t figure her life out, and fast.
“Thank you.” She sipped the brew. It kicked her. Hard. “Whew!”
“It’s called Death Brew for a reason,” Blade offered. “Have a good night’s sleep?”
She shrugged. No one named Brock had tried to break in and attack her, so she figured that was as good as it got.
“Here’s the deal,” Blade said. “I’m heading into town in an hour. Got some work to do for a couple of nuns. If you want, you’re welcome to use my shower before I leave.”
“Really?” She hadn’t showered in days. Had begun to wonder if her hair would ever see a comb again. “I’d like that.”
“Cool. Just me and Oogie live out here in the barn. If my cat likes you, I like you.”
“Then here’s hoping I pass the cat test.”
* * *
The eerie, hairless black cat hissed and arched its back as Zenia landed at the top of the stairs leading to the loft level of the big barn. The lower level was a wide-open garage littered with vehicles in all states of repair. This was the living quarters. Vast and open, it felt modern and airy, not at all barnlike.
Blade, who had led her up the stairs and directed her to the left for the bathroom, peered out from around the stainless-steel fridge at his cat, which was poised on the back of a green-and-blue-plaid couch. Blade glanced at Zenia, who had frozen at the top of the stairs, clinging to the backpack strap she’d tossed over her shoulder. Then he eyed the cat, who had arched up its back so high Zenia thought it might fold in half.
“Guess I failed the cat test,” she offered.
“Oogie?” Blade knelt and called to the cat. “What’s wrong, buddy?” He tilted his head at her and she felt as if his look peeled back her layers and zoomed right to her oozy core.
If only it were so easy to learn who she was.
“Who are you?” he asked. Yet again.
And yet again, she had no clear answer.
The cat leaped into his arms, and the man stood, stroking its wrinkled suede-like head. “Oogie likes everyone.”
“Obviously I’m not everyone. And that’s the big question, isn’t it?” She rubbed her arms, though she wasn’t cold, just frustrated. And it had taken a cat to nail that frustration to the wall. “Who am I?”
The cat hissed at her.
Zenia flinched. “Uh, do you want me to leave?”
“No. Shower’s that way.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Oogie and I will talk. You have to walk through the bedroom,” he called as Zenia made her way down a short hallway. “You’ll see the bathroom door once you get in there.”
Overlooking the cat’s defensive reaction, she glided into a dark room that was lit by the sunlight beaming through a window set into the slanted roof.
Her gaze swept over the unmade bed. Black rumpled bed sheets. Cozy, in a manly way. Beneath her flip-flops, the floorboards were wide unbleached timber, as were the walls and slanted ceiling. Overall, a darkly clean, yet rustic decor. Just like the man.
And yet, he’d sweetly cuddled that ugly cat. Surprising to see such a big, intimidating man handle a tiny beast so gently.
Veering into the attached bathroom, Zenia was thankful it wasn’t all black. In fact, bright white tiles decorated the floor and walls, and though small, the gleaming shower looked inviting through the clear glass door.
She closed the bathroom door and set down the backpack. She’d raided a clothing donation box one night and found a sack of folded clothes that didn’t smell. Freshly washed? She could hope. And they’d fit, so she’d taken the whole bag and the canvas backpack that had been stuffed under a pile of smelly gym shoes.
Stripping off her clothes, she caught her reflection in the small shaving mirror above the sink. It was too small to see her whole face so she bobbed to get a view of her condition. Her hair begged a good combing and dark shadows curved under her eyes. She so needed a good night’s sleep and...to know.
“Who are you?” she repeated Blade’s question to her reflection. “And why the hell were you able to walk away after being hit by a freakin’ bus?”
She’d sensed his utter astonishment when she’d told him that. At the time she hadn’t thought anything of it. Could have been the adrenaline racing through her system. Shouldn’t she have a broken bone or even come away with a bruise or gash? She’d not even bled!
But instead of panicking, she’d been thankful. And that was about all she could do, wasn’t it? Live day to day, grateful that she had clothing and a vehicle.
Stepping into the shower, she adjusted the water temperature and said thanks for the kindness of strangers. And then she had the thought that she should have locked the bathroom door behind her.
* * *
Blade stood outside the bathroom door, his fingers glancing over the clear glass knob. On his bed sat his pet of thirteen years, the feline’s hairless black ears tilted backward and gold eyes wide. Oogie generally liked people. Though, he did tend to get his hackles up when demons were around. Full-blooded demons. Recognizing the mimicus breed of demon that could mimic other species had given Oogie trouble.
Don’t think about her. Just forget.
Forgetting was what he most wanted to do. But the memory of her had etched itself into his soul. And no amount of charity work was going to rub it away. Not even moving a heavy stone fountain into a garden for a couple of retired nuns.
Blade shrugged at Oogie. “What do you think?”
Oogie’s ratlike tail flicked with annoyance.
“She seems harmless. She doesn’t even know who she is.”
Which didn’t necessarily render her harmless. She could have forgotten she was some kind of assassin. Or maybe she was a real good liar.
He was jumping to wild conclusions. Zen was simply a pretty woman who had had a bit of bad luck. With a bus. And demons. Though she seemed genuinely unaware of the demonic trouble.
A stolen truck and no home or belongings? Had to be tough. She couldn’t sleep in her truck every night. But he wasn’t prepared to offer her a place to bunk down, either.
That
