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Cam looked around the alley. “Where are we?”

Claire shut off the truck. “At Victor’s studio. Come on.”

Worried that she’d said naught since leaving the Purple Pussycat, he silently followed. Inside she rooted around a storage room much like her own, only this one was loaded from floor to ceiling with huge bolts of cloth, before handing him a broom.

“Sweep the hay out the back of the truck while I find something for us to eat. My head’s killing me.”

Though sweeping was woman’s work, he thought it best not to argue. Claire wasna in a good frame of mind. Truth to tell, she looked ready to kill.

The truck swept clean, he went back inside. Not finding Claire in the storage room, he climbed the stairs.

In the large, well-lit loft, he found Claire, her chin resting in her hand, sitting at a table, a plate before her. She looked up as he approached. “All I could find were some crackers, paté, and cheese. Bon appétit.”

Ravenous, he murmured, “Thank ye.” When their meager meal was done, he pulled the shears from the container at his elbow. “Is there a mirror anywhere?”

She immediately straightened, looking from the shears to his hair. “Do you really have to?”

“Ye saw the teevee. Ye tell me.”

She heaved a sigh and held out her hand. “I’ll do it.”

Ten minutes later, he ran a hand over his head and grumbled, “I now ken how the poor sheep feel.”

Claire caught her lower lip in her teeth, fighting a grin. “It looks good. Very modern.”

“Humph! I seriously doubt it.” He’d taken pride in his hair, having a full mane of it. Unlike the Sassenachs who had to wear wigs to cover their bald pates.

“Thanks for taking care of that gang that’s been harassing me.”

“Ye heard about that, did ye? Mrs. Grouse, I presume?”

“Yes. She couldn’t wait to give me the details.”

“ ’Twas my pleasure.” And it had been. ’Twas a man’s duty to protect and serve after all.

He strode to the windows and found the storm intensifying. “We’d best be going before we get trapped here. And we’d best leave the truck and take the emty-ay. No point in giving the police more ammunition should they find me.” He turned to find her studying him, her expression pensive. “What ails ye?”

“I’m frightened.”

Ack, poor Claire. He strode across the room and wrapped his arms around her. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he whispered, “I’m so verra sorry, lass. Ye didna ask for any of this.”

He should see her home and then disappear. The police would doubtless question her, but without her kenning his whereabouts, surely they’d leave her be. He would leave his check and credit card as partial payment toward what he owed her. All he really needed was his identification card. He could live off the land as need be. ’Twouldna be the first time and likely wouldna be the last. He could manage until he met with the new psychic. Then he’d be home … where he belonged.

His decision made, he lifted her chin with the crook of his finger so he could look into her eyes and found them as wet and glossy as rain-soaked ivy. “Lass, ye’ll be fine. Ye have naught to fear.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you!”

“Why ever would ye be fashing over me?”

She slapped his chest with both hands. “You’re a duck out of water, a cat on a—a fucking bicycle, Cam. You’re totally clueless and you’re driving me crazy!”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

Claire bared her teeth, apparently frustrated beyond endurance with him, and tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her. “Aye, love, I am all those things, to be sure, but not for long. Soon I’ll be home and this will be but a dream we’ve shared. Ye do have to admit it has been one hell of an adventure, aye?”

She huffed but finally relaxed against him. “I suppose so. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget the look on your face when the deer bolted.” She giggled for a moment then sobering, straightened and patted the front of his shirt. “And not to beat a dead horse, but what if there really is no going back?”

Then he’d still leave. He’d brought her enough heartache.

Fighting a head wind, they made it to the end of the block and headed down the stairs into what Claire called the underground, where they became two people in a mad crush of bodies wanting to ride the coaches which Claire again reminded him traveled on the lethal third rail.

Looking around, he asked, “Why are there so many about at this hour and in such weather?”

“A lot of businesses are still open. Hotels, hospitals, and the like.”

A high-pitched screech of metal on metal emanated from the tunnel and those around them shifted forward. The coaches came to a shuddering halt, the doors opened, and the people behind them pushed forward, barely giving those in the coaches time or room to get out.

Finding only standing room inside, crammed hip to hip with their fellow passengers—one particularly odiferous—Cam grabbed the last free strap hanging from the ceiling and wrapped an arm about Claire. The train lurched forward. Bodies made larger by well-padded coats careened sideways, forcing Claire even closer to him. Liking the feel of her thighs pressed to his, he asked, “Comfy?”

Claire’s nose twitched, apparently catching the odd stench coming from the man standing next to them. “Only you would ask that.”

He grinned, happy his nose was a good two feet higher, and turned his attention to the map mounted at eye level on the wall directly before him. Mass Transit Authority. M.T.A. Not empty-ay. Humph! And why had he not noticed this map when they’d gone to the library? Would have saved him a lot of aggravation and walking if he had. “Claire, which color track is yer home?” He could tell from the station signs that they were riding the red line.

“On the green. We’ll change tracks under the Common.”

Picturing the deer, they exchanged worried looks.