“We need a plan.”
“That’s the umpteenth time you’ve said that,” I groused. “We’ll make one, after we decide who we’re dealing with.”
Axel had been staying at the house since he first revealed himself over three weeks previously. I had no problem with that. I also understood—on the day we went to his place to get some of his clothes—why he seemed reluctant to go home. He had been living in a studio apartment on the third floor of an older building that didn’t have an elevator.
“Why the hell…?” I’d muttered moments after entering. It was nice enough, I supposed, for what it was, with white walls, a carpeted floor, the requisite furniture, two closets, and a tiny bathroom and kitchen.
He’d shrugged. “I only use it for sleeping so size didn’t matter. And it’s cheap.”
Cheap did matter to h
