"Sorry!" she chirped, immediately trying to stop herself. Which, of course, meant the lyrics continued to turn over in her head. "I guess I might be dangerous around you. Music is kind of my business. I used to have a radio show. And I've been writing songs since the 1920s."

She'd given many a performance in those days too. In speakeasys, wearing scandalously little clothing that showed off her very, very nice legs. A part of her missed those days. The excitement, the energy, the class.

But all things considered, she preferred air conditioning.

In the third drawer, she found a bottle of bright pink vodka.

I can't give him this. Vitae's more addictive than crack. I don't need to give him new problems. He has enough.

She put it back and continued to paw through Jack's things.