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great deal, which I’m sure comes as no surprise to you.”
    â€œBy choice,” he pointed out.
    She let her breath go in a silent sigh. “I’m sorry, Amarok. If you want me to apologize again, I will.”
    â€œI’m not asking you to apologize. I’m not asking you for anything. I’m just saying, if a friend in Anchorage is your best alternative, you’ll have to stay with me whether you like it or not.”
    â€œI’m fine with it, as long as … as long as you don’t mind.”
    He didn’t try very hard to make her feel welcome, but she supposed she should be happy for what reassurance he offered. “I don’t mind. Not if you plan on sharing.”
    He didn’t specify what.

 
    3
    I didn’t know what made people want to be friends. I didn’t know what made people attractive to one another. I didn’t know what underlay social interactions.
    â€”TED BUNDY, SERIAL KILLER, RAPIST, KIDNAPPER AND NECROPHILIAC
    Evelyn was a little drunk. She suspected Amarok was, too. He sat below her, his back against the couch on which she lay, as they started on a second bottle of Salmonberry Wine, a local favorite. The alcohol had mellowed him and made her talkative, maybe too talkative, but she couldn’t remember when she’d had a better time, especially with nothing but Led Zeppelin playing in the background, a fire raging in the hearth and a man she barely knew for company. With the storm pummeling the house and flame the only light in Amarok’s cabin-like living room, it felt as if they were camping on the very edge of civilization.
    â€œI can’t believe we ate all the junk I bought.” She groaned, gazing at the candy bar, chips and cookie wrappers strewn on the floor.
    â€œWe didn’t eat it all . We skipped some of the cold cereal and the soup.”
    â€œBut we must’ve consumed three thousand calories each . Actually, I think you consumed twice that much.”
    He lifted his big shoulders in a shrug. “Saved me from cooking dinner.”
    She laughed, feared it sounded more like a giggle, and forced herself to stop. When was the last time she’d giggled ? Maybe never. Unless it was before Jasper Moore revealed his true self. She tended to measure her life that way. Before the attack and after.
    â€œBesides, Makita helped.” He whistled to his dog. “Didn’t you, boy?”
    Amarok’s Alaskan malamute, who was dozing by the fire, lifted his head to acknowledge his master, causing the tag on his collar to jingle.
    â€œHe’ll probably be sick tonight,” she mused.
    â€œNah. He’ll take a big dump and be fine.”
    She shifted on the couch. When they first got home Amarok had provided her with some sweats, but the heat of the fire had caused her to peel them off. Now she was dressed in an Alaska State Trooper T-shirt and a pair of boxers, with a fuzzy throw blanket to cover her bare legs. “Still, we should’ve opted for a salad. I can already feel the fat clogging my arteries.”
    He held up his glass and gazed at the liquid inside. “How often do you let yourself eat as many Twinkies as you want?”
    â€œNever.”
    â€œSo don’t worry about it, Doc. You can go back to eating salad and measuring the dressing tomorrow.”
    She’d essentially come to the same conclusion. It was almost as if she’d left her Hanover House persona in the spare bedroom where she’d hung her suit. For the past couple of hours she’d been talking and laughing and feeling like a regular woman. She’d also been ignoring the fact that she and Amarok had a little history together—and, to her relief, Amarok was doing the same. The escape alone was enough to make her feel drunk. “I don’t measure my dressing!”
    â€œYou’re the measuring type.”
    She leaned up on her elbow to take another sip of wine. “Meaning what?