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that lives could get my doors closed until it’s been hunted down and killed,” Kat returned.
    “Got it.” Carlin swabbed more bleach into a corner, unwilling to risk losing this job for a few germs, and in a vengeful tone said, “
Die
, you little bastards.” As soon as the words were out she mentally smacked herself in the head and darted a glance at Kat. “Sorry. I got carried away.”
    Kat shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ve called them worse.”
    “I try to watch my mouth,” Carlin confessed, giving another swipe at the corner, just in case. “The problem is I come from a long line of smart-asses, and things just … pop out.”
    “DNA’s a bitch.” Looking over at her, Kat suddenlygrinned, her eyes lighting up. “I guess that explains your name, huh?”
    “Carlin? Yeah. At least they didn’t name me ‘George.’ ”
    They both snickered. Carlin relaxed more now that she knew she didn’t have to tamp down her more irreverent observations—everyone remembered a smart-ass, and not drawing attention to herself had been tough. On the other hand, staying alive was really good motivation, so she’d been working on being as anonymous as possible.
    “My mom loves George Carlin,” Kat said. “She’s always said any man who can make her laugh …” the sentence trailed away, as if some unexpected remembrance had derailed her thoughts.
    They worked in silence for a few minutes, but the quiet didn’t help. Carlin was getting antsier by the second. Why wait until Kat decided to start the questions? Why not begin with some of her own?
    “So, what made you decide to hire me? That was a fast decision, especially after I told you I needed to be paid under the table.”
    Kat looked a little startled, as if she hadn’t expected her new employee to take charge. She paused, her head tilting a bit to the side, her pale, clear eyes sharp as she gave Carlin a considering look. “I know what it’s like to be afraid of a man,” she finally said, her tone completely level. “Never again.”
    That simple explanation was good enough for Carlin. If she ever got out of this mess, if she was ever free and clear … she’d gladly help another woman who found herself in a similar situation. Call it karma, call it gratitude … call it one woman who had survived helping another to make it through another day. For now, Carlin decided just to call it good luck.
    As her employer, Kat could’ve asked for details, could’ve demanded them, but she didn’t. Instead she went to thejukebox, carefully avoiding the segment of the floor Carlin had already mopped while digging change out of her large apron pocket. She didn’t study the selections, just dropped in some quarters and started punching buttons, lining up a few songs for them to work by. As Kat turned around, the first song she’d chosen began to play. An instrumental Carlin didn’t recognize began, the notes filling the quiet café; Kat half-closed her eyes, her body moving in a gentle shimmy and sway. A moment later, Michael Bublé began to sing an upbeat version of “Cry Me a River.”
    Why that song? Carlin was suddenly tempted to tell Kat more. She wanted to tell her new boss that she had never cried over Brad, that it hadn’t been that kind of relationship, not ever. She had cried over some of the things he’d done, but mostly she’d been angry and frustrated—until Jina died, and after that things had changed. She didn’t cry now. Now, she worked hard at surviving.
    But Kat simply put on the music and got back to work. She didn’t speak, and Carlin pushed away the temptation to talk. Was this Kat’s normal way of doing things, or had she fired the jukebox up so it would be possible for them to work without speaking? Questions would inevitably come, but obviously not right this minute. Good enough.
    When “Cry Me a River” ended it was followed by Trace Adkins, with a kickin’ country song about bars and nice butts. Kat had an eclectic taste in