Page 79 of When I Accidentally Snagged a Serial Killer

“Overnight rooms,” Gage explains. “New intakes stay back here until they’re medically cleared, and the café residents sleep here when they need quiet.” He catches the back of my sweater before I can crouch. “Later, Jules.”

I glance over my shoulder in horror. “There is a baby.”

“There are twenty-two babies.”

One kennel holds an elderly gray cat buried beneath enough blankets to qualify as royalty. In another, a tortoiseshell sprawls upside down. Laminated cards list names and notes. Someone maintains this room with obsessive care.

Before I can ask who, a woman’s voice cuts across the room. “You were supposed to send me her name first.”

I freeze. Gage closes his eyes briefly.

The woman in the doorway has a blunt dark bob cut precisely at her jaw and sharp, striking features which make her both gorgeous and mildly terrifying, like a sleek black cat with spikes for boundaries. Her eyes don’t wander like most people’s. She simply stares. No rudeness. No apology. Just a clean survey.

“Four.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

Gage exhales through his nose. “Jubilee, this is my little sister, Maisie. Maisie, Jubilee.”

I throw him a pointed look. “You said no to sister.”

“Adoptive sister.”

I nearly stomp my foot. “That’s still a sister, you manipulative wise-ass.”

Maisie stares him down. “She’s right.”

“Thank you.” I beam.

“Don’t get excited,” she warns without missing a beat. “I’m still evaluating you.”

Four out of ten. Well, I’ve had worse.

Maisie’s attention moves back to her brother. “You didn’t send her name.”

“I brought you the entire woman. More efficient.” He strokes his beard, clearly amused.

“That defeats the purpose of advance vetting.”

I step closer to Maisie. “Oh, I can help with that.” Gage grins. Maisie’s brows lift as I smile brightly. “Social Security number, driver’s license history, passport records, police background check, previous addresses, court filings, property records⁠—”

Maisie’s head snaps toward her brother. “What the fuck, Gage?”

His grin turns absolutely obnoxious. “My girlfriend’s a hacker.”

Girlfriend. Every thought in my skull derails. I’m still quietly combusting when Maisie focuses on me, eyes like headlights. I’m the deer.

“Five,” she says.

Gage blows out a laugh. “That’s a high opening score for you.”

She jerks her chin toward a smaller room off the kennels.

The office is cramped but meticulous. Desk. Filing cabinet. Three mismatched chairs. A cat-shaped clock. One shelf of veterinary manuals, another of suspiciously expensive cookbooks, two of them Gage’s. Three mugs of coffee already wait on the desk. A mini fridge hums in the corner with a handwritten sign taped to the door: TOUCH MY CHEESE AND DIE.

Maisie takes the chair behind the desk. I take one across from her. Gage remains standing until she points at the chair beside mine. “Sit, Jerkface.”

He sits. I love her already.