Page 34 of Girl Anonymous

She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to leave. But with Dante’s police-cousin waiting in the wings, she supposed she had no choice. She climbed onto the seat, which, not surprisingly, wasas comfortable as an elevated office chair could be. She adjusted the back and the arms to fit her, then looked up with a grin, half expecting him to be irritated with her for changing his settings. Irritating him was, after all, her intention.

Instead he tilted her chin back, leaned in, and put his lips to hers. If he’d been forceful, she would have resisted, but the sneaky bastard softly, gently reminded her of what had passed between them. When he lifted his head, he smiled into her wide eyes.

She cleared her throat. “That’s not talking.”

“Nonverbal communication is the foundation of any relationship.”

“We don’t have a relationship.”

“Do you always speak in the negative?”

“No.”

He laughed, picked her tightly gripping hands off the padded arms, and kissed each of the palms, then gazed into them. “You have a long, deeply etched life line, and look, one love of your life.”

“The heck you say.” She tried to take her hands away to look at them.

He tightened his grip. “How’s your cunt?”

She was getting the rhythm of him. Touch, kiss, joke, use his gaze to caress and praise, ask inappropriate questions… He’d be a good cop. Probably where he’d learned the method, from his many arrests. “Mycoochieis fine, thank you, and thank you for in the future not calling it…what you’re calling it.”

“The French word ischatte.”

She could translate that. “Cat? Like pussy?”

“Um. Yes.” He smiled at her as if he knew something she didn’t.

“I’ll look it up!” she assured him.

“Do.” His lids lowered, but he had matters on his mind other than arguing with her. “Sore?”

“Not bad.”

He lifted his eyebrows and slid his palm up her thigh.

“Not good, either,” she admitted.

He slid it down again and sighed. “I wish I felt like a heel.”

“You’re strutting.”

“Like a peacock with a living-color rack of tail feathers.” He leaned in to kiss her again.

She backed up against the wall—and someone knocked on the door.

“Saved,” he teased, and called, “Who is it?”

“Jack.” His voice came out of a speaker somewhere. “Look, can we do this? I have to go back to work!”

Softly Dante said to Maarja, “Jack has already interviewed me. Now he needs to do the same with you. He needs to know everything you saw and heard yesterday. Tell him everything. Don’t be intimidated.” Stepping back from her, he raised his voice and called, “Come in.”

Jack stuck his head in and sniffed. “Is it less smelly now?” He focused on Maarja and started. “Wow. You look better.”

“Gee, thanks. You Arundels aresuchcharmers.”

Jack cracked a half smile and started in on his interrogation.

He asked the questions, she answered them, and she realized Dante had placed her in a position of advantage. She was seated in the lone desk chair; Jack and Dante remained standing. Jack kept trying to pace around her; he was frustrated by her back against the wall, and she thought he would have liked to tower over her, but the elevated seat put her almost at his height.

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