Part 8 (1/2)

Sarcasm apparently had no effect on him. He just continued to smile at her. ”I think you're just made up that way. Tense and jumpy. You've got plenty of control, and you know just how to keep the fires banked. But now and again it slips. It's interesting when it does.”

It was slipping now. She could feel it sliding greasily out of her hands. ”Do you know what I think, Inspector?”

The dimple that should have been out of place on his strong face winked. ”I'm fascinated by what you think, Ms. Fletcher.”

”I think you're an arrogant, narrow-minded, irritating man who thinks entirely too much of himself.”

”I'd say we're both right.”

”And you're in my way.”

”You're right about that, too.” But he didn't move, wasn't qui te ready to. ”d.a.m.ned if you don't have the fanciest face.”

She blinked. ”I beg your pardon?”

”An observation. You're one cla.s.sy number.” His fingers itched to touch, so he dipped them into his pockets. He'd thrown her off.

That was obvious from the way she was staring at him, half horrified, half intrigued. Ry saw no reason not to take advantage of it. ”A man's hard-pressed not to do a little fantasizing, once he's had a good look at you. I've had a couple of good looks now.”

”I don't think...” Only sheer pride prevented her stepping back. Or forward. ”I don't think this is appropriate.”

”If we ever get to know each other better, you'll find out that propriety isn't at the top of my list. Tell me, do you and Hawthorne have a personal thing going?”

His eyes, dark, intense, close, dazzled her for a moment. ”Donald?

Of course not.” Appalled, she caught herself. ”That's none of your business.”

Her answer pleased him, on professional and personal levels.

”Everything about you is my business.”

She tossed up her chin, eyes smoldering. ”So, this pitiful excuse for a flirtation is just a way to get me to incriminate myself?”

”I didn't think it was that pitiful. Obvious,” he admitted, ”but not pitiful. On a professional level, it worked.”

”I could have lied.”

”You have to think before you lie. And you weren't thinking.” He liked the idea of being able to frazzle her, and pushed a little further. ”It so happens that, on a strictly personal level, I like the way you look. But don't worry, it won't get in the way of the job.”

”I don't like you, Inspector Piasecki.”

”You said that already.” For his own pleasure, he reached out, tugged her coat closed. ”b.u.t.ton up. It's cold out there. My office,”

he added as he turned for the door. ”Tomorrow, two o'clock.”

He strolled out, thinking of her.

Natalie Fletcher, he mused, punching the elevator b.u.t.ton for the lobby. High-cla.s.s brains in a first-cla.s.s package. Maybe she'd torched her own building for a quick profit. She wouldn't be the first or the last.

But his instincts told him no.

She didn't strike him as a woman who looked for shortcuts.