The woman who enters is tall, dark-skinned, and hiding a killer body underneath her black trousersand white shirt.
There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Mr. Mazzeo,” she says coldly.
Her jaw squares. “Since you’re being released, I figured you could get your own.”
Smiling triumphantly, I get to my feet as William reaches for his files.
I stop in front of the agent on the way out, conscious of the way her eyes are scouring over me lustily.
“Really, agent, you should be less transparent,” I chide. “I’m not a piece of meat.”
Her eyes flash to my face, but there’s no sign of embarrassment there.
“No?” she retorts. “You could have fooled me.”
I smile. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Maybe,” she replies. “You should really pay closer attention.”
“I’m
