Gray, Ginna Read Online Free

her out of state. Somewhere remote out
of Carlo's reach."
    "I plan to. Anything else?"
    "Just be sure you keep in touch. You know the drill. You
contact either me or Charley once a day without fail. No one else."
    "Fine." Sam turned and walked the remaining few feet to
the elevator and jabbed the button. The doors opened at once, and Todd darted
inside, as though anxious to get out of the line of fire, but Sam paused and
looked back at Harvey again.
    "By the way, just so
you'll know. Cochise was a Chiricahua Apache. My mother was a Navajo."
Without waiting for Harvey to respond, he stepped into the elevator and smacked
the down button with the side of his fist. "Asshole."
     
    Lauren Brownley was not at all what Sam had expected. To his
surprise, and annoyance, the instant he got a look at her through the two-way
mirror he experienced the sharp pull of attraction. That had never happened to
him before with a female witness, and it irritated the hell out of him.
    Apparently he was not the only one affected. Beside him, Dave
whispered, "Wow."
    Todd gave a low whistle. "Oh, man, I think I'm in love."
    "You? The stud of the Bureau?" Sam snorted. "I
doubt it. In lust—now, that I would believe," he drawled.
    "Whatever it is, I'm hooked. And you're going to spend weeks
with her. Damn."
    "I'd be glad to trade assignments with you."
    Todd laughed. "Hell, Harvey'd have us both strung up by our
balls. Still...it might be worth it. Damn you, Sam. You always were a lucky
bastard."
    Both Lieutenant John Dumphries and Detective Allen Morgan of the
Denver P.D. chuckled.
    "She is something, isn't she," the detective murmured.
    "Mmm." Sam studied the woman through the mirror, noting
every detail of her appearance.
    She paced the interrogation room like a frantic animal, her arms
crossed and hugged tight against her body. She was small, not more than five
foot two or three, with a delicate build. Under the harsh light her auburn hair
shone with copper highlights. Every time she reached the end of the dingy
interrogation room and spun back, the long mane swung around her shoulders like
a silk cape.
    Sam watched her approach the two-way mirror. Her eyes were green,
he noted when she stood just inches away. And her features were as delicate as
the rest of her, though at the moment her skin was parchment-white.
    Terror, probably, he mused dispassionately. And exhaustion, after
being up all night.
    She wore a floor-length, fitted black evening gown with long gauzy
sleeves and a modest neckline. Not a bit of cleavage showing, he noted with
surprise. A black velvet jacket, trimmed with black sequins, hung on the back
of one of the chairs surrounding the table. The outfit looked more suitable for
an evening at the opera than something a nightclub piano player would wear.
    Her dress was smudged and wrinkled and the skirt had a hole torn
at one knee, but its quality was evident, even to Sam's eye. With every step a
long slender leg flashed in the skirt's side slit and the tear, revealing
shredded sheer black panty hose and bare feet.
    "What happened to her shoes?" Sam asked.
    "Says she lost them getting away."
    "She's not exactly Carlo's usual type." In the past the
mobster's taste in mistresses had run to busty blondes with the fashion sense
of Dolly Parton. Even barefoot, disheveled and agitated, there was an air of
regal elegance about this woman, a certain refinement that all Carlos's other
mistresses had lacked.
    The lieutenant cleared his throat. "Well now, as to that,
according to Miss Brownley she and Giovessi are just employer and employee. She
says she works at Club Classico only on weekends and that during the week she's
a music instructor at the University of Denver."
    Yeah, right, Sam thought, watching the woman pace the
interrogation room. He'd glanced at her dossier on the way over. So this one
was classy looking and happened to play the piano. Big deal. Carlos's
mistresses always worked at his club in one capacity or