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too friendly.
    I recognize the other woman from forensics, but I haven’t worked with her yet and don’t even know her name. I make a mental note to get Marty to introduce me.
    Amanda sees me and smiles. I smile back then begin stretching. I jump on the treadmill. The rhythmic motion and sound of my feet hitting the tread sweep over me, and I let the day’s thoughts wash away.

 
    I used to go for the wrong sort of girl. I’d pick the dumb ones because I thought they’d be easier. Which they are, of course. But I’ve refined my art and skills and moved up in the world over the years. Now I like the smart ones. The harder ones. Sometimes I even consider going for the fancy ones…the women who live in the lap of luxury with their designer clothes, six-figure incomes and think they’re untouchable. But that’s the nice thing about my calling—no one is untouchable. I can have anyone I want. And sometimes I enjoy just that, picking the hardest prey and watching the cops chasing their tails. Idiots! That’s partly why I moved here. For the challenge. I’m right under their noses. I wonder what they’ll make of me?
    I’m sick of being the nameless, faceless person who never gets any recognition. If only they knew how smart I was, what I’m truly capable of…maybe then they’d see me.
    I’ve picked the next special girl. To her I’m just one of the millions living in this city. But soon she’ll know me. Soon, they’ll all know me.

CHAPTER 04
    I pull the cork out of a bottle of Australian shiraz from my small collection and Sam opens the pizza box. We’ve gone for marinara on a thin crust with extra cheese. She pulls a piece upward, stretching the mozzarella until the piece finally detaches from the rest of the pizza.
    She takes a hearty bite and says through her mouthful, “Damn, your pizza shop’s good.”
    â€œThank God we got our workout in,” I say, taking a bite and pouring wine at the same time.
    I place Sam’s glass in front of her and hold mine up. “Cheers.”
    â€œWhat are we toasting to?” she asks, picking up her glass.
    â€œWho knows…good health?”
    â€œAs good a toast as any.”
    We clink glasses and both take a sip.
    â€œGood wine, girl.”
    â€œIt’s an Australian shiraz. What do you expect?”
    â€œNot biased, are we?”
    â€œWell, maybe a bit.
    We finish our first slice of pizza in silence, concentrating on filling the holes in our stomachs. We both take another piece.
    â€œSo, Sam…”
    She looks up at me, midbite.
    â€œMarco’s had lots of women?”
    â€œFinally!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’ve been feigning lack of interest for months and finally you’ve realized you’re into him…and boy is he into you.”
    â€œI don’t know about that…”
    â€œâ€™Course you do.”
    I smile. Maybe I do. I’ve never told Sam about the night Marco and I nearly kissed. “So, the question?”
    â€œNot that I know the man’s every move, but I’ve worked with him for the past year and he’s dated a few women. That I know of.”
    â€œYeah, and for every one you know of there’s probably another one or two you don’t.”
    â€œPossibly. He’s a good-looking man.”
    I smile, picturing Marco. Even the standard FBI dark suit can’t hide his physique, which, I must say, is pretty close to my idea of perfect. Marco is six feet tall, with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles. His upper body is complemented by a muscular torso and long, strong legs. His ass looks pretty good too. His hair is darkbrown and short, the standard Bureau cut, and his facial features are broad, with a well-pronounced jawline. It gives him the classic, masculine chiseled look. You can see his Italian heritage in his coloring, especially his slightly tanned skin and rich, intense