“Here’s a good one. One of the maintenance guys at the Thomas Center has a record. His current name is an alias.”

“A record for what?”

Hicks raised a brow. “Car theft among other things.”

“Anything violent?”

“Domestic violence on a girlfriend six years ago.”

“Can we pick him up for something?”

Hicks laughed. “He has outstanding parking and traffic violations to the tune of four hundred and fifty-eight dollars.”

Mendez shook his head.

The phone they shared between their two desks rang. He picked it up and listened, and when he hung up he said, “I can trump your car thief. Gordon Sells has a record. As a sex offender.”

Chapter 33

33

“It’s not a date,” Anne insisted.

“It had better be a date. Chinese night is sacrosanct,” Franny said as they walked from the downtown parking lot toward the plaza. “This is Detective Hottie?”

“This is a different detective,” Anne said evasively.

“Also a hottie?”

“He’s old enough to be my father,” she said, even though she certainly hadn’t reacted to him that way. Her father had thirty years on Vince Leone.

“Oooh, kinky, but I can totally see it,” Franny said.

Anne gave him a look. “Thanks. I’m glad I have such an adventurous sex life in your head.”

“You should be. It’s the only sex life you have.”

She couldn’t argue that.

“You’re attracted to him,” he declared slyly. “You changed clothes.”

“So did you.”

“But I didn’t go from Nancy Novice Nun to showing off my perky little breasts in a clingy sweater.”

“You’re horrible to me,” Anne said. “Isn’t this what you want me to do? Wear something different?”

“Yes, but you never listened before,” he pointed out.

“This is a perfectly conservative sweater,” Anne grumbled. And her moss-colored skirt was a perfectly conservative—if slightly form-fitting—skirt that hit just below the tops of her low-heeled brown boots.

The sidewalks and streets were busy. College kids roamed in packs, laughing and talking, heading to the bookstore, to the coffeehouse, to ladies’ night at the Buddha Bar. The restaurants were busy. Musicians parked themselves on street corners, playing for change.

“I’m coming to the restaurant,” Franny declared.

“No, you aren’t. You’re going for Chinese.”

“I can’t go for Chinese without you. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Don’t hold back on my account, really.”

“You never answered me,” he said. “Is he hot?”

Hot wasn’t the right word. Honestly, Mendez was hot. Leone was ruggedly handsome, yet distinguished . . . Anne felt a blush creeping up her neck, much to her consternation. “No.”

“Liar!” Franny exclaimed, laughing, highly amused.

Anne stopped and looked at him. “Why am I speaking to you?”

He kissed her on the cheek. “Because I just took your mind off the fact you have the Marquis de Sade Junior for a pupil. Run along now, Anne Marie. Don’t want to keep your gentleman friend waiting.”