She came up behind me as I opened my office door. “Mr. De Latte?” I almost jumped, saw her shift her weight from one leg to the other. “Can I come in and talk with you?” I looked around, said, “Sure.” I’d seen her in the building a couple of times from a distance. She stepped past me, trailing a hint of Chanel No. 5. My detective brain made mental notes: Early twenties, five seven, maybe a hundred and fifteen pounds, black hair, heart-shaped face, full lips, small chin, small nose, nice figure with a breathy, sexy voice. A pretty

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