” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable. He was sickeningly aroused by their hands as he slipped in and out of consciousness. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though. The library was on the ground floor, Melusine recalled from the previous visit, for she had searched through a desk in a room filled with bookshelves of leatherbound volumes. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered.
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