Standing by myself in the long hall, I was abruptly aware of a disturbance in the Force. Chilled, I scanned the hallway in both directions. I’d felt this way before and knew that Minka LaBoeuf was somewhere in the vicinity. I couldn’t see her but it didn’t matter. She was close. Too close. I could smell the sulfur.

Then she walked out of the workroom two doors down from Abraham’s and spied me through the crowd of police officers milling around. Adrenaline spiked. The exhaustion I’d felt seconds ago was history as an overwhelming urge to attack her, to punch her in the stomach and run, took over. It totally irked me that the woman could fuel my rage faster than anyone I’d ever known, just by walking into the room.

As she walked toward me, Minka twirled a strand of hair around her middle finger, something she’d always done when she was nervous. Good to know she wasn’t as confident as she tried to appear to be. And how had I missed the fact that under her short black leather jacket she wore a skintight black catsuit tucked into thigh-high black boots?

Was the world ready for Minka the Dominatrix?

Her lips were slathered in coral lipstick and she’d ringed her eyes with black kohl. As she came closer, I could see the body suit straining at the seams near her stomach. Was it wrong to be gleeful over the fact that she’d put on weight?

“Well, if it isn’t Ms. High-and-Mighty herself,” she said in that distinctively whiny voice that never failed to boil my blood. “Karma’s a real bitch, isn’t it?”

“You ought to know,” I said. As comebacks went, that one sucked, but I was off my game.

She giggled and I shuddered. Her smile had always caused me more apprehension than her animosity did. It wasn’t her fault, but the left side of her upper lip naturally curled up so that when she smiled, she looked like a snarling dingo.