“No, you don’t.” His voice was low and deceptively soft. “If you had what you needed, you’d be arresting me, not bringing me in for questioning. Admit it, Dana. You’re not even close to charging me with anything. This is a fishing expedition.”

While she knew in her head that reacting with violence only weakened her position and proved he was right, she really, really wanted to hit him.

“I’m officially bored,” she said, dropping her arm to her side. “Let’s get this over with.”

“The part where you watch me naked?”

She stepped into his condo and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Lucky, lucky me. Have you been featured in Arrogance Monthly yet?”

“I’ve been on the cover.”

He shut the door, then led the way through the large penthouse.

The main room was huge-she was guessing she could fit her apartment and five others just like it in the space. There were floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of most of Dallas. Not that she cared about that sort of thing.

She returned her attention to the man in front of her, then frowned as sunlight caught his back, illuminating the scars crisscrossing his skin.

A few of them were thin lines, but most were thick and raised, as if the skin had been cut over and over again. Her stomach clenched slightly, not that she allowed her expression to change.

She knew the basic facts about Garth Duncan. He was rich-scary rich, with dozens of companies and money flowing like water. He’d started in the oil business and while down in South America, no doubt raping and pillaging a pristine part of the world, he’d been captured and held prisoner by some angry locals. They’d kept him and a coworker blindfolded in the jungle for a month, torturing them both daily.

Her gaze dropped to his long, muscled legs. She could see faint scars there, too, but these had come from a surgeon. Both of Garth’s legs had been broken during his captivity. His friend had carried him to safety.