Detective Quinn followed the pink suit jacket through the lobby of the WBBS-TV station, but his eyes were riveted to the woman beneath it. Two parts of her, to be exact: the nape of Autumn Adams's slender neck, where delicate question-mark curls clung to the damp skin under a neat twist of hair, and the identical globes of her butt, swooshing full and firm beneath the soccer shorts.

They walked through the double glass doors, out onto the sidewalk, and into the sweltering parking lot. She suddenly turned to him, and Stacey Quinn got his first real close look at her face.

"Whoa."

"What?"

She looked like she would be nice to touch. Silky. Her hair and her eyes were the exact same shade of rich brown-smooth like milk chocolate or coffee with cream. Her skin was a dark peach, and those lips-Holy God, those lips!-they looked plump and juicy and he bet they tasted like some kind of rich, sweet fruit.

The little pink jacket didn't suit her at all, he decided. She should be in leopard print underwear. In his bed. To hell with spotted stemware.

"Here. Drive." Autumn tossed him the keys while she grabbed a gym bag from the trunk of the Porsche convertible. " Lakeview High School, Irving Park, and-"

"I know where it is." He got behind the wheel. "But why am I driving?"

Autumn plopped down in the passenger side and smiled at him. "Don't you want to drive my Porsche? I was under the impression that all men like Porsches."

He turned the ignition and felt the sports car rip and rumble to life beneath him. As he pulled onto Walton Street, he retrieved his shades from inside his sport coat and slipped them on one-handed.

"I didn't say I minded driving, Miss Adams. I just asked why."

Autumn shrugged indifferently. "I need to change my shirt in the car."

She began pulling pins from her chic French twist and tossed them one-by-one into the ashtray. She used her fingers to ruffle up her shoulder-length waves.