Kind of old for only a couple years of experience. I pegged him as a tattoo addict who thought he could do it himself.

This would be easy. I waved Mandy back to her spot behind the reception desk and held out a hand in greeting.

“You must be here for the interview.”

He stopped two steps from the top, analyzing me from the tips of my well-used hikers to the top of my baseball-cap-covered head. I felt an insane urge to yank the hat off and run my fingers through my shoulder-length auburn hair.

Primping was not a usual Amazon urge. Irritated, I jerked my hand back and scowled.

“I’m here to see Mel,” he announced.

Another one. “I’m Mel.” I waited for the shock and outrage that he had been scammed by my masculine name.

“Really?” Confusion flitted through his dark eyes. “I was expecting someone…”

My scowl transformed into a smirk. I was starting to enjoy this; it was amusing and it kept my mind off the deaths…well, somewhat. “Yes, you were expecting someone…” I prompted.

He finished climbing the last two steps, stopping just inches from me. With the confusion still apparent on his face, he looked down at me.

“Taller. I thought you’d be taller.”

Well, hell.

I was a measly five eight. My mother was six foot two. I’d never met my father, but I suspected he was a midget. My outspoken interviewee had to be pushing six four. He had over half a foot on me. Strangely enough, it did not endear him to me.

“You have a height requirement for interviews?” Yeah, I was bitter. Yeah, it showed.

Busy studying the top of my Wisconsin Badger cap, it took him a while to answer. When he did, he seemed at least somewhat embarrassed by his prior declaration.