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ognition. "You're a friend of Danziger's, aren't you? I saw you in his office the other day." |
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"I was there, yes." She glanced toward the security desk, where the curious guard, a thin man with a receding hairline, watched them. She turned her back to him and said, "My name is Abby Wynne. I wonder if I might speak with you." |
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"About Danziger? I was getting ready to go after that son of a" Glancing at Abby, he stopped, then continued, "Thanks to him, I'm being harassed, and my lawyer says . . ." He grew quiet suddenly, as though aware he was talking too much. "What's on your mind?" |
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"I need to know about Mike Danziger. Personal reasons." |
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The man's beady eyes looked interested at last. |
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"Look," Abby continued, "this is not the best place to speak. Perhaps we could" |
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"There's a coffee shop next door. I'll buy." He took her elbow and propelled her away from the lobby door. Abby stiffened her arm, bare beneath her blouse's short sleeves. She willed herself not to tear free from the unwelcome touch. An iciness from his cold, reptilelike fingers made her shudder. |
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The shop to which he led her was small and seemed to have an endless variety of coffees and pastries from which to choose, even the "decaf" that Hannah had offered her at Mike's home. The place smelled delicious, with the dark, warm aroma of coffee laced with the sweetness of baking. Abby asked the Asian woman at the counter |
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