By Marilyn Lee
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But she wouldn't. Not again. Blair had died because she'd let her guard down. Hillhower was dead and she'd been shot five times because she hadn't followed her instincts that urged they had no business in that alley alone. The same sense of self-preservation was telling her that she had no business wanting to play Jungle Fever with Janson. He slowly brushed his long fingers against the side of her breast. Instead of moving away from him, she froze and licked her lips as he cupped her breast in his palm.
She spun on her heel and headed toward the door. "Hanna, where do you think you're going? " Harris yelled. " With her hand on the door, she turned. "You'd all better understand something about me. I know you all think that I lured Hillhower to his death. But get this straight: I had nothing to do with his death and I will not be hounded off the force for something I didn't do. I'm going to find Hillhower's killers. " She allowed her gaze to touch briefly on each face in the room. " She yanked the door open and stepped through, resisting the urge to give the door a resounding slamming.
If she was going to search it before someone realized she was there, she'd better get a move on. The unmistakable sound of the apartment doorknob turning, startled her. She glanced briefly toward the master light switch, located on the wall to the right of the door. She'd never reach it before the door opened. 09-millimeter Beretta from her rear waist holster, and waited. The door inched slowly inward. An eternity seemed to pass before she saw Dan Janson standing in the open door. Along with relief that it wasn't some of her fellow officers came another feeling.
A Thing Called Love by Marilyn Lee