Gregson looked at the woman. A feline is a different type of criminal, especially when she’s not reacting to anything.

“Let me freshen up,” she said.

Gregson felt like a high school sophomore, sitting on the edge of her bed, but then she entered the room again, in professional clothes.

“You men all want the same thing,” she said.

“Peace and Solitude?” Gregson asked.

“No, the other thing. And you think you’re smarter than me.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“It’s how you carry yourself. I don’t know if it’s superiority, but it’s something in the same family. It’s your attitude.”

“Well… what are you going to do about it?” Gregson asked.

“Nothing can be done. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you can beat him at his own game.”

“What?” Gregson asked.

“You’re a detective, right?”

“Technically, I’m a PI.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I work for myself and I answer to nobody.”

“Whatever you say.” Jessica drank her scotch in two seconds. Then she gave Gregson a look of haughty defiance. “I’m going to pull off the crime of the century right under your nose, and you will be helpless to stop me.”

Gregson smiled. He didn’t know if he enjoyed being with women or playing their games.

“Now, get out!” Jessica said.

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