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| [Strangers When We Meet - by theholyinnocent] |
She fixed her stockings, smoothed her skirt, hoped her post-coital blush was gone, and casually limped out of the stall.
The woman was still there, meticulously washing her hands. Only minutes before, those hands had conjured bliss from Alex’s body. As the stranger reached for paper towels, Alex caught the glint of gun metal holstered upon a belt.
How in the hell did I miss that?
A sheepish grin. “Don’t worry. I’m a cop.” A name, BENSON, was visible on the shield flashed at Alex.
Having interviewed with the Manhattan DA’s office that afternoon, she took this, with characteristically brazen disregard, as a good sign.
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