Excerpt from SIGRID'S STORY

Sigrid nosed the Volvo into its parking place, then looked around in the semi-darkness of the underground garage before unlocking her door. You could never be too careful--she'd reported on a series of parking lot assaults just last year. That's when she'd bought herself the neat little Beretta Tomcat she carried in her purse every day of her life.

One more quick look-around and she walked to the elevator with purposeful strides--another mugger deterrent--rose to the fourth floor, and carded the lock of her own safe haven. 

Safe except that her ex-husband was still there, sprawled on her leather couch and reading the Michael Gregor mystery thriller she'd tossed aside earlier in the evening.  Literary trash--just his level.

Mik put the book down on the floor beside him and moved his arms up to cradle the back of his head. "How'd it go?"

Sigrid took the chair across from him, dropped her heavy purse to the floor, and laid her jacket on top of it. Mik's legs were spread wide, as if he was deliberately displaying his masculine package. She focused her gaze above his head. Been there, done that. Not interested.

"It turned out to be a wild goose chase. Some idiot woman who finally admitted she was trying to get back at her boss for reaming her out about smoking in the john." She glanced at the discarded paperback and her lip curled in disdain.  "I see you've spent a pleasant evening."

Mik smiled broadly, as if enjoying a private joke. "Yeah. I like to check out Gregor's stuff occasionally" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Have you read any of his books?"

Sigrid took a deep breath and shook her head. "Not yet, but I'll have to sooner or later. He's scheduled for a book tour in a couple of weeks, and I got stuck with interviewing him when he's in Minneapolis. Talking up visiting firemen isn't usually in my line, but my boss wants me to do it because his stories usually involve the Russian Mafia, and  I'm the only one on staff who speaks Russian."

Mik's eyebrows went up again. "You speak Russian now?"

"Sort of. Living with your family gave me a head start so I minored in it when I went back to college. I read it better than I speak, of course."

He winked at her. "And you already knew all the dirty words."

Sigrid refused to rise to the bait. Let him say what he wanted to. If things worked out, Mikwould be gone within the hour.

He reached down for the discarded paperback. "Have you read any of Michael Gregor's other books?"

She snorted. "Smoking guns and steamy sex?" "Not my sort of reading material. I'm a journalist. I like reality--not testosterone-driven adventure fantasy."

One side of Mik's mouth quirked as he glanced down at the slandered paperback. "There's more truth in fiction than you might imagine, sweetheart.""