Free Don't Say A Word by Barbara Freethy Page B

This is all I came up with." She perched on the edge of the desk. "Damn, I thought I was on to something."
        "You still might be," he conceded. "We can research this doll, see what we can find out. There might be some way to trace where it came from."
        "That sounds like a good idea."
        "I've been known to have a few."
        "Where do we start? The Internet? 1 have a computer at home. We can go there."
        "Why don't we get something to eat first?" he suggested. "I haven't had time to shop for food. Besides, we can kill two birds with one stone. There's a Russian deli near my apartment. The owner came over from Russia about ten years ago. Maybe she can tell us something about your doll."
        "Another good idea," she said with a grin. "I'm impressed."
        "I'm just getting started, Julia."
        The smile on his face and the sparkle in his light green eyes took her breath away. Her body tingled and her heart began to race. She forced herself to look away, focusing on putting the doll back together and regaining her composure. She didn't know why Alex was having such an effect on her, but whatever the reason she had to get over it-and fast. She was engaged. She was committed. She was supposed to be in love. "Ready?" Alex asked.
        She nodded, still avoiding his gaze. As he headed for the door, she looked through the glass, catching    Tracy's eye. The other woman gave her a thumbs-up sign. Julia wanted to tell Tracy it wasn't like that, that she wasn't interested in Alex, but she was afraid that would be a lie.
         Dasha's Deli was located in the heart of the Haight , where parking was scarce, so they decided to leave their cars at Alex's apartment. The short walk to the deli took them past tattoo parlors, funky art galleries, jewelry stores and shops touting sixties souvenirs, flower children T-shirts, black lights, and beads. "This is a great neighborhood," she said to Alex as they stopped at a traffic light. "Have you lived here long?"
        "About six years."
        She sent him a sideways glance. Even though he'd cleaned up his act from the day before, his face was still bruised, his dark hair a little too long, his jeans faded, and his T-shirt a bit wrinkled. He was definitely not a nine-to-five business executive or a corporate worker bee. He was a photojournalist who roamed the world, a free spirit. No wonder he'd chosen to live here when he was in town. "This neighborhood fits you," she said.
        He nodded in agreement. "It does. Freedom to be different is a luxury in many corners of the world. It's nice to be reminded that it still exists here in San Francisco."
        The somber note in his voice reminded her that he'd probably seen some horrific sights in his travels. "Is it hard? Photographing how the rest of the world lives?"
        "Sometimes."
        "But you love it?"
        "Most days I do. Lately, I don't know…" His voice dropped away. "Hey, we're here."
        Julia was disappointed to see the deli sign. She wanted to hear what Alex had been about to say. "What do you mean, lately?" she prodded.
        "It's a long story, and I'm hungry."
        "Will you tell me the story while we eat?"
        "Probably not," he said candidly. "It would kill your appetite."
        "Alex. You can't start something and not finish it."
        "We're here to solve the story of your life, not mine," he reminded her. "Let's keep our focus." He opened the door and waved her inside. "After you."
        As Julia entered the restaurant, the delicious smells of fresh breads and cakes assailed her. The bakery counter was immediately to her left, the deli counter on the other side of the room, a crush of small tables in the middle. It was a little late for lunch, but there was still a good crowd, so they took a number and waited. As they did so, Julia searched her brain for some sense of familiarity with the Russian smells. They warmed her heart,