Free Possession by Ann Rule

even move so you can face the door. You're all paranoid about your back to the door, aren't you? You've seen too many movies about Luciano and Capone." He'd sat down, staring at her. She was drunk, but alcohol gave Nina a softer look, a gentler mien, despite her smart mouth.
    "I never thought you knew my name," he said grabbing one of her scotches.
    "Now I have to order another." She lifted her hand and waved languidly to the bartender who appeared with one more scotch—neat.
    "I know your name. I know all your names. The titless wonder never forgets anything."
    He looked down at the rings on the table top, embarrassed. 53

    "You thought I didn't know what you guys call me? I could tell you the others, if you like?"

    "No thanks. For the record, I never called you any of those names."

    "A genuine gentleman. But you don't like me any better than the rest of them do. You all have wives and girlfriends, and you all think women are supposed to cook and fuck and stay dumb, right?"

    He stared at her. Her eyes were dark brown, wide and challenging, smudged with fatigue. She smiled at him, a wry smile—but a smile.

    "I don't have a wife ... or a girlfriend," he said slowly. "I can cook, and I wash my own socks and shorts. And I think you're the best working lawyer I ever saw in my life. So now what do you want to fight about?"

    "Nothing. I want to celebrate. I won today. Joseph Kekelahni. He should have been 'bitched,' you know. Third felony conviction in ten years. Rape, oral sodomy, assault with a deadly weapon ... and, oh yeah, burglary; he took all their purses after he was done with them. You know what he got instead of the Big Bitch?"

    Sam nodded. "Let me guess. Sexual psychopath?"

    "You got it. They slapped his little hands and sent him down to Western State so he can get in touch with his feelings. He'll be a real good boy for six months, and then they'll give him the key and a twenty-four-hour pass anywhere he wants to go—and he'll be right back at it. If anybody needs group therapy, it's the judge." She bent her head. "Oh shit!"

    He started to answer, made a half move to touch her shoulder, but she looked up quickly and smiled again. "Wanta dance?"

    She stood up and held out her arms and he held her, moving slowly around the tiny parquet dance floor to music from the jukebox. They were the only people in the place besides the bartender, who polished the long wooden bar and ignored them. Sam couldn't believe it; Nina Armitage leaning her head against his shoulder.

    She was almost as tall as he was and she seemed to weigh

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    half as much. She danced well, but even intoxicated she touched him without touching him, holding back so that their thighs barely brushed. He was amused to feel that she did have breasts, and as embarrassed as a high school boy to feel his body react to her. She gave no indication that she could feel him.
    They danced for two hours without talking, stopping only to empty the glasses the bartender kept filling. Sam realized that Nina had been here before, that she had a standing order.
    She allowed him to drive her home. If he had pictured her living anywhere, it would not have been in the tiny houseboat at the end of the rickety boardwalk on Lake Union. She didn't ask him in, but he could see through the door, see into a rats' nest of books, plants, dirty dishes, and discarded clothing. A gray cat ducked through his legs and disappeared down the dock, and he caught a whiff of the animal's litterbox inside. He stood, hesitantly, wanting, not wanting, to go in. She touched him lightly on the chest and pushed him into the rain.
    "You can't come in tonight. But I thank you for the waltz .. . and the ride."
    The door closed before he could answer. It was only as he walked unsteadily up the dock that he realized that she'd paid for all the drinks. That was a first. He grinned and ran up the steps to the road. He meant to tell Jake about it in the morning—but he didn't. He hadn't meant to go