Free Her Body of Work by Marie Donovan Page B

brush-off.
    “No good. Call him and tell him you want to do an extra session tonight. If you wait until tomorrow, you’ll chicken out.”
    “I won’t chicken out.”
    “Prove it. Call him now.”
    “Now?”
    “Here’s my phone. You know his number, right?”
    Rey had stared at his modeling contract long enough to know his home number by heart. She grabbed the cell phone and dialed. She looked at her friend. “It’s ringing.”
    Marco’s voice sounded different on his voice-mail message. She waited for the beep and took a deep breath. “Marco, it’s Rey. I know it’s short notice, but can you come by my studio tonight at eight? I, um…” She looked at Meg, who rotated her hand in a keep-going gesture.
    “I wanted to do an evening session to get some sketches in artificial light, because the sculpture will be seen in all sorts of light—sunlight, fluorescent light-bulbs…” Meg made a slicing motion across her neck. It was time to stop babbling. “See you at eight.”
    She clicked off the phone and slumped in her seat.
    Meg grinned at her. “As your guidance counselor, I’d like to thank you for registering for advanced studies in human sexuality.”
    “What if I flunk?” Rey doodled a frowny face in her frosting with her fork.
    “You’ll get an A-plus. Underneath your cool Nordic exterior beats the heart of a wild Viking maiden.”
    “Maiden?” Rey raised an eyebrow. “Not for a long time.”
    “Even better. I bet Marco wants a woman who knowswhat she’s doing.” Meg raised her champagne flute. “A toast to passion, sex and passionate sex.”
    “Cheers.” Rey tossed down her champagne. Maybe if the butterflies in her stomach got drunk enough, they’d stop fluttering around.

7
    M ARCO TURNED THE CORNER onto Rey’s street, eager to see her again. The temperature had dropped into the low teens with nightfall, so no one on the bus had paid any attention to his heavily wrapped face.
    Half a block from her loft he heard footsteps behind him. Marco waited until he got past a streetlight and ducked into a doorway. He reached slowly into his coat pocket and pulled out his pistol, flipping off the safety.
    Whoever was following him came closer. Marco purposely slowed his breathing, his pulse slowing in response. He entered that hyperaware state that always accompanied danger, every muscle in his body readying for action.
    A shadowy figure crossed the doorway. Marco’s arm shot out, dragging his stalker into the dark alcove. He cut off the man’s gasp with a forearm across the throat, showing him the pistol. “What do you want?” He gave the guy enough air to reply.
    “Nothin’, man. I swear!” His eyes widened with fright at the gun near his head.
    “Nothing?” Marco shook him. “Why are you following me?”
    “Man, I’m just tryin’ to get to the shelter around the corner. I don’t wanna freeze to death.”
    Marco let up the pressure on his throat and patted him down quickly. No weapons except for a pocketknife. Now that the initial surge of adrenaline had passed, he noticed the wind-chapped cheeks and the stale smell of booze emanating from the man’s pores.
    Unless Rodríguez had stooped to hiring winos as assassins, Marco had just mugged a local bum.
    “Get lost.” He shoved the guy out of the doorway before he got a good look at Marco. His victim needed no encouragement, dragging his two-wheeled shopping cart away as fast as he could.
    Marco muttered a particularly vile Spanish curse. Just because that man had been innocent didn’t mean the next man would be. He was both disturbed and gratified that his instincts hadn’t dulled since he’d left the cartel.
    He dropped his hand to his side, the pistol suddenly dead weight. The homeless guy was long gone, so Marco hurried to Rey’s loft, shoving the pistol in his pocket.
    She had sounded a bit strained in her message when she’d said something about wanting to see him in different kinds of light. He was surprised she’d