Privilege (Special Tactical Units Division 2)

Bianca leaned forward and frowned at her reflection. The helmet had wrecked her hair. She’s lost the band that held her ponytail. Now what?

“And,” Alessandra added, “this isn’t just an

y motorcycle. It’s a Harley.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Harleys are…well, they have a reputation. For being big. Good-looking. And bad.” Alessandra shot Bianca a sideways glance. “Kind of like your lieutenant.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Bianca said quickly, “he is not my lieutenant! Why would you call him that?”

“I don’t know.” Alessandra smiled. “Maybe because it looks more involved than that.”

“What looks more involved than that?”

“Your relationship.”

“Mannaggia! There is no relationship. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

Alessandra dug into her purse, found a tube of gloss, leaned closer to the mirror and applied it to her lips.

“Well, he has this way of looking at you.”

“As if he would like to wring my neck,” Bianca said. “Yes. I’ve noticed.”

“And there’s the way you look at him…”

“As if I would like to return the favor. Really, Alessandra, you have such a vivid imagination.”

“And the way you go at each other…”

“Like wolves fighting over a carcass. Oh yes,” Bianca said grimly, “that is surely the sign of a relationship.”

“It can be. Tanner and I squabbled endlessly when we met.”

Bianca opened her purse and dug through it. “I know I have a comb here somewhere…”

“I mean, we sniped. And argued. And fought. And look at us now.”

“Research shows that squabbling, as you call it, may be an indication of sexual attraction, but—”

“Aha!”

“But,” Bianca said firmly, “it is equally an indicator of dislike.”

“What about those looks?”

“For heaven’s sake! What looks? Your imagination is not just vivid, it is overactive. The lieutenant does not like me. I do not like him. End of story.” Bianca frowned. “Do you have a comb? I cannot find mine.”

Alessandra looked at Bianca in the mirror. “You cannot find yours?”

“No. Otherwise, why would I ask for—What?”

“What you just said. You cannot find your comb. You never speak that way unless something’s thrown you off balance.”

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

Alessandra rolled her eyes. “There. You just did it again. ‘I cannot find my comb. I do not know what you are talking about.’ That formality. That perfect diction.”