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9
"Yeah, you're right," he said under his breath. "Better stick with what you do best, Denby." Harry threw back the last swallow of Scotch, set down the glass, and rubbed the back of his neck. His head was still throbbing from the blow Det. Jones had given him during the raid.The swelling was gone but he couldn't get rid of the lightning flashes of pain. He rolled his head stiffly to one side, then the other, and looked out across the room. Then he saw her. Back in the far corner, he saw Diane. Frozen. Her face was so perfectly lit by the small candle on her table that he too, was locked into staring. So beautiful. So sad. Her face glistened in the light as the tears made their way down her delicate cheek. The dark, soft curls of her hair had taken on a glow that framed her face, and he remained perfectly still...holding his breath. Keeping the vision. Harry suddenly felt voyeuristic. He had accidentally seen her exposed, and he lowered his eyes reflexively in respect and wonder. He wanted to go to her, feeling drawn by her silent presence, but he continued to concentrate his gaze on the worn carpet under his feet. Resisting his instincts took tremendous effort. Harry reached for his empty glass and held it to keep his hands from shaking. Get up! Get your coat and move. The voice in Diane's head seemed far away, but it was beginning to dissolve the fog she was in. He's dangerous, you know it. Get going! Dangerous. Diane let the word sink in as she looked at him. She had become quite good at resisting her instincts, but now she hesitated. He didn't look dangerous. Just a man, sitting alone at a piano. "Looks like you're ready for a refill." Diane jumped in her seat as the bartender reached over and poured her another cup. "Yes... no. I mean thank you, No. It's time I got going."
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