Devil's Deception by Doreen Owens Malek

he said.
    Angela shivered in the early morning chill. “It’s getting cold. October is half gone, winter will be here soon.”
    “Do you want my jacket?” he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders to steer her toward the curb.
    “No, thanks, we’ll be inside soon.” He was always offering her items of his clothing; what she wanted was a piece of himself, which was much harder to obtain.
    The diner was shaped like a railroad car, and the interior was pungent with the aroma of fried food. A hostess with hair a color that never existed in nature showed them to a rear booth.
    “Nice place,” Devlin commented. “I think this was printed in 1927,” he added, indicating the stained, ragged menu.
    Angela kicked him under the table. “You have no taste. This room is loaded with atmosphere.”
    He sniffed. “Is that what you call it? I thought it was garlic.”
    “You’re a snob.”
    “Nope. I just have a distinct aversion to ptomaine poisoning.”
    “I’ve eaten here many times and survive to this day.”
    Devlin played with the tassel dangling from the top of the menu. “I wouldn’t have expected to find somebody like you here.”
    “Somebody like me?”
    “Rich. Privileged. Lutece is more your type of place.”
    “Lutece is Philip’s type of place.”
    Devlin’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever brought him here?”
    “No. Philip would turn to stone on the threshold.”
    Devlin relaxed. “Good.”
    Angela looked at him sitting across from her and tried to keep what she was feeling from showing in her face. His hair tumbled over his forehead, shiny and black as a raven’s wing, a glossy counterpart to brows and lashes just as thick and dark. His cheeks were deeply shadowed with stubble, and blue smudges of fatigue stained the skin below his eyes. He looked exhausted and beautiful, stretched to the limit and incredibly dear.
    “You examine me, Miss Patria,” he said softly.
    “Yes.”
    “What do you see?”
    Angela turned her head, afraid to speak.
    He held up a hand. “You’re right. Don’t answer that. I know what I look like at five in the morning. Strong men run screaming out of my path. I could be the ‘before’ picture in a commercial for shaving cream.” He started to shrug out of his jacket and then realized that his gun holster would be visible. He pulled the coat back on quickly.
    “Do you like being a private detective?” Angela asked suddenly.
    His eyes roamed away from hers. “It has its moments.”
    “Didn’t you ever think about doing anything else?”
    He was saved from a reply by the arrival of the waitress, whose hair was as startling a shade as the hostess’. She snapped gum and tapped her rubber soled shoe while taking their order. Devlin gazed after her as she walked to the service stand behind them.
    “There’s no shortage of hair dye among the staff here.”
    Angela covered her mouth with her hand. “Not everyone is as lucky as you are.”
    “What?”
    “Not everyone is lucky enough to have naturally beautiful hair.”
    Devlin reached out and lifted a tendril of auburn hair from Angela’s neck with a blunt forefinger.
    “How would you know?” he asked quietly.
    The waitress reached over his arm to plunk two water glasses on the table between them. Devlin withdrew his hand, throwing the woman a black look.
    “Could you bring us some coffee when you get a chance?” he inquired of her.
    She didn’t reply, but set off at a brisk pace on her squeaky shoes.
    “I think she’s a mute,” he muttered.
    “You’re just mad because she isn’t responding to your considerable charm,” Angela said, smiling impishly.
    He was startled.
    Angela chuckled. “Don’t look at me with those innocent eyes. I’ve seen you use that strong silent routine on more than one female. You can accomplish more with one intent glance than others can with extravagant compliments.”
    He looked down, turning red.
    “Isn’t that cute? Now he’s embarrassed.”
    He raised his eyes to