Dantes' Inferno by Sarah Lovett

reached a beehive hum. “Last-minute consult—big-time extortion—Kraill Medical’s the target. Forgive me?”
    â€œNo way.”
    Leo gently fingered the tape cassette that occupied the center of the table. “I gather the session with Dantes wasn’t entirely successful.”
    Sylvia snorted. “It sucked. But you be the judge; I recorded everything but the last sixty seconds.”
    â€œThat was the good part, right?”
    Sylvia shot him a funny look. “Right.” With unsteady hands she pulled a cigarette from her pocket.
    Immediately, he whisked it from between her fingers. “You’ll get us arrested if you try to smoke in here.”
    â€œMajor felony,” Sylvia said with no venom.
    Slipping the tape into his shirt pocket, Leo addressed the waiter who had appeared at the table. “We need a large bowl of your chowder, the tuna very rare, a house salad with the balsamic, some of your sourdough, and a large bottle of sparkling water.” He glanced at Sylvia. “Tomato juice?”
    She already felt the buzz from the martini, yet she couldn’t resist the chance to be obstinate. She tapped the stem of the martini glass. “I’ll have another one of these.”
    Leo shook his head at the waiter, nixing the second cocktail. “Make that one mineral water, one tomatojuice.” He drank a sip from Sylvia’s water glass, stalling until the aspiring actor in the crisp white apron was out of earshot.
    He said, “Syl . . . talk to me.”
    She set her chin in her hands, elbows resting on the table. “Why did you ask me to be part of the project, Leo? You wasted my time and your resources.”
    He eyed her suspiciously, crossing his arms high on his chest, leaning back in the booth. “Okay, let’s have it.”
    â€œI hear Peter Marshall’s an excellent psychologist.” She brushed dense dark hair away from her shoulder, tucking the same loose strands behind her ear; they refused to stay put. “So is Christine Tanner.”
    â€œWhat’s your point?”
    â€œMy point . . .” Sylvia spread her hands wide, palms up, almost knocking the water glass to the floor. She sighed, lowering her voice. “I did some homework this afternoon.” She sat back in the booth, crossing her long legs. “Peter Marshall and Christine Tanner both tried to administer the tests to Dantes. Marshall was ridiculed, verbally assaulted, threatened. Tanner lasted two minutes, then walked.”
    â€œThat’s correct,” Leo said, looking unnervingly calm and cool in his gray summer suit. “You knew you wouldn’t be the only evaluator.” He shrugged. “Christine works for Rand; she’s competent, but she’s too straitlaced, too rigid for Dantes’ taste. Peter Marshall actually lives most of the year in Virginia, close to Quantico.”
    â€œThat’s all you have to say?”
    â€œNo. I want to know all about Dantes—your impressions.” He slid her empty martini glass to the center of the white tablecloth; the stem looked fragile caught between his slim tanned fingers. “Behavioral observations, affect, responses, and presentation—was he initially cooperative?Functional? Oppositional? What, if anything, set him off? It’s all relevant to the profiling project. I need your hit on all this.”
    â€œI’ll fax you my written summary from Santa Fe.” She shrugged, spinning one finger around the funneled rim of the martini glass. “I don’t do hits .”
    â€œYou don’t do what? ” Leo repeated dumbly, struggling to keep his tone intimate. “Listen, you were the right choice for Dantes. I truly believed you’d pull it off where Tanner and Marshall failed. That didn’t happen. Too bad. Now I just need you to talk to me. All information is still relevant.”
    â€œYou want my professional hit on