Four days laterZoe glanced up as the door of the parlour opened and she smiled in greeting at the young woman standing there, looking slightly nervous. She was short, a bit awkward in her body, with long, dark hair and a trim, prim little skirt. No high heels, no figure-hugging clothes, very little makeup. She looked oddly angelic: innocent, kind, almost untouched.Zoe looked down at her own tight jeans, tugged her mini t-shirt down over her pierced navel, knew she couldn’t hide the ink on her lower back. The woman stepped into the parlour, and Zoe wondered if she’d ever seen a woman who looked less likely to get a tattoo, in the whole of her life. But if this was who Zoe thought it was, then she wasn’t there for a tattoo, anyway.“Maria?” Zoe set down her fifth coffee of the morning, came out from behind the counter. “Maria Torres?”“Yes. Hi. Zoe Parish?” The other woman’s voice was soft, gentle, melodious, and right away, Zoe liked her. Maria extended a small, delicate hand. “Thank
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