Randy said, “It’s good to hear that you’re not being stupid.”

Decker was offended. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that you can’t do this by yourself, Peter. There’re too many people and too many possibilities. You need a partner-someone you can trust.”

“In theory, you’re right. I could use you up here. But just as important-if not more important-I need someone in Gainesville to watch over the family. Who better than you?”

Randy thought about what Rina had told him this morning, about how she was sure that someone had been after her, after both of them. She had described Peter’s face in detail, but was vague with the specifics about herself. Definitely holding back, probably because she was too confused or too scared to tell him what really happened. So maybe Peter’s request about taking care of the family held some real weight. In the end, Randy acquiesced.

“You’ll call me as soon as you start putting the pieces together.”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll keep researching from this end,” Randy said.

“Good idea.”

“Peter, please don’t muscle it on your own. You know what we’re working with.”

“Randy, I value my life.”

“That’s very good, bro. It’s good to hear you say the words out loud.”

27

He insisted that he wasn’t living like a king, and by his choice of lodging, I suspected that, for once, he was telling the truth. The building looked a hairbreadth short of dilapidated in an area gone of its glory days. But this was New York City, and I knew that here space was king: Real estate was judged by different standards. Columbia University was encroaching and, somewhere along the line, the land would be valuable. I rang the buzzer and a very sexy voice asked who I was. I gave her my name, which meant nothing to her. But she let me in anyway.

The place was on the fifth floor, number thirteen, and if that was significant of anything, I didn’t know about it. I had to walk through a metal detector, and then a young guard checked my purse. The receptionist, a pretty girl who looked in her teens, asked if I had an appointment. When I told her that I didn’t, she said I’d have to wait.

“He’s in the middle of a shoot. It’s going to be a while. Why don’t you come back in an hour?”

“It’s important,” I told her.

“It’s always important.” A roll of the eyes. “You’ll have to wait, ma’am.”

“It’s very important,” I insisted. “I’m from out of town. If Mr. Donatti finds out that I was here and you didn’t let me in-or even that you made me wait-I guarantee you he’ll be very angry.”

She didn’t answer right away. There must have been something in my voice-calmness and authority-a rarity for me.

“I’ll take the heat,” I assured her. “I know what he’s like when he’s angry. I’m not worried. Page him, please.”

She hesitated, but then she picked up the phone. I heard him screaming.

“What!”

“Sir, there’s a woman-”

That was as far as she got. The slam of the receiver was so loud that even I recoiled. He flew out of the door, his face as red as the blood that had seeped into his cheeks. “Who the fu-”

He stopped when he saw me. He was breathing hard, sweating hard as well. Mrs. Decker had been right. He didn’t look well. He spoke to me. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I need to talk to you.”

The room went quiet.

“You’re sure everything’s all right?”

I nodded.

He exhaled. “Give me five minutes.”

I nodded again. “Should I wait here?”

“Yeah.” He regarded his secretary. Her complexion had gone pale gray. “It’s okay, Amber. You did the right thing. Take the rest of the day off.” A glance over at the guard. “Both of you, take the day off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The guard stood up. “Are you sure, Mr. Donatti?”

“Very sure. Here.” He gave them each a fifty. What I could have done with that money. “You can leave now. She’s fine by herself. Have a good time.” To me. “Five minutes.”

“Take your time.”

“Do you want anything? Are you hungry?”

“I’m fine.”

He held up his hands and disappeared behind the door.

Amber gathered up her belongings, giving me an expression that wavered between confusion and awe. I knew what she was thinking. Who is this ponytailed bag lady with the strange feline yellow eyes, dressed in oversize chinos, a black ribbed crewneck sweater, worn sneakers, and a threadbare peacoat? Her clothes look like they came from a thrift shop.

In fact, they did. Right now, Chris was paying tuition not only for my medical-school education but also for Gabriel’s private schooling, as well as his piano lessons with a very sought-after maestro. Chris was paying my rent, my utilities, my child-care needs, and our health insurance. He paid off my undergraduate loans and gave me whatever spending money I asked for. He never questioned what I needed. His largesse allowed me to be job-free so I could concentrate on Gabe and my studies exclusively. I kept a microscopic watch on where each dime went.

I had known Chris for almost nine years. We met in high school back in my native Los Angeles. I had been incredibly naive in every sense of the word, and I think that was why he was attracted to me. My face didn’t hurt, either. Things progressed at a very messy pace and I thought I was in love. By the time I wanted to cut bait, it was too late. I was pregnant.

By now, I was aware of what Chris did, although we never discussed it. Donatti was a newsworthy name, and from time to time, I came across it in print. When Joseph Donatti had initially been indicted for murder six years ago, Chris had also been indicted as a co-conspirator. Six months later, his charges were dropped for insufficient evidence. Eventually, Joey was acquitted. The picture of Chris and him hugging had made the front page of the Trib. I had seen several sidebar articles about Chris’s magazine and the implications about his pimping and pandering. Nothing ever stuck.

No, we never talked about what he did, but we both knew what he was.

Ten minutes later, he accompanied two young boys and a girl out of his main digs, his arm around the girl, talking to all of them in whispered tones. The girl sneaked a sidelong glimpse at me. I smiled, but she did not. After everyone had left, he motioned me in but put his finger to his lips. He picked up his ubiquitous bottle of scotch and we walked into a sizable but windowless office-neat as expected-with lots of security equipment. A ceiling fan added some air to the place, but the fluorescent overhead lighting was harsh. When he saw me squinting, he turned it off and elected to go with a soft pole lamp. I sat on one side of the square table; he lowered his body into a cushy chair on the other side. He gulped some booze, then followed it with an Evian chaser.

“Where were you hit?” I asked him.

His laugh was muted. “She called you. Rina did.”

I cocked my head. “You’re on a first-name basis with her?”

“Actually not. That’s her doing, not mine.”

“You like her?”

“She’s very attractive.”

“She sounds very nice.”

“She is very nice.” More water. “Where’s the kid?”

“Your son,” I corrected him. “I left him at home with a baby-sitter.”

“That’s nice. I like being alone with you.”

“Your paternal devotion is touching.”

“That’s assuming that I’ve acknowledged paternity.”

I gave a long, suffering sigh. “Will you please take a simple blood test so we can be done with this? Why do you like to torture me? Why do you enjoy torturing yourself?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t yell at me. I hurt.”

I stood up and walked over to him. I put my hands on his strong, tight shoulders. “Let me see.”

“You’re not a doctor yet. Leave me alone-”

“Chris-”