THREE WEEKS AFTER their first date, the body of Cynthia Blair turned up dead in Central Park. She had been strangled and her body had been left at the base of Cleopatra’s Needle just behind the Metropolitan Museum. Nikki didn’t have a phone number where she could call Marshall. Even if she had, she wasn’t sure it would have been the right thing to do. But he wasn’t responding to her messages on his Lucky Dog e-dress. She felt like she was a million miles away from him.

Nikki watched Fox on television and she cried. He looked so lost. It was absurd to even try to do the show, she thought. Look at him. She wanted to hold him and comfort him. Poor baby, he was in such pain. She thought about just showing up at his building but decided that might be wrong. She’d just have to wait and hope that he still wanted to see her. At his request, she’d gone out after their last date and purchased that plaid wool skirt he’d jabbered on about. He’d wanted it for one of his games. Call me, she implored the television set. I’m here, honey. I’ll do anything you need me to do for you. Anything. You’re the boss. I’ll make you forget everything. I can do it.

Nine days after Cynthia Blair’s murder, he contacted her. E-mail. He wanted to see her. That night.

I need normal. Well, okay, you know me better than that. What I don’t need is all the crap that’s been going on this week. I need a break. I need a lucky break. You’re the one, babe. No one else in the whole damn world.

She wrote back immediately: Yes!

Excellent. Danny’ll fetch you at ten. And let’s go with the schoolgirl look. A little virgin sacrifice is good for the soul.

21

FRESHLY BATHED, Nikki headed down the steps at 9:50. Mrs. Campanella on the third floor was taking a bag of kitchen trash downstairs.

“Look at you, all dolled up. It’s my bedtime, and here you are going out dancing.”

Nikki offered to take the trash from her neighbor and throw it in the can outside the building’s front door. The woman waved her off.

“This is my exercise for the entire day, honey. The doctor says I need to keep active. I might still be climbing back up these stairs by the time you get back from your date.”

Nikki remembered that she had forgotten a sympathy card that she had bought for Cynthia Blair’s family. She wasn’t certain if it was right to ask Marshall to deliver it for her. She had signed it with her initials, followed by “Someone Who Cares,” but she wondered if what she was really doing was trying to score points with Fox. Still, she did feel horrible about what had happened to the woman. Nikki climbed the stairs back to her apartment and fetched the card. It was in a pale blue envelope. Mrs. Campanella was nearing the first floor by the time Nikki made it to the bottom.

“Have a good night, honey. You’d better take an umbrella. They’re calling for rain.”

Danny was leaning up against the Town Car when Nikki emerged from the building. He took her in with an approving look. “Boss man’s going to be one happy camper to see you. He’s been a real pain in the ass the whole week.”

Nikki found Fox in a black mood when she arrived. No surprise. He looked haggard. She handed him the sympathy card. “Maybe it’s stupid.” Fox didn’t say a word about it. He set the card on a small table in the hallway. He seemed distracted, but he tried to pretend that he was fine.

He made them martinis, and they took them out on the balcony. There was a slight rain falling. They remained under the overhang of the balcony above. From up this high-the apartment was on the twenty-sixth floor-the shadowy silhouette of Cleopatra’s Needle was just visible. Fox said nothing but stood sipping his martini, looking out across the tops of the trees toward the stone obelisk. Nikki wanted to touch him, to set her fingers on his arm, but she didn’t dare. His face was impassive, a granite frown. After nearly a minute, he spoke.

“Believe it or not, it’s not Cynthia that’s got me all cranked out. It’s my wife. It’s Rosemary.” He drained his martini. Nikki took the empty glass from his hand. Fox’s gaze stayed aimed toward the far side of the park. “I spent the afternoon with her before heading off to the studio. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call a pretty afternoon. That woman…I should give her that dog tag of yours. You’ve got no idea.”

Nikki’s hand went to her memento. “She’ll have to fight me for it. It’s mine.”

Fox’s expression loosened. “Listen. Whatever you do, don’t ever challenge Rosemary. I’m serious. You’re a sweet kid. Rosemary’d rip you to pieces.”

Nikki remained on the balcony while Fox went back in to put together another martini. She couldn’t imagine how he must feel. He’d never said anything to her before about his former producer, though she knew from some stuff she’d read somewhere that the professional relationship had ended on a kind of ugly note. That has to hurt, she thought. You work closely with someone, things end badly, and then she’s killed. No chance to patch things up. She looked out across the park again, over toward where the body of Cynthia Blair had been discovered nine days before. A shudder went through her as she imagined the woman vainly battling off her attacker. Did she see it coming? Did she have time to call for help, to let out a scream? Jesus, Nikki thought. In the middle of the night, this part of the city can get pretty quiet. She thought of Marshall lying in his bed asleep. Or no-awake. Lying awake and hearing a faint distant scream coming in on the night air. You hear that kind of thing all the time and don’t really think anything about it. City noise. You don’t think that someone you know is making the last sound they’re ever going to make or that-

“Hey.”

A splash from her drink ploinked onto her wrist. Fox stepped up behind her. Nikki turned around and looked up at him. Backlit from the living room, Fox’s face was in shadow, his eyes black and absent in their deep sockets.

“That’s a nice skirt, little girl.” There was something absent as well from his voice. His tone was low. Robotic.

Nikki tried a curtsy. “You like it?”

Fox lifted the glass from her hand and finished off the drink, then casually tossed the glass aside. It shattered on impact.

“Little girl like jewelry?”

He pulled something shiny from his pocket and held it up. Light from the apartment glinted off its surface.

Nikki took the handcuffs from him and gave him a coy smile. “Aw. You shouldn’t have.”

Minutes later, Nikki was lying on the bed, faceup, with both wrists handcuffed to the bars of the antique wire headboard. Her V-neck sweater was bunched on the floor. The dog tag rested just between her perfect breasts. Fox was pulling off his shirt.

“That skirt’s got to go, little girl. We’ve got to get that thing off you.”

He picked up something shiny from beside the alarm clock as he climbed onto the bed. A pair of scissors. When he came down on top of her, Nikki imagined the warmth of her own torso melting him. Melting them both. Like hard rubber going soft. She imagined the two of them as warm melting liquid. That was it. Nothing but liquid. Everywhere. Warm liquid all over the damn place. Crazy with liquid.

“Cut it,” she murmured into his ear, giving it a sharp bite. “Go ahead. Cut it.”