“It’s him.”

Nydia closed the door, unfastened the security lock, and let Beck in as she quickly stepped back, her gun aimed at the center of his chest.

Beck took one step into the room and let the door shut by itself with a thunk.

Nydia looked back and forth between Beck and Olivia, lowered the gun, and took her seat in front of the television, satisfied she had let the right man in, and content to ignore them both.

Beck looked at Nydia for a moment, then at Olivia, who tipped her head and widened her eyes as if to say, I didn’t tell her to do that.

Beck scanned the hotel room. It was a bit smaller than he had expected, decorated in warm wood tones, browns and beige, with a queen-size bed, two armchairs, an ottoman, a round table desk with chair, and a 36" flat-screen TV.

The room occupied a corner and featured a large square window on the south wall, and a floor-to-ceiling set of windows on the west wall. Only the inner curtains were drawn, adding a gossamer layer over the lights outside and the traffic moving on Fifty-seventh Street. Beck could hear the faint hum of the city through the double-paned windows. It seemed a comforting sound.

Olivia returned to her perch on the queen-size bed. Beck kicked the ottoman toward the side of the bed and dragged the desk chair over so he could sit next to the bed and talk to Olivia.

For a few moments, Beck said nothing. Olivia waited. Beck’s demeanor did nothing to comfort her.

Beck noticed that Olivia wore the same clothes he had seen her in earlier, white shirt and jeans. She still looked stunningly attractive. Beck wasn’t getting accustomed to it at all.

“So,” he said.

“Yes?”

Beck sat back in the chair and put his feet on the ottoman and looked at Olivia again. She looked back at him without expression. She sat with her back against the headboard, her encased hand in her lap, watching Beck, waiting.

Finally Beck said, “The situation isn’t getting any better.”

“Why? How?”

Beck waved off her questions. “I’m not sure how to stop this, and that makes me very uncomfortable.” Beck scowled for a moment. Shifted in his chair. “Worse, I don’t know how to stop this without risking Manny and my friends ending up back in jail.”

“I’m … I don’t know…”

Beck interrupted Olivia. “And just so you’re clear, that cannot happen.”

Just as Olivia was about to respond, Beck’s cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Brandon Wright.

He told Olivia, “I’ve got to take this.” He answered the call by saying, “Hang on.” He walked into the bathroom, closed the heavy door behind him, and sat on the closed toilet seat.

“What’s up?”

“I obtained that information on the woman’s injury.”

“Yes?”

“How did you say the injury occurred?”

“Somebody standing over her slammed a fist down on her hand.”

“I see.”

“See what?”

“I think this news I’m about to share is going to upset you, James.”

As he listened to the doctor, Beck noticed that Olivia had washed her bra and panties and hung them on the shower rod to dry. The bra was black, made out of a sheer lacy material. The panties were black, too, a string and a lacy triangle piece, nothing more. The lingerie seemed incredibly erotic to Beck. His mind alternated between picturing her in the sheer underwear and thinking about her sitting on the bed a few feet away naked under her white shirt and jeans. It was enough to give Beck the beginning of an erection.

“Why?”

“Are you calm, James? Seriously. Are you calm? Are you someplace where you can…?”

“Brandon, for fuck’s sake, you know I’m not going to be calm. But have you ever known me to do something stupid because I’m pissed?”

“That depends on how you define stupid.”

“Come on.”

Beck was already standing, the cell phone pressed to his ear, the images of Olivia in black lingerie instantly dispelled.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Beck spoke more calmly. “Brandon, believe me, this isn’t the time for you to second-guess me. What’s going on?”

Another pause, and then Doctor Brandon began to speak.

“All right, here are the facts. Because you got me her signature I was able to get copies of the Lenox Hill records. The admission records, ER notes, X-ray report, all of it.

“James, your friend didn’t sustain those fractures the way you described it.”

A cold, sick sensation hit Beck in his gut.

“Are you sure?”

There was a pause and Wright answered, “Yes.”

“Why?”

“First, the notes from the triage nurse. Olivia Sanchez’s hand came in with scrapes on the palm of her hand, embedded dirt that the ER nurse took pains to wash and sterilize. Second, the X-rays showed all the damage was done to the proximal phalanges, indicating that the fingers broke because they were pushed backward. If they had been broken like you described there would have been more damage to the metacarpal bones. The fractures were above the knuckles. It didn’t happen from a blow landing down on the hand.”

“So how do you think it happened?”

“According to the notes, she told both the nurse and the surgeon that she fell on the street. Tripped on a curb or something. She fell, put her hand out, landed hard on it, bent back the fingers. She broke the little finger just above the knuckle, broke it completely, and cracked the finger next to it, the same bone, proximal phalange.”

Beck muttered a curse.

“James, I…”

Beck spoke softly. “No, Brandon, you don’t have to say anything more. Thank you. I’ll deal with it. I had to find out the truth.”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. I’m not going to ask you what this all means now.”

“I’m not sure I can tell you, but…” Beck’s voice trailed off. “I have to go. I’ll be in touch. Thank you.”

Beck ended the call and sat back on the toilet seat, phone in hand, thinking it through. Going back over the time frame. Trying to figure out how she worked it. Roughing it out. Thinking of the angles, the motives, the possibilities.

He slowly raised his phone and speed-dialed Manny. Beck found it difficult to focus. The anger and tension nagged at him. He felt it in his neck and jaw, in the involuntary movements in his face and mouth.

The phone answered.

“Yeah.”

“Manny, what’s going on?”

“Same. Nothing.”

“No sign of anybody coming into the neighborhood?”

“No. Don’t worry, we got our eyes open.”

“Okay, do me a favor. I need to talk to your cousin in private. This lady you got up here, I have a feeling if I tell her to do something she doesn’t want to do, she’ll shoot me.”

“Yeah, that’s Nydia.”

“Well, the room’s too fucking small for me to talk to Olivia in private, so call Nydia and tell her to take a break for a while. Go downstairs and get a drink or something to eat. Or take a walk around the block. Tell her she should wait for me to call her back to the room.”

“What’s going on, James?”

“I don’t know yet. Not all of it. I have to talk to Olivia.”

“James…”

Beck interrupted the wariness he heard in Manny’s voice.

“Manny, just let me do what I have to do. Okay? We got our fucking backs against the wall here. I have to figure this out. I just don’t have time to tell you everything now. You have to trust me, partner.”

There was silence. And then Manny Guzman spoke slowly and carefully. “She’s my family, James.”

“And you’re mine. Call your girl with the gun, and tell her I need some time here.”

Beck ended the connection before Manny could ask him anything more. He shoved the cell phone in his pocket, put both hands on the sink, concentrating on letting his anger recede. Brandon Wright knew him well, but Beck knew himself. He ran the water and rinsed his face, first feeling the cold water, then feeling the water when it had heated up, soothing him, calming him.