Markov also knew that at some point there was going to be a war. There might be a way to use their military skills, at least at the planning stage. But Markov had to be careful. He knew hiring such men would be very costly. He knew he couldn’t involve them in anything that would cause trouble for Redmond and jeopardize that relationship.

But mostly, he had to get them on board quickly.

Markov dialed the phone number of Wilson.

A recorded message started abruptly, stating, “Please leave a clear recording stating the following: number of personnel, time and dates of employment, place of employment, skills required. Also, leave a secure contact number. If we can fill the requirements, you will receive a callback within thirty minutes, confirming personnel and price. Thank you.”

Markov had been jotting notes. When the electronic tone beeped, he cleared his throat and recited the information in order, “I need three men, starting as soon as they can arrive in New York City, until approximately 4 p.m. Friday. I need experts in surveillance and personal security.”

Markov gave his cell phone number, hoping he hadn’t been too vague. If they wanted more details, he would just emphasize they would be guarding one man who was working for him. He couldn’t think much beyond that.

He had completely sweated through even his underwear. His empty stomach grumbled. He reached for his attaché case laying on the bed and removed a gram of cocaine from the lining. He snorted a small pile into each nostril from his thumbnail. He sniffed at the sting in his nose and the back of his throat and blinked away the tears that filled his eyes.

The cocaine picked him up considerably, but it would be wearing off soon. He rummaged around in the side pocket of his attaché case, looking for his Adderall. He would be working for a few hours more, at least.

39

Olivia continued to stare at Beck, unblinking, with such intensity that it sparked something in Beck beyond desire.

Power.

She was making him feel incredibly powerful. As if he had total dominance and control over her.

Until that moment, he had not fully understood how dangerous Olivia Sanchez could be. Or how devious she actually was.

The temptation to exercise control over such an astonishingly alluring woman actually made it difficult for Beck to breathe. Beck’s eyes narrowed. He let the fear of how much control she was about to obtain over him penetrate into his gut, actually feeling his stomach tighten.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t waiver.

She continued holding on to his legs, pressing herself into him, staring at him.

Beck pictured what would happen if he simply reached out and touched her, ignited the fire by making her believe he was comforting her.

They would be on each other in a heartbeat. A literal heartbeat.

She still wore nothing under her white shirt and jeans. It would take seconds for her to be naked. Beck pictured her standing in front of him without clothes. Without guile. He felt his erection grow, adding an excruciating insistence.

He imagined the feel of her bronze, flawlessly smooth skin. Even smoother and softer over her breasts. He had stared at them long enough when she was clothed to be able to imagine them uncovered. Full, perfect teardrops. Perfect. The thought of cupping those beautiful breasts, feeling them, running his hands around to her back and down to her ass, around her hips, in between her legs; feeling for the wetness made him clench his jaws, but he didn’t back off from the fantasy.

That was the thing. The intriguing thing about her body. Full breasts and rear, but long limbs with fine wrists and ankles. And the skin, that amazing skin. And her mesmerizing eyes. And a mouth he wanted to feel against his. Passion he wanted to experience as he slid into her. Feeling the silky tightness. Hearing her gasp. He was actually sweating slightly under the sexual tension. The offer of sex, the contest of power and control, the temptation to say fuck it to everything to experience her—he was in a battle of wills he was losing.

Christ, Christ, stop it, he told himself. What a fucking disaster.

He swallowed hard. He forced a mantle of deception over himself. He continued to look into her eyes, intent on preventing her from deriving any satisfaction from making him look away. He leaned forward in the chair, using the force of his larger physical presence to impose on her.

The moment passed. The power of her seduction, her intensity, were diverted into a part of Beck that nobody could touch. A part that had emerged in the hard, cold hell of his incarceration. Something that he shared with Ivan Kolenka, and Gregor Stepanovich, and Manny and Ciro and Demarco. A part that even the power of Olivia Sanchez couldn’t penetrate.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He reached out and took hold of her forearms, firmly, with purpose. He slowly pulled her arms away from him.

He stood and lifted her to her feet. Holding her forearms, controlling her, he pivoted quickly, like a boxer who had been maneuvered into the corner of the ring, slips a punch and twists away, exchanging the cramped, tight area of confinement for the open space that allows maneuvering.

He let go of her and sidestepped deftly to the other side of the room, leaving her alone near the end of the bed. But he had done it with such agility and quickness that she couldn’t pretend he was fleeing from her. He had achieved a separation from her completely on his terms.

Just then, his cell phone rang.

At one o’clock in the morning, Beck knew there was very little chance this would be good news.

He answered quickly. “Beck.”

It was Nydia. “Yo, I was you I’d get the fuck out of that room. Hard guys on their way, man. Two coming at you, two down here covering both ends of the elevator bank.”

“Fuck! Do what you can to help when we get to the lobby.”

Beck shoved the phone in his pocket. Olivia had heard him. It immobilized her.

“Quick, Olivia—we have to get out of here.”

For just a beat, perhaps two seconds, Olivia didn’t move, trapped in fear and confusion. And then she reacted with surprising speed. She didn’t say a word, no questions, no comments. She moved fast toward the head of the bed, picked up her bag from the floor, ran to the bathroom without hesitating, and pulled her underwear off the shower curtain rod.

She was at the doorway grabbing her coat from the closet before Beck had on his own coat.

He opened the door. Checked the corridor. Motioned her out of the room. She followed with her bag over her shoulder and her black underwear clutched in her hand.

He moved cautiously out into the hall, peering around, standing in front of Olivia until he saw that the hallway was empty. He quickly tried to locate the stairs, but gave up on the idea. He didn’t want to set off any alarms, or be trapped in a stairwell.

He hurried toward the elevators, sensing more than seeing Olivia behind him.

He pulled out his Browning Hi-Power, racked a bullet into the chamber and released the safety, holding the automatic pointed down next to his right leg.

Beck thumbed both the up and the down elevator buttons. Whatever elevator came first, they were getting on it. Hopefully, not the one bearing the hard men coming for them.

40

Nydia Lopez had returned from a quick meal of eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee eaten at the counter of a diner down the street near Lexington. But when she had left the hotel for the diner, she’d made sure to stop and speak to the doorman on duty.

The fact that he was Hispanic helped. The fact that underneath the tattoos and rough clothes Nydia Lopez had a killer body and sharp, attractive features helped more.

“Yo, homes,” she had said. “What up?”