The room felt very warm, and it had nothing to do with the sauna in the basement or the steam from the Jacuzzi. Even the woman was sweating, her flat stomach and swaying breasts glistening under the dim wall light. She drizzled oil onto his chest and the liquid cooled him. Her fingers worked harder now they were into the second half. They kneaded his shoulders and neck. They massaged his chest and stomach. They karate-chopped gently down both sides of his torso and with each change of technique they came closer to the meat of the massage.

But never quite reached the towel.

McNulty thought he would explode. If he wasn’t careful, part of him probably would. Into the endgame. At the foot of the bed and oiling his thighs. This time when she raised the towel a couple of inches, what she was staring at wasn’t McNulty’s buttocks. He glanced over his shoulder at the training shoe on the floor.

Soon. Wait for the offer and price.

Natasha gave his shins a cursory rub and then proceeded to the thighs. Right leg first. Thumbs together, fingers on either side. McNulty could feel the pressure building inside him. The fingers working along his inner thigh slid all the way to the top. They accidentally-on-purpose brushed hot flesh. Electric. Left leg now. The fingers did the same again. Barely a touch, but enough contact to suggest what was to come. At a price.

Offer and price. Nearly there. The point where he would reach down and flick open his badge wallet and hold the warrant card in her face. Make the arrest. There was never any trouble. Working girls were aware of the risks and knew if there was an undercover on scene then backup was covering the exits. No one had ever made a run for it. No half-naked female wearing high heels being chased down the high street. This was where elation and frustration met. The buzz of the arrest followed by deflation at missing the best part of the massage.

But it was different now.

McNulty closed his eyes and waited. Slick hands squeezed twice more along his thigh and then the inner hand slid right under the towel and oiled his shaft. Just once. Soft and gentle, but a firm grip. The shock, even though he’d been expecting it, almost sent him over the edge. He was rock hard and hot to trot. The thing that held him back was the depression that usually set in at this point. The realization that things would never be the same again.