“Just once,” the Angel said.

The detective’s left eyebrow quirked. “With what?”

The Angel gestured silently toward the remains of the desk scattered around the body.

“Nice,” the female cop repeated. “I’m Inspector-Detective First Class Joan Lonnegan.”

The Angel nodded. She’d heard of her. “I’m Bathsheeba Fox—”

“I know,” Lonnegan said. “The Midnight Angel.” Her intent regard, the Angel thought, was frankly curious. “If you don’t mind a personal question, what’s it like being married to Billy Ray?”

The question threw her for a moment. Was she serious, or just testing her in some way. “Endlessly exciting,” the Angel finally said.

Before Lonnegan could reply they were interrupted as a tall, slim black detective in a nice suit entered the room.

“And this,” said Lonnegan, indicating the handsome young man, “is Detective Third Class Michael Stevens.”

“CSI is on the way,” he said. He stopped before the Angel, turned to face her, and extended his hand. His features were expressionless as they shook. “Ma’am.”

The Angel, startled as she was, also remained expressionless as she palmed the small folded bit of paper he passed to her.

“I checked with the desk clerk,” he reported to Lonnegan. “This is SCARE agent Jamal Norwood’s hotel room.”

“Is, or was?”

“Is. But he hasn’t been seen for more than a day.”

Lonnegan turned her attention to the Angel. “Ms. Fox?”

“Call me Bathsheeba—or Angel, as you prefer,” the Angel offered, and Lonnegan inclined her head.

“Yes. It’s true. I’ve been looking for him.” She wondered how much she should tell the detective, then decided that she couldn’t expect to get info if she didn’t offer any. “He missed a medical appointment today.”

Lonnegan’s eyebrows rose and Stevens’s face took on a concerned expression.

“Was he ill?” Lonnegan asked.

The Angel hesitated. No sense in making this too easy. “I can’t say. I will tell you that officially he was on medical leave.”

With this news the detectives exchanged worried glances.

“So,” the Angel said, “this Andrei the Ice Man…?” She let her voice trail off.

Stevens looked at Lonnegan. When her expression didn’t change he apparently took it as a sign of acquiescence.

“One of the Brighton Beach boys.”

“Russian Mafia?”

Michael nodded in confirmation. “Hit man. One of the best—or should I say the worst? He was here alone?”

The Angel shook her head.

“Short, fat guy in a ponytail and loud clothes?”

She nodded.

“That’s his partner in crime—and in life—Shadow.”

“They’re a couple?” the Angel asked. She was only briefly surprised. A decade by Ray’s side made you receptive to the unusual.

“Marriage made in hell,” Lonnegan volunteered.

“I’d like to be present when you question him.”

“Well, in the state you left him, that may be a while.”

The Angel shrugged. She stood, turned to drop the towel she’d been holding over the top of the chair, and slipped the note Michael had passed her under the cuff of her gauntlet. She turned and faced Lonnegan and Stevens.

“Nevertheless,” she said. “I’d be very interested in why the Russian Mafia was trying to kill one of our agents.”