“What’s wrong?”

She tried to break free of his hold, screaming how dare he touch her—a married woman. But Decker only held on tighter.

“Minda. What…is… wrong?”

The woman broke into high-pitched screams. “They found her! She’s dead! Oh God, she’s dead. She’s dead—”

“What!” Decker’s heart was hammering against his chest.

“She’s dead! Can’t you hear! She’s dead! She’s dead! She’s dead!”

The woman’s knees buckled. Decker caught her as she passed out.

21

He was operating on overdrive, pure speed and adrenaline tearing out of upstate, hitting the city by eleven, and getting off the parkway at 132nd. He found parking a block away, then ran over to the building. Punching the button. This time, it was Donatti’s voice from the intercom, annoyance in the bastard’s voice. Breathing hard, Decker announced his name and was buzzed in. The reception area was empty—no guard, no secretary— and that made sense because it was lunchtime. Decker marched through the metal detector, setting it off with his keys. He didn’t bother to retrace his steps because Donatti had opened the inner door. The kid was wearing a loose Hawaiian shirt over jeans. Decker stomped past him, into the studio.

Donatti’s irritation turned to anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Dozens of pornographic photos were spread out over a large conference table—snapshots of teenage girls with pursed lips and bedroom eyes doing things to gray-haired, potbellied men. Obscene pictures made even more outrageous because Donatti was a hell of a photographer. Rage boiled over in Decker’s gut, turning his face into something feral. Donatti caught the look, his eyes equally furious.

“Who the fuck are you to judge me?! Get the fuck out—”

Decker caught him by the throat and threw him against the wall. Using his body weight, he leaned his knee hard against Donatti’s groin, tightening his fingers around the son of a bitch’s throat, trying to pin his hands with his shoulders. The harder Donatti struggled, the more pressure Decker applied to the windpipe. He pressed his kneecap harder against the kid’s crotch.

“What did you do to her?” Decker growled out.

Red-faced and flushed, Chris managed to shake his head.

“Talk to me, dammit!” He gripped harder and spoke louder. “What did you do to her?”

“Who?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Shayndie! She’s dead! What did you do—”

“Noth—”

“STOP LYING, YOU MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?”

“I can’t talk.…”

His eyes rolled back in his head. Decker loosened his fingers, giving him enough air to breathe and speak. “Answer my question, or I’ll kill you.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I just saw her six hours ago,” he choked out in a whisper. “She was fine. Let me go!”

Decker gave a final squeeze, then abruptly pushed him away. Donatti fell down to his knees, holding his throat, gasping for breath. Decker paced with hard clomps against the wooden floor.

“You said she was safe with you! You said she’d be okay! You told me you’d take care of it, and I trusted you, Donatti. Either you were lying or you fucked up. And by fucked up, I mean fucked up big time!”