Donatti threw his head back and closed his eyes. Acting so casual while Decker was still nursing resentment. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Just what was Donatti trying to pull? He couldn’t have been that moronic as to give that girl—that child—an order to seduce him. So what was the point? Just a little head trip to see Decker squirm?

Enough was enough. Donatti might have information, but right now, Decker was too damn furious to be with the bastard. To deal with Chris, Decker needed to be calm and nonjudgmental. He had to walk it off.

He blurted out to the driver, “Just pull over here.” A good two dozen blocks shy of Donatti’s digs.

Chris opened his eyes, looked at him.

“This is my stop,” Decker insisted.

“Here?” the driver asked.

“Here. Pull over now!”

The cabbie did as told.

Decker threw half the fare in Donatti’s lap. “Hey, thanks a lot, buddy.” He threw open the door and stormed out.

It took over twenty minutes of marching uptown on Riverside Drive for Decker to steady his rapid heartbeat. As he trod down the near-empty street, the Hudson River looking black and endless, he couldn’t erase the image of that pathetic little girl, shoved and demeaned, yet she was trying so hard. It saddened him—all these broken souls—but what was the sense of bleeding? Even if Decker had had the capacity to redeem her, there were hundreds of others waiting to take her place.

It was cruel outside, a hard, malodorous mist pricking his face. He was fast approaching 135th, and was at a juncture. Jump or cut bait.

Shaynda was still missing.

Like a cat to his piss, he navigated his way toward Donatti’s building, reaching it, but hesitating before pressing the bell. There was a better than good chance that by now Donatti was equally as pissed, meaning that Decker had blown his one chance. Just terrific!

Suddenly, the buzzer sounded without Decker’s finger on the button.

The video monitor in the office: Donatti had been watching for him. Waiting for him.

Decker went inside the lobby, and this time took the elevator up. The cage was slow and bumpy. He was buzzed into the anteroom and went through the metal detector, but he didn’t set it off probably because Chris had turned it off. The door to the loft was open. Chris greeted him with two glasses of scotch, holding one out to Decker.

“Pass.”

Donatti didn’t move, his arm still extending the cut-crystal glass. Their eyes locked. Decker knew that if he didn’t take the booze, he might as well pack it up. If Donatti was sitting on something, Decker might as well find out what it was. Give the bastard this little victory. He took the glass.

Chris clinked it with his own, then took up the bottle and opened up his office. Without a word, Decker went inside. Chris followed, locked the door, and flipped the antibug switch. He sipped the booze while he and Decker did a staring contest. This time, Decker wasn’t going to give ground.