“Cash. In an envelope. A thousand. Plus tip.”

“Tip?” Goldin said.

She nodded and put her hand on his groin. “It’s not my fault you have expensive taste,” she said, closing the door in his face.

Goldin walked down the hallway. He knew she was watching him through the peephole. He made his way hesitantly to the elevator, looking back at the door twice as if conflicted about what had happened.

He entered the elevator, got out at the ground floor, made his way through the lobby, and got in one of the many cabs parked in front of the hotel.

He handed the driver a twenty and told him to wait. The driver started the meter and sighed.

“I ain’t sitting here all night,” he said. “Just so you know.”

Goldin handed him another twenty and told him to shut up.

He watched the door of the hotel, gambling Tatyana would come out the same way they’d entered, and she did. She didn’t get in a cab though, which threw him.

She began walking. It was after midnight and there were so few pedestrians she would have noticed anyone following her on foot.

She cut a distinctive figure in her dress, heels, and black trench, and Goldin sat tight until she turned at the end of the block.

“Drive,” he said.

“Where to?”

“Just to the corner,” he said, handing the driver another twenty.

The driver went as far as the intersection and stopped at the light. Goldin peered down the street. Tatyana was just getting into a cab and Goldin told his driver to turn right.

“I’m in the wrong lane,” he said.

“Do it,” Goldin said and the driver turned onto Park.

They followed Tatyana’s cab as far as the West Village. She took a few detours and eventually stopped outside a bar called the Horse’s Head. Goldin’s cab was a block behind.

“Stop here at the lights,” he said to the driver.

35

Tatyana was spooked. She knew something was wrong. She hadn’t survived this long without developing a sixth sense.

She didn’t know if he was with the Americans or her own side, but that asshole was following her. She was just glad she’d managed to get out of the hotel room without having to fight him. Goldin was in better shape than any senator’s aide she’d ever met. She’d been more than close enough to tell. Fighting him off would not have been easy.

The entire night had been off. Too easy. He’d done everything she wanted. It should have taken her hours to talk a married man like that into bed. And a lot more alcohol.

The file said he went to church.

It didn’t add up.

All she knew was that getting to this meeting with Spector just got a whole lot more urgent. Whoever this Goldin creep was, Spector would take care of him.