I sat, sipping champagne, listening to water beating against the tile of the shower; there was no city noise up here. The suite was opulently bland, bedecked in safe beiges and sandy tones. The only interesting thing about it were the framed black and white photographs of towering Greek and Roman ruins. Not one was of the remains of the real Artemesion, the temple to Artemis that was one of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world; I’d seen it myself on Turkey’s Aegean coast, and I knew there was nothing left of it but a lone, fractured column with goats and geese grazing in the surrounding grass. Why would a visitor to New York want to see photos from another continent on the wall, anyway? I obviously understood nothing about the hotel business, even though I’d written about it for years.

Martin’s cell phone buzzed. He’d left it on the nightstand, apologizing that if his lawyer called about Ridley, he would have to answer. I looked at the screen and saw Robinson Investigations in bold letters. That wasn’t about his son. I felt an echo of my fury when I’d realized that I was being followed. After the buzzing died, I scrolled through Martin’s call log. My own name and number came up repeatedly, as did Robinson Investigations and Gene Kressler, his lawyer. Bloom came up, and I remembered that it was the florist’s that Martin liked; I was disappointed that I hadn’t seen the flowers before Jesse disposed of them. There were names I didn’t know, but their numbers gave away their locations in London and Istanbul and Tel Aviv and Hong Kong; hotel business, I guessed. And then there was a name I recognized. It came up so quickly that I went past it and had to scroll back, just as I heard Martin turning off the water. Kaylee Quan. Why would Martin call her? I forced myself to put the phone down, but I wasn’t fast enough. “Did someone call?” Martin asked from the doorway.

“It wasn’t your lawyer,” I said. “Something called Robinson Investigations.”

“Thanks.” He disappeared briefly, but I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone with his phone again. As he came back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, I slipped out of bed and started to dress. “Great view,” he said.

Pulling on my skirt, I turned towards the window. It had a privacy screen so that we could see the city lights, but the city couldn’t catch a glimpse of us. I was glad the room was dark so he couldn’t see my eyes. “It’s beautiful.”