As the doors closed, her hand came out of the purse with a small black gun that Pike twisted away even before she raised it. She swung at him, trying to hit, but Pike caught her arm, careful not to break it. She tried to knee him, but he leaned in just enough to pin her with his hip. He pulled the button to stop the elevator. A loud buzzer went off, but not for long.

“I didn’t come here to hurt her.”

She was trapped. Breathing hard, eyes cut to slits, she looked like she wanted to rip his throat with her teeth.

Pike said, “Calm down. Look.”

Keeping her pinned, he one-handed the clip from the pistol, and jacked the slide to clear the chamber. A nice little Ruger .380.

Pike kept his voice calm and measured.

“You see? I wasn’t one of the men who killed them.”

He stepped away, raising his hands.

“Frank Meyer was my friend.”

Pike held out the unloaded gun.

“You see?”

She straightened herself, maybe embarrassed, but maybe not altogether convinced. She clutched the gun with both hands, her back pressed to the wall.

“How did you find her?”

“The police told me.”

“Those bastards might find her, too. What if they come to kill her?”

“So you’re standing guard?”

“They leave her here with no one! I do what I have to do.”

Pike’s phone vibrated, so loud in the closed space she glanced toward his pocket. Pike would have ignored it, but he was expecting Carson Epp, and that’s who it was. Pike took the call, staring at her as he spoke.

“Pike.”

“I will have Lonny on the line in twenty minutes. Will you be able to take it?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty.”

Pike returned the phone to his pocket, then tipped his head at her pistol.

“Put it away.”

She put the Ruger into her purse. Pike added the clip and the loose cartridge, then offered his hand.

“My name is Pike.”

She stared at him, the dark eyes remaining suspicious. Her cheekbones were high and prominent, her cheeks were lean, and a small scar capped the bridge of her nose where she had been cut as a child. Pike’s hand had been cooked dark by the sun, but her skin was pale as milk.

She gripped his hand quickly.

Pale and warm, but hard underneath.

She said, “Rina.”

“Karina.”

“Yes.”

“Russian?”

“Serbian.”

“Leave the gun home. They won’t come here. Their risk would be larger than the chance she could identify them. They know that, so they won’t take the chance. The police know the same thing, which is why they didn’t post a guard.”

Her eyes narrowed again, mapping him like before.

“You are not a policeman?”

“Frank was my friend.”

The elevator buzzed again, anxious to move.

Pike said, “Which floor?”

“Here. I am not parked in this building.”

Pike reached for the button to open the door.