And then a miracle happened. A taxi pulled around the corner on Sixtieth and stopped to deliver a tall grey-haired man at the first apartment building. Ted sucked in a breath and made a dash, climbing into the back seat before the doorman had a chance to slam the door.

“Uptown,” Ted said, stuffing a hundred-dollar bill into the plastic tray. “I’ve got about two minutes to save a life.”

The cabbie made it ten blocks before the staggered lights caught them. Ted was, by this time, almost comfortable with Mohammed’s driving. This ride needed the Yemeni’s touch.

“Floor it, dammit!” Ted yelled. “I’ve seen Park Avenue before. Move it.”

A long limo coming down Park made a left turn at Seventy-Eighth Street and barreled through the intersection in front of them. The cab missed its rear bumper by millimeters. Ted’s driver never took his foot off the gas.

Ted twisted around to look for the black SUV’s flashing lights. Far back but coming on quickly. If the marshals were still using the siren, he couldn’t hear it.

“You’re doing fine,” he said. “But don’t let up.”

They made the light—deep amber—at Seventy-Ninth and flew through the next few blocks.

“There,” Ted ordered. “The middle of the next block. Second canopy.”

Ted knew immediately that something was wrong. There was no doorman on duty. Ted was too late. “Damn. Damn. Damn,” he said in a whisper as he entered the lobby.

Ted heard a groan from the package room. Osvaldo was on the floor, looking dazed but alive.

“He’s upstairs?” Ted asked, kneeling by the man and checking him quickly for wounds. He saw none, though there was a red welt on Osvaldo’s forehead that promised to swell into a nasty bruise. “How long ago?”

“I tried to stop him and he hit me.” Osvaldo sounded surprised.

The marshals would be arriving any minute. If Ted waited for their backup, they would waste time asking questions, demanding answers, and being careful to do things by the book. Ted wasn’t going to wait. “Help is coming,” he said. “Send them after me.” He ran to the elevator.

-72-

-72-

The elevator came up from the basement almost immediately. Ted pressed the button for the sixth floor. The moment the door slid shut, the enormity of what he was committed to swept over him, leaving a liquid feeling in his gut.

Was he really prepared to go up against an armed man? A killer? In the hospital he had attacked the Russian without the benefit of reflection. He had seen danger to Kenzie and he had moved. It had been simple—and he could have died.

The elevator opened. Jill’s door was splintered, hanging open as though the Lexington Avenue subway had been rerouted through her apartment. His decision became a whole lot easier.