Abby, nearly insensible, tried to bring her knee into his crotch again, but this time he was prepared. Stars danced at the edges of her eyes, and she felt for a moment as if she was going to pass out. She tasted blood in her mouth.

Kolya leaned back, unzipped his jeans. He had a full erection. “You’re out of your fuckin’ league, bitch.” He cut her bra and panties away, climbed back on top of her, all the time keeping tight hold of her hair. Abby fought him as hard as she could, but she was overpowered.

He grabbed her by the throat, applied pressure. “You point a gun at me?”

Kolya spread her legs with his other hand, settled his heavy body between them. “You’re gonna like this, Mrs ADA. Too bad you won’t be able to tell your friends about it.”

As Abby felt the world pull away, she heard something click onto the bed next to them, something metallic. It sounded as if something had fallen from the ceiling, but she couldn’t be sure what it had been.

Kolya stopped for a moment, looked up at the ceiling, then at the bed. On it were five small-caliber bullets. Kolya looked into Abby’s eyes. And knew.

Before he could make a move, Kolya grunted once, a wet animal sound. Abby’s face was suddenly bathed in a warm, viscous liquid. Some of it went into her mouth and nose. The taste made her gag, making her head pound, but bringing her back from the edge. Her world went bright red.

It was blood. Her face was now covered in it.

In her near-delirium, Abby thought it was her own blood, but when she looked at Kolya, she saw that his face was frozen in a rictus of pain, the muscles on his neck were corded and taut. Something was growing from his throat. Something silver and flat. Kolya fell on Abby in a quivering lump, and Abby now saw the shape of a man standing at the foot of the bed.

It was Aleks. He had stabbed Kolya from behind, and now the spasming man was laying on top of her, the huge knife protruding from the back of his neck. A second later, Aleks leaned over, pulled out the knife.

“No!” Abby screamed.

With all her strength she pushed Kolya off her. He rolled onto the bed, onto the floor, both of which were now drenched with blood.

“What have you done?”

Abby scrambled to her feet, the world spinning out of control. She tore a pillowcase from the bed, balled it, and put it over the hole in Kolya’s throat. Blood pumped from the wound, soaking the floor beneath Kolya’s head. His body jerked once, twice, then fell still. Abby kept pressure on the wound, but she knew it was too late. He was dead.

Abby glanced at Aleks. He stood in the doorway to the bedroom. His face offered no expression. Not anger, not remorse, not even satisfaction. He looked like a bird of prey, surveying his territory. Abby now realized Aleks had found her gun when he had been upstairs on his own earlier. He had unloaded it.

For a long time Abby couldn’t move. Then she realized her nakedness. She pulled one of the drapes from the rod, gathered it, wrapped it around her, the twin horrors of the past few minutes sinking in.

“Where . . . where are the girls?” she asked. Her voice sounded small, defeated, distant.

Aleks turned his head, looked at her. For a moment she wasn’t sure he knew who she was.

“Clean yourself up,” he said. “We are leaving in twenty minutes.”

FORTY-ONE

The police officer was nervous. He was young, no more than twenty-two or so. His partner was a little older. Maybe his FTO, Michael thought, his field-training officer. Once the older cop had assessed that there was no imminent danger in the parking lot of the Squires Inn, he had told the other two patrol cars they could move on.

The young officer had worked it by the book, first asking for identification, then patting Michael down.

Michael had explained who he was, and that he was here investigating a case. He hoped that, being from a smaller town, the kid did not know that, as a rule, ADAs did not really do any fieldwork. He did not.

The officer had looked at Michael’s outfit, perhaps wondering why a Queens County prosecutor was wearing maroon golf slacks and a raincoat that were both clearly two sizes too big for him. If he was wondering, he said nothing about it. But Michael knew the mindset, even for a young cop. Something was off. And when something was off, it did not right itself.

“And why don’t you have any ID, sir?”

“It’s in my golf bag,” Michael said. “I got this call about a witness going squirrelly on us and I just jumped in the car.”

The officer looked at the blue Ford, then back. He glanced at his partner, who just shrugged.

According to the officer, a call had come in on 911 of two men fighting in the parking lot of the Squires Inn Motel. Michael said he knew nothing about it.

Michael snuck a glance at his watch. He had missed the call from Kolya.

“Could you wait right here for me?” the officer asked. He pointed to the rear of the Ford. Michael moved to the back of the car.

“Sure.”

As Michael approached he noticed a thin trickle of blood coming from the lid of the trunk. He moved from the left rear fender to the trunk, leaned against it.

As the young officer communicated on the radio, he looked from the laptop in his cruiser, to Michael, back. It seemed to take forever. Michael glanced again at his watch. He was now a full five minutes past the deadline.

The officer got out of the car.

“Sorry about this, Mr Roman. You know how it is. You get the call you have to check it out.”

“I understand.”

The kid looked at him for a few more seconds, then around the parking lot, at the motel itself, still not really comprehending the situation. Michael knew he would have crazier days than this.

“Have a good day, sir.”

Michael wondered how the uniformed officers had gotten the call. Had Kolya’s cousin seen the altercation from the office? Had she seen what happened and called Kolya, and now something had happened to Abby, Charlotte and Emily?

He glanced at his watch a third time. There was no point going back inside.

He slipped into the Ford, turned over the engine. Under the seat was Omar’s pistol and cellphone. He was glad the incident with the police had not progressed to a search of the vehicle. A few moments later he pulled out of the parking lot, and merged into traffic.

He headed home.

FORTY-TWO

Aleks had not intended to let Kolya live, but neither had he expected it to end like this. He hated it when things got messy, and this was as messy as it could be.

He had owed Kolya’s father Konstantine many debts – indeed, the man had saved his life on more than one occasion – but the son held no power over him, had earned no such arrears.

While Abby took a shower, Aleks dragged Kolya’s body into the clothes closet. The bedroom was all but coated with blood, and moving the heavy, lifeless form streaked even further a deep crimson into the light-colored carpeting.

He went through Kolya’s pockets, taking the dead man’s cellphone, but leaving his wallet, which was connected to a belt loop via a silver chain. He opened the phone, checked the list of recently placed calls. The last call to the motel was more than forty minutes ago. Aleks hit the redial. The phone at the motel rang twice, three times, four times, five. Michael Roman was no longer there. If he was, he would certainly have answered the phone. Aleks scrolled down the list until he came to Omar’s cellphone number. Figuring that Omar had Kolya on his caller ID list, Aleks took out one of his prepaid cellphones. He dialed Omar’s number. The phone rang once, twice . . .

. . . THREE TIMES. Michael stared at the phone in his hands. The readout said the call was coming from a private number. He turned on the radio, then the heater, cranking the fan to high. He opened his window. On the fifth ring he answered. He kept his mouth a few inches away from the phone, answered.