Rook took out his Moleskine notebook. “Excellent. This is all going to be swell in my article.” He clicked a pen theatrically to needle her. “So what do we investigate first?”

“Raley,” said Heat, “check out the Beacon, see if Gable’s been a regular there. Show them a picture of Mrs. Starr while you’re at it. Ochoa, how soon can you pull together a background check on our trophy widow?”

“How’s first thing tomorrow?”

“OK, but I was kind of hoping for first thing tomorrow.”

Rook raised his hand. “Question? Why not just pick her up? I would love to see what happens when you set her down in your hall of mirrors.”

“Much as I live my day to provide you with top entertainment, I’m going to hold off until I learn a little more. Besides, she’s not going anywhere.”

The next morning, amid flickering lights, City Hall put out the word for New Yorkers to curtail air-conditioning use and strenuous activity. For Nikki Heat that meant her close-quarter combat training with Don, the ex-SEAL, would be done with the gym windows open. His brand of training combined Brazilian jujitsu, boxing, and judo. Their sparring began at five-thirty with a round of grapples and rolls in eighty-two degrees and humidity to match. After the second water break Don asked her if she wanted to call it. Heat answered with a takedown and a textbook blood choke and release. She seemed to thrive on the adverse weather, fed on it, really. Rather than wearing her down, the gasping intensity of morning combat pushed out the noise of her life and left her in a quiet inner place. It was the same way when she and Don had sex from time to time. She decided if she had nothing going, maybe next week she’d suggest another after-hours session to her trainer, with benefits. Anything to get her heart rate up.