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wallet. Take
both
wallets.”
    Her vision was improving. The apparitions turned into two naked, crew-cut men in their mid-thirties. She began to laugh when she saw what the club was; it was now considerably smaller.
    “Sorry,” she said.
    “This isn’t a mugging?”
    “Sorry.”
    Heavy-duty indignation. “Well, I just want you to know you scared the living hell out of us. For your information, this room happens to be reserved.”
    Rune asked, “How long have you been here?”
    “Too long, apparently.”
    “For the last hour or so?”
    The anger became giddy relief. One of the men nodded toward his friend and said, “He’s good but he’s not
that
good.”
    The other, more sober: “Forty-five minutes?”
    “Closer.”
    Rune asked, “Did you hear anybody come down from the roof?”
    “Yeah, I did. Fifteen minutes ago. Then you go up, then you come down. Grand Central Station today.”
    “Did you see him?”
    “We
were
a little busy….”
    Rune said, “Please? It’s important.”
    “We thought he was cruising but we weren’t sure. You have to be kind of careful.”
    Sure. No telling what kind of degenerate you’ll meet while having sex in deserted piers.
    “So we kept mum.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “Medium build. But otherwise I have no idea.” Turning to his companion: “Do you? … No, we don’t have any idea.”
    Rune said, “Did you see what he was wearing? A jacket?”
    “A red windbreaker. Hat, an old-fashioned one. Dark slacks, I think,” one voice said.
    “Tight.” From the other.
    “You
would
notice that.”
    Rune said, “Well, thanks.”
    As she left she heard them whispering. Something about not exactly being in the mood anymore. “Well, you can
try
.”
    She started the descent to the first floor.
    Feeling her thudding heartbeats slow.
    Rune laughed.
This room is reserved
. Why didn’t they pick a more romantic—
    He got her from behind.
    At the foot of the stairs, as she was stepping carefully around the hole, the hand grabbed her ponytail and jerked her backward. She saw a gloved hand, holding a razor box cutter, start for her neck. She grabbed his wrist and dug in hard with her short nails. It deflected the knife and for a moment they grappled for it. She knew if she let go of the banister she’d fall but there was no other way to get the tear gas with her other hand; it was deep in her pocket.
    Rune released her grip and as she tumbled into her attacker she grabbed the canister and, without aiming, pushed the button. A cloud sprayed out between them, blinding them both. She cried out in pain as the attacker spun away, hands over his face.
    But he didn’t let go and Rune felt herself being pulled backward. Eyes shut, she reached out but grabbed only air and fell in panic and confusion. Her breath exploded from her lungs as she hit the floor hard on her back. She twisted onto her stomach, then was up on one knee, scrabbling away from him. The man bent down quickly and gripped her around the neck. He wasn’t strong. But he had surprise on his side—and desperation. He kicked her in the chest, again knocking her windless. She curled into a ball, gasping. Vaguely she saw his blurry form groping for the razor knife. She smelled old wood and salt water and motor oil and rot, and she tasted salt—maybe her tears, maybe blood.
    Christ, her eyes stung. Like alcohol.
    She too began looking for her weapon, slapping her hand on the floor, trying to find the canister of tear gas.
    He gave up on the knife and looked at the floor near them. Then he grabbed her by the collar and dragged her toward the jagged black opening that led down to the Hudson. A roar was in her ears. He pushed her head, then her shoulders into the hole. He gripped her belt and she started to go in.

 
    CHAPTER FOUR
     

    Rune lashed out with her boot and came close to catching his groin but her aim was bad. She hurt him only slightly and he just grunted angrily and drove a fist into her back.
    She gave a