Hotel-sleep: one of the reasons I didn’t like to venture too far from home. “Hello,” I groaned into the phone, expecting it to be Jacqui. “Mr. Knox?” I sat up in bed at the sound of the strange voice. A man’s voice. And then it occurred to me that Jacqui would have called my cell. “Yes?” “It’s Tony Markus calling. From Davis & Keelor. I’m glad I caught you.” Sleep-addled, it took me a moment to recognize the name. “Right. Tony Markus.” “How was your flight?” It was too surreal to continue having this conversation in the curtain-blotted dark. “Fine,” I said as I reached for the lamp on the bedside table. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. And I’m glad to hear that you changed your mind and decided to come to New York.” “How did you get this number?” I was starting to put things together. I had managed to avoid Tony Markus’s e-mails and calls for the past week—there was no way he should have known that I was in New York. “Oh,” he said.
