Spencer drew a worried breath and let it out. "His name is Jonas. He comes into the gym once or twice a week, but he doesn't work out. He meets with Elias, and then he leaves."

  "What's his last name?" she asked.

  "I don't know."

  "What do they talk about?"

  "I don't know," he repeated.

  "But you know something," she pressed.

  Spencer shifted his weight from one foot to another. "Elias runs high-stakes poker games in the back room on weekend nights when we close at six. They're private, invitation-only."

  "And Jonas is part of that?" Max interjected.

  "Not necessarily part of the game, but he usually shows up on Fridays and Mondays. I think he might be moving cash or doing other things for Elias. I don't know for sure. I just hear things sometimes."

  "Where can we find Jonas?" Max inquired.

  "I have no idea where he lives."

  "Do you know anything about him that might help us find him?" she asked. "It's really important, Spencer."

  "Well, last time he was in, I heard Jonas tell Elias he should come to the Crimson Club, that they have some new girls working. I got the feeling he's a regular there."

  "Sounds like a strip club," Max commented.

  "It is," she confirmed, all too familiar with that club from her days as a cop.

  "I gotta go," Spencer said. "That's all I know."

  As Spencer hurried out of the alley, she turned to Max. "Want to check out the Crimson Club?"

  "I thought you'd never ask."

  "I probably should send you home. This is an FBI investigation."

  "You think you're going to get rid of me now? I am absolutely coming with you. If you don't take me, I'll show up there anyway and probably mess up your investigation. But your call."

  She'd gone this far with him; she might as well go the rest of the way. "Fine, let's go."

  "I'll look up the address."

  "No need. When I was with the NYPD, I worked a case a few years ago that involved the club. The owners are two brothers from Belarus, Alex and Sergei Novik, although Sergei is rarely there and appears to be more of a silent partner. We believed they had ties to organized crime, but we couldn't prove it. At the time, we were more interested in one of their customers being a murderer, so we turned over our intel to the FBI. I don't know what they did with it."

  "You could probably find out now."

  "Maybe, but let's see how Jonas is tied to the club."

  "Hopefully, he's a regular because we need someone to give us more information about him than just his first name."

  The Crimson Club had changed little in the three years since Kara had last been there. Same red neon sign out front, same heavy door with a bouncer checking IDs, same dark interior pulsing with bass-heavy music. The main floor was crowded, men in suits mixing with guys in leather jackets, all of them watching the stage where a woman in silver heels and not much else moved around a pole with practiced grace.

  She didn't bother to show her badge to the bouncer. Taking a low-key approach seemed a better way to go. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and cologne.

  She recognized Alex Novik behind the bar with a female bartender. Both were slammed with customers waiting for drinks. She doubted Novik would talk to them and scanned the room, looking for another option.

  Movement caught her eye—a blonde woman coming down the back hallway wearing a tight mini-dress that showed off her cleavage and her ass. Even in the low light, Kara recognized her.

  "I see someone who might help us," she said.

  "Good, because I don't think showing your badge around will get us anywhere in this club."

  "Just the opposite," she agreed.

  Ava stopped abruptly as their eyes met. Recognition flashed in her eyes, quickly masked by wariness.

  "I need to talk to you," Kara murmured.

  Ava glanced toward the bar, then made a slight gesture and walked toward the hallway she'd just come from. There were four doors in the corridor. Ava stopped in front of one of them, opened it, and then motioned them inside with a sultry smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes.

  The lighting was dim, and Ava flipped a switch to turn on some music with a sexy beat. There was a leather bench along one wall, a small table, and mirrors lining the other three walls, and a pole in the center of the room.

  Ava moved closer, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Cameras, no sound. You can talk while I dance for you. I need to make this look good."

  "Understood," Kara said as Ava stepped back and began to dance.

  "This will be fun," Max murmured. He slid closer to her, taking her hand, as he leaned in and shockingly placed his lips on her neck.

  It was all she could do not to jerk away from that heated kiss. "What the hell was that?" she said tersely.

  "Relax. We need to look like we're enjoying this."

  She forced a smile on her face as she put her hand on his thigh and then looked at Ava. "Do you know a customer who goes by the name Jonas?"

  Ava moved closer, offering her back to Max. "Can you help me with my zipper?"

  "Of course," he said as he slid the zipper down her back.

  She stepped out of her dress. It pooled around her feet, revealing a stunning body encased in barely-there lingerie. She kicked the dress aside with her high heel and said, "I know Jonas." She moved back to Max, cupping his face as she whispered, "He does favors for Alex."

  "What favors?" she asked, her voice stuttering a little as Ava turned to her, sliding her hand down her face.

  "Whatever Alex wants. Collections, deliveries, who knows what else." Ava straightened, then moved back to the pole, where she spun around.

  "Do you know his last name, where he lives?" Max asked.

  "Jonas Cray. He lives on the corner of Eighth and Monroe, a gray building, apartment 3C. I was sent there one night to do a private show for him and a friend."

  "Who was the friend?" she asked.

  "Don't know. But he was younger than Jonas, mid-thirties, dark-skinned. He didn't say anything to me; he just watched."

  Ava unhooked her bra with practiced ease, tossing it toward Max with a sultry smile as she continued to dance.

  "When did you last see Jonas?" Max asked.

  "Yesterday. He was flush with cash. Threw me a hundred, made my night."

  "Did he say anything to you?"

  "Nothing that wasn't sexual. Why are you looking for him?"

  "We think he might have been involved in a bombing yesterday."

  Her movements faltered. "At the café?"

  "Yes. Do you know anything about that?" Kara asked.

  "No." She turned her back to them as she swayed her ass. "I don't know anything." A moment later, she turned around. "Leave me out of this."

  "I will," she said, meeting Ava's gaze. "Just like I did before."

  "That's why I gave you his name."

  Ava danced for several more minutes, giving both her and Max a little lap dance, which made Kara far more uncomfortable than it seemed to make Max, but she tried to show enjoyment, knowing they were being watched. She was more than a little relieved when it was over. Max took out his wallet and slipped a hundred to Ava before they headed out the door.

  They left the room, walking back down the hallway and through the club. The music seemed louder now, the crowd even bigger, and Kara was acutely aware of Max beside her, his presence somehow larger than it had been before.

  Outside, the January air hit her like a shock, cold and clean after the stale heat of the club.

  "Well," Max said. "FBI work is more interesting than I expected. But you really need to loosen up, Kara. I'm not sure you sold that very well."

  "I did fine, and we know where to look for Jonas. That's what matters."

  As they got into her car, her personal phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her bag and saw her mom's number. She sent the call to voicemail and started the engine, and then the phone buzzed again. She didn't pick up as she navigated into traffic. Jonas's apartment building was only a mile away, so it was a quick trip. As she parked, her phone buzzed once more, and she sighed in exasperation.

  "Maybe you should get that," Max suggested. "It feels urgent."

  "It's my mother."

  Surprise ran through his eyes. "Really? Then you should definitely pick up."

  "I know what this is about. She probably heard about the explosion from my Uncle Danny, who promised not to say anything, but I'm sure she heard the news and went straight to him."

  "Uncle Danny?"

  "He was the battalion chief at the fire yesterday."

  "That was your uncle? Is that why he took you into the building last night?"

  "Yes. And I thought you got there after we came outside." Her phone buzzed again.

  "Just take it," Max said.

  "Fine. I'll just tell her I'll call her back." She punched in her mom's number as Max pulled out his phone, checking his own messages. "What's going on, Mom?"

  "You tell me," her mother said. "I saw the news about the bombing at the café, and Danny told me you were there."

  "I was outside the building, and I'm fine. I told him not to share that with you."

  "That's what he said, but we don't keep secrets from each other." Her mother's voice was loud, and she could see a smile playing around Max's lips.

  "Well, I'm okay. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. I'm working right now."

  "On finding the bomber? That sounds dangerous."

  "Don't worry about me. I know how to take care of myself. I'll call you back."

  "You're really not hurt?"

  "I'm not."

  "I love you, Kara."

  "I love you, too." She ended the call and put her phone back in her bag. "Sorry about that."

  "Don't be. You have a mother who cares about you. No reason to apologize for that."

  He was being nicer than she would have expected. "Do you have a mother who worries about you?"

  "Not anymore," he said shortly. "She passed away seven years ago. Before that, she annoyed me with inopportune calls, but now I miss them." Before she could say she was sorry again, he opened his door. "Let's go find Jonas."

  They got out of the car, walked across the street and down to the corner. The building Ava had described was run-down and not at all secure. In fact, the front door was ajar.

  They took the stairs to the third floor and quietly approached the apartment. She pulled her gun out from under her coat, as Max did the same.

  She shook her head. "You don't have authority here; I do. Put it away."

  "If he comes out shooting, authority won't matter. I'm just backing you up."

  She lifted her hand to knock on the door, realizing it was partly open. She knocked anyway, but there was no response, no noise of any kind. She glanced at Max, who gave a nod, obviously on the same wavelength as her. They didn't have a warrant, but if the door was open…

  Grasping the knob, she opened it fully and stepped into the apartment, gasping at the bloody scene. A man was lying on the floor, his throat slit, a pool of blood under his body, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

  Max swore under his breath. "Is this him? The man you saw in the café?"

  She nodded. "It's him."

  "Someone didn't want him to talk."

  Before she could agree, she heard a noise from the bedroom. She lifted her weapon, and Max did the same as they both moved in that direction. She got into the room just in time to see a hooded figure halfway going out of the window. They both rushed across the room.

  The man had taken the fire escape down a floor and then jumped to the ground. She crawled out after him, and Max followed. They sped down the fire escape and sprinted through the alley. The man was very tall, and his long strides took him quickly down the alley. When they got to the street, he was gone.

  "Dammit," she said breathlessly. "We were so close. I need to call this in." She had barely pulled her phone out of her pocket when she heard the roar of an engine.

  As she whirled around, she was blinded by headlights as a car roared toward them, and it didn't look like it was going to stop...

  Chapter Six

  Max shoved her to the side, and they tumbled onto the ground next to a dumpster as the car screamed past, so close Kara felt the heat of the engine, and the smell of exhaust choked the narrow alley as the vehicle disappeared as fast as it had come.

  She was still catching her breath when Max jumped to his feet and sprinted down the alley after the car. By the time she pushed herself up and brushed the gravel off her clothes, he was already walking back, shaking his head, anger in every tight line of his expression.

  "Gone," he said. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. Thanks for the save." She was a little disappointed in herself for not seeing the danger as quickly as he had, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "Did you catch a number on the license plate?"

  "No."

  She pulled out her phone. "I need to call this in. Let's go back to Jonas's apartment."

  As they walked down the alley and around the corner to the front of the building, she made a note of the street address. Once they had reentered the apartment, she called her Team Ops Center, which was manned 24/7, while Max looked around. He clearly knew not to touch anything, skirting the path around the victim and ignoring Jonas's phone, which was lying in a pool of blood. There could be important evidence on that phone, but it might take time to open it.

  After the dispatcher confirmed NYPD and EMS were on their way, she ended the call and walked over to the body, squatting down beside the victim. Her experienced gaze took in the details of the attack. The attacker had probably come up from behind Jonas, and the knife had been quick and deadly.

  There was no other apparent bruising on Jonas's face, no evidence of a fight. Since there had also been no sign of forced entry, it appeared Jonas had let his attacker in. Whether that was because he knew that person or because it was an expected delivery or meeting that had gone south, she could only speculate.

  Getting to her feet, she texted Tyler that she'd found Jonas, the man who'd spilled the coffee on Samantha Barkley, and that he was deceased. She would fill him in tomorrow. While she knew the ops center would contact Jason as a matter of protocol, she didn't want to leave Tyler out of the loop.

  A moment later, her phone rang. "Tyler, you didn't need to call me back. I know it's late."

  "It's fine. How did you find him?"

  "Long story," she said as sirens lit up the air. "I showed Max Malone the sketch. He recognized Jonas as someone he'd seen at a gym where he'd taken Samantha. One thing led to another. I can fill you in later. The police are here."

  "Give me the address."

  "You don't have to come."

  "I'm not doing anything else."

  She gave him the address and ended the call as Max came out of the bedroom.

  "I'm going to take off," he said.

  "Now? You need to wait for the police."

  "Why? Aren't you in charge of the investigation? You know what I know, and you also know where to find me. I don't need to be in the middle of this." He was already moving toward the door.

  "Max—"

  "I'll call you tomorrow. Be careful, Kara. The killer could have made a cleaner exit. He didn't have to come back down that alley and try to run us over. Someone knows we're not far behind them."

  "I just wish I knew who that someone was," she said, but her words fell into the void of silence left by his quick departure.

  Her lips tightened as she wondered why he'd exited so quickly. Was it just about staying away from law enforcement? Or had he found something while she was on the phone? She hoped it was the former and not the latter, because she had thought they were on the same side. Maybe that thought had been premature.

  She walked into the bedroom, which was a cluttered mess with an unmade bed, clothes, and empty snack bags. The bathroom was in the same state. There was a desk with a couple of half-open drawers, which she carefully opened with her sleeve. But the mess inside didn't seem worth digging through.

  If Jonas was part of a bigger plot, and it certainly appeared that he was, she doubted any evidence of that was in this mess. It was more likely that they would find some kind of digital or payment trail.

  The sound of voices sent her back into the living room as two uniformed police officers arrived. She showed them her badge and then stepped back as they moved toward Jonas.

  "Messy," one of them commented. "Was he dead when you got here?"

  "Yes."

  A moment later, an older man in a wrinkled suit came through the door. Detective Stuart Margolin was a seasoned detective with twenty years under his belt and a man who was more loyal to his fellow officers than to the truth.

  She let out a small sigh as he saw her, and his dark eyes immediately turned suspicious.

  "Reid," he said shortly. "What are you doing here?"

  "The victim is a person of interest in a federal investigation."

  "Heard you were a fed now. Guess you had to go somewhere."

  She ignored that comment, wanting to keep this encounter professional. She explained what she'd found when she'd entered the apartment, the chase down the fire escape, and the near miss with the speeding car. As she finished speaking, an EMS team arrived and, after making a cursory inspection of the body, immediately notified the ME's office.

  "So, who exactly is this guy?" Margolin asked. "And what are you investigating?"

  "I'm investigating the bombing at the café yesterday. As for his involvement, it's unclear at this point."

  "Well, someone didn't want him to talk."

  "We'll be handling the investigation into Mr. Cray, but we'll need your help to find his killer."

  He gave her a sour look. "Yeah, sure," he said, which was code for I'm not going to help you any more than I absolutely have to. "In the meantime, this is my scene. You can go."

  As the detective went to confer with the officers, she took another look around Jonas's living room, but again there weren't any clues to suggest he'd recently made a bomb or was involved in other criminal activity.

  The CSI team arrived at the same time as the medical examiner, and as the room grew more crowded, she took the stairs down to the lobby where several tenants were talking to more police officers.