The Last Precinct
Chapter One
I KNOW FROM LUCY'S VOICE THAT SHE IS SCARED.
Rarely is my brilliant, forceful, helicopter-piloting, fitness-obsessed,
federal-law-enforcement-agent niece scared.
"I feel really bad," she continues to repeat herself over the phone as
Marino maintains his position on my bed and I pace.
"You shouldn't," I tell her. "The police don't want anybody here, and
believe me, you don't want to be here. I guess you're staying with Jo and
that's good," I say this to her as if it makes no difference to me, as if it
doesn't bother me that she is not here and I haven't seen her all day. It
does make a difference. It does bother me. But it is my old habit to give
people an out. I don't like to be rejected, especially by Lucy Farinelli,
whom I have raised like a daughter.
She hesitates before answering. "Actually, I'm downtown at the
Jefferson."
I try to make sense of this. The Jefferson is the grandest hotel in the
city, and I don't know why she would go to a hotel at all, much less an
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