The ringing of her doorbell brought Marta Shane out of the bathroom, toweling her still damp hair. She checked her watch, frowned at visitors at such an early hour, crossed to the door.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Rocky,” a low voice on the other side informed her.
The frown on the blonde’s face deepened. She unlocked the door, tugged it open. She was about to bawl the doorman out for breaking the rule about not coming to her apartment, when she became aware of a man alongside him.
Rocky flashed her a warning look. She turned to the other man. His head was completely bald, looked like a cue ball with twisted lumps of scar tissue for eyebrows, a nose that was flattened against his face. He was heavy in the shoulders, his arms hung low at his sides.
“Who’s your friend, Rock?” Marta asked.
