Devil's Bargain

“Why?”

“Why would I give you a heads-up?” He sounded mystified by that. She had to admit, it would have been a stupid question.

“No, why is there not enough lead time? Don’t you know this stuff a couple of days ahead of time? Surely you don’t do this all at the last minute.”

He looked at her for such a long, unblinking moment that she actually felt she’d said something wrong, but then he smiled and said, “I never said we were the most organized bunch of lawyers in the world.”

She remembered getting off the plane in New York and finding a crisply pressed ex-Marine holding up a sign with names on it. His ability to organize was, so far as she’d been able to tell, pretty damn close to perfect. Like the explanation about the envelopes themselves, it didn’t sound right, but she could tell that she wasn’t going to get anything more from him. Not yet.

Not now.

“So you’re just here to deliver a letter and get back on a plane,” she said.

“No. I’m here to deliver a letter, take you out to di

“Di

“Early di

“As if I have an actual life, you mean?” She snorted. “No. If Lucia was here, we might have a working di

“Ah. Right. Lucia’s working?” He looked guilty, as if he had forgotten about Lucia. Which Jazz had a hard time imagining, because, well, Lucia. If there was going to be a Swimsuit Edition for Private Investigator Monthly, Lucia would be the centerfold.

“She’s in Washington,” Jazz said. “Back tomorrow. But not to worry, Counselor, I can handle sitting in a car and following somebody all by myself. And di

He yawned hugely, traded looking guilty for looking shocked and embarrassed, and mumbled something about early-morning flights. She cocked an eyebrow at him, got off the couch and went back to her desk. He watched her go, mouth slightly open on a question that wasn’t able to quite fight its way free.

“Stretch out,” she said. “You won’t bother me.”

She went back to typing. She didn’t watch him, but after a while her peripheral vision reported that he’d followed her advice. By the time she thought it was safe to focus on him again, his eyes were shut, his limbs loose and relaxed, and he was breathing evenly and quietly.

She stared at the rise and fall of his chest, then let her eyes wander over the rest of him. Long, sleek lines, especially in the blue jeans and boots. Did he wear cowboy boots because he was coming to Kansas City? Were they some kind of special costume, like the leathers? She hoped not. She liked the idea that he wore them because he enjoyed them, not because he needed them to fit in.

Without any transition at all, she wondered how he’d look without the clothes and had to shock herself out of the vision to focus on the dry, quiet text of her report again. In her experience, the better she was able to visualize that kind of thing, the deeper she was in trouble, and that had been, well, vivid.

Really, really vivid.

She grimly tapped keys and forced herself to keep working as the hours slid past toward evening.

For an out-of-towner, di

She only imagined licking him clean a few times. I really need to get out more, she thought sternly, but she was only a little bit embarrassed. He had that kind of mouth. It just…begged to be licked, especially when there were beads of Arthur Bryant sauce clinging to it.

She was feeling relaxed and confident and happy—happy! — when her cell phone rang.

“Sorry,” she said, and wiped her sticky fingers clean enough to scramble for the call. She didn’t immediately recognize the number. “Hello, Jazz Callender.” She had to stop her other ear to hear over the dull roar of the restaurant.

“Yeah, Callender?” An unfamiliar male voice, brisk and businesslike. “You’re listed on the notify sheet. There’s been an incident at Ellsworth. Inmate Benjamin McCarthy’s been the victim of a beating, and he’s going to be in the hospital wing for a couple of days. No immediate life-threatening injuries.”

She felt all of the happiness drain out of her, as if a plug had been pulled from the bottom of her soul. “What happened?” Her tone had changed, and her body language; she saw Borden straighten up and watch her, leaning forward.

“Unclear at the present time, ma’am.” In other words, they didn’t want to say. “We’re looking into it.”

She shut her eyes tight enough to see white stars. “Injuries?” She sounded just as businesslike as he did. “Be straight with me, sir. I’m his ex-partner. You know he used to be a cop.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know.” No emotion in his voice. “He has some busted ribs, a broken arm and a cracked collarbone.”

“Anything else?”

A long hesitation. “Not to my knowledge, ma’am.”

She shivered all over. She felt sick, hot, disoriented, and the smell of good food and the sound of casual conversation was too much. “Visitation?” she asked.

“I’ve been instructed to tell you that he can have visitors for one hour tomorrow, from noon until one o’clock.”

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

She hung up and dropped the phone back in her coat pocket. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Borden was leaning back in his chair, motioning for the waitress.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting the check,” he said. “Doesn’t look like you’re in the mood for this right now.”

She felt a hot, hard surge of gratitude that made her eyes sting with tears. He was careful not to look at her, and she was grateful for that, too.

“Your partner? McCarthy?” he asked. She nodded. “He okay?”

“No.” She pulled in a damp, shaking breath. “It was just a matter of time. Could have been worse, I guess. They’ll let me see him tomorrow.”

Borden finally focused on her face, then turned to smile at the waitress and do the mechanical duty of paying the check and boxing up the rest of the food to go. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any of this on the table,” he said. “Besides, I’ll need something for breakfast in the morning.”

“Breakfast?” she blinked.

“I’m interested,” Borden said. “I’d like to meet the guy you’re so sure is i

Her throat closed up. She wasn’t sure what it was she was feeling—a dizzying, hot, disorienting mix of fear, anger, pain, guilt, relief…just that it nearly undid her.

Borden reached over and took her hand. Sticky fingers. She gripped them with desperate intensity.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “But I thought you had to fly back.”

“Vacation day,” he said.

She offered her couch for the night, but Borden, with impeccable instincts, took a cab to a four-star hotel instead. No kiss, nothing like a romantic goodbye unless you counted a skimming touch of his fresh-washed fingers over the back of her neck and a reminder to be careful.

She put her hands in her pockets, watching the cab pull away, and felt the crackle of paper. She checked her watch and found she still had an hour to get to the address on the envelope.