Devil's Due

That didn't stop her from feeling irrationally a

She felt weak, but it was the kind of weakness that only movement and exercise would cure. She started off by scorning the wheelchair and taking the stairs, with Jazz and Borden clumping along behind her.

"Did you bring me a gun?" she asked Jazz before they hit the ground floor exit.

For answer, Jazz jumped down to the landing, reached in the inside pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out Lucia's P95 and shoulder holster. Lucia ran through the checklist on the gun, ratcheting the slide, examining the clip, ejecting the bullet in the chamber and reloading. Everything worked smooth as silk.

"She cleaned it for you," Borden said.

Jazz shrugged. "No big deal." Then she gri

"More than I needed to know. From both of you." Lucia removed her coat and put the holster on, settling the gun snugly against her ribs. While she was putting the coat on again, Jazz pushed past her to reach the door first.

Protecting her, Lucia realized. She blinked, smiled slightly and followed.

Once again, Ma

Jazz wanted to take her straight home, but Lucia wasn't having any of it. "Has Susa

"Not a word. Ben's been working on it, but she doesn't seem to trust anybody. Why? You want to take a run at her?"

"Absolutely." Mostly, she had to admit, she wanted to see McCarthy.

"And you don't think you should be, you know, resting…?"

"Apparently, I've been resting for almost a week. The last thing I need is more sleep. I need to think and I need to move. It's time to get into this thing, Jazz. I have a hunch that it's larger than we can see right now."

Jazz took the next right turn. "Far be it from me to get in the way of your hunches." She sounded amused, but not dismissive. Progress, of a sort. "I'm going to keep digging. Somebody had to see you being carried into the Raphael. You damn sure weren't walking on your own."

Borden said nothing. He had a laptop computer open, and he was typing away.

"Counselor," Lucia said. He looked back over his shoulder at her, eyebrows raised. "Shouldn't you be in New York?"

"Actually, GP&L is considering opening a branch office here," he said. "I'm fact-finding. We have seven corporate clients here, not to mention some other vested interests. And the air travel's getting old. They don't even feed you anymore on the plane."

"Tragic," she agreed, straight-faced. "Was this your idea, or your boss's?"

"Mine."

"Sure about that?"

He lost the friendly smile. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, are you sure that you're not doing the Cross Society's work instead of your firm's, setting up here?"

"They're not mutually exclusive."

"I'm not so certain."

He blinked and turned around even farther. The laptop was in danger of sliding to the floor. "So you think we're the villains now? Is that it?"

"We?"

That wasn't Lucia speaking. It was Jazz. Borden looked at her, stricken. "I mean…"

"Yeah," she said. "I get what you mean. Your loyalty's still with the Society. We means people who aren't in this car."

"Jazz—"

It was a lost cause, and Borden knew it. He turned to face the road.

It occurred to her that he'd be updating Laskins about what they were doing, and through Laskins, the Society and Simms. But she couldn't tell Jazz to turf him; she could see how important he was to her, and truthfully, she liked Borden. She liked his off-center smile, his quick intelligence, his wit, the passion in his eyes when he looked at her partner.

But she didn't like what he represented, at the moment. And she wasn't sure she liked him knowing where Susa

They pulled into an apartment complex parking lot-not a complex Lucia was familiar with, more of a cheap, run-down establishment. The paint was peeling, and even the spring flowers in their landscaped beds looked cheap and struggling. It was the sort of place drug dealers rented, and hookers, and people who couldn't afford better. The sort of place where people averted their eyes from their neighbors and hoped that the noise in the apartment next door wasn't a felony being committed.

But Jazz's instincts were, as always, sound. It was also a place where women with bruised faces weren't necessarily worth comment.

"Number 317. Some distant cousin's apartment," Jazz said. "He's in jail. I told you before, my family tree has some funky branches."

"How'd you get the keys?"

"It's a cheap apartment." She shrugged. "Keys aren't all that relevant."

When Jazz and Borden started to exit the Hummer, Lucia reached over the seat and grabbed both of them by the shoulders. "No," she said quietly. "Listen. I want to talk to Susa

"No way," Jazz said instantly. "I go with you to the door, at least. Don't start, okay? You get escorted. We protect each other. Hell, it's worked so far."

Before she could form a coherent objection, Jazz was out of the truck. Lucia scrambled to follow. Jazz wasn't wasting time; she moved fast and sure, heading for building three. Lucia fell into step with her. "I let you out of my sight," Jazz said softly, "and you were gone. You seriously think I'm going to let that happen again? Four days. Four fucking days, Lucia, and I thought I was looking for a corpse. Not again. Understand?"

They followed the cracked sidewalk in long, no-nonsense strides. The grass was sparse and dry, the bushes more branches than leaves. Some of the residents were making an effort—cheerful lawn furniture on the patios, wind chimes, bird feeders—but most had abandoned hope and lived with closed, sagging curtains, minding their own business.

The apartment was at the top of two flights of stairs that creaked as Lucia and Jazz jogged up. Even had they wanted to be stealthy, it wouldn't have been possible.

They slowed as they got to the landing, and Jazz unceremoniously pushed Lucia behind her and pulled her gun as she stepped forward. Two apartments, both with closed curtains. There was a faded welcome mat in front of 318, nothing but dried leaves in front of the other.

Jazz raised her hand to knock, but the door swung open, and Ben McCarthy was there. He opened his mouth to speak, and then his eyes focused past Jazz, on Lucia.

The look stopped her breath. His lips shaped a word-not her name. It took her a second to realize that it was God, A prayer, of a kind.

"Delivered to the door. Want me to wait in the car?" Jazz asked.

Ben tore his gaze away from Lucia to her. "No," he said. "I'll get her home. I don't want you hanging out in a goddamn Hummer in this parking lot. Kind of draws attention."

"Ah, hell, half a dozen guys in this complex drive Hummers."

"Drag dealers."

"Exactly."

McCarthy stilled her with a hand on her arm. "Jazz. I'll get her home safe. Count on it."

She shut up and looked at him for long seconds, then nodded.

"Now get the damn truck out of here. Go."

Jazz glanced at Lucia as she turned toward the stairs. "I'll kill you if you up and die on me," she said, and descended quickly, two steps at a time.

"Inside," McCarthy said, and tugged Lucia over the threshold before she could react. He stayed at the door for a long moment, and she watched him, reading the tension in his body. He had his gun out, ready at his side, and she could tell the precise moment when Jazz was safely in the Hummer, because he let out a held breath and shut the door. The place smelled faintly of old cats and stale cigarettes. She blinked, and her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Except for the welcome sight of McCarthy, she wished they hadn't. The furniture was garage sale, most of it broken, and the carpet was an unattractive green shag that she thought at first was stained, but then decided must have been meant to have a mottled effect. Plain white walls had plenty of damage to give the place that special designer touch.