"Maybe it's just nerves."
"Why would I be nervous?"
She smiled and looked down at the paperwork on her desk. Always plenty of that to keep up with. McCarthy got off the couch and paced the office, hands behind his back; she tried not to watch him, but for some reason she couldn't seem to concentrate on the report she was reading. Her eyes kept straying.
He came to a stop as the office door swung open, and Jazz and Borden entered the room.
The look on Jazz's face when she spotted McCarthy was, quite literally, priceless.
"Ben?" she asked, as if she really couldn't believe it. Lucia glanced over at him and felt a pleasant aftershock as well, even though she'd gotten over the initial impact. Lenora Ellen's had done an astonishing job. His gray-salted hair was trimmed just enough to give him style. Whatever skin treatments they'd done, he looked healthier than he had three hours before. Freshly shaved, too. The suit seemed thoughtlessly elegant, and she'd chosen the colors well—the midnight-blue set off his eyes like foil to a diamond. He looked…gorgeous, she admitted, and promptly dismissed the thought, because it was inappropriate.
McCarthy was giving Jazz a wide smile, stepping forward, arms open. And she was rushing into them like a delighted child.
Jazz looked good, too. Fresh-faced, glowing, ever so slightly tousled. She never failed to look as if she'd forgotten to brush her short-cut blond hair, but on her, it worked. She'd made an effort with wardrobe today, too—a well-fitted black pantsuit and blue shirt, medium-heeled shoes. She was taller than McCarthy, but somehow she managed to make it look as if he towered over her, even in the hug.
Lucia met James Borden's eyes as he took a seat on the leather couch in the corner of the office. He was casual today—blue jeans and a gray T-shirt. His brown hair was gel-free, and it made him look unexpectedly vulnerable. As did the glance he darted at McCarthy and Jazz, locked in their hug.
"Counselor," Lucia said in greeting, and went to sit next to him. "So, I presume you had a good evening?"
That woke an entirely satisfied, private smile. "We did all right."
"So I see. She looks very happy."
"Happy to see McCarthy."
Ah, already the jealousy. Men. They were, if possible, even worse at relationships than women. "She's been waiting years for this. You might let her enjoy it."
He had the grace to look ashamed of himself. "I am. I will." He passed over a red envelope. "Same as you got?"
Lucia unfolded it, studied it and nodded. "Mine was hand-delivered."
"Get anything out of the courier?"
She had to grin at the thought of interrogating the round little man in one of the dressing rooms, while the clerk sweated in terror and phoned the police. "Not a good time. But it doesn't matter. He was simply doing a job."
McCarthy and Jazz had finally pulled apart. He was holding her by the upper arms, giving her the once-over. Lucia glanced over at Borden, whose face had gone very bland, and wondered what he was thinking. No, she knew. She'd been there before, sitting as the spectator.
"Hate to break up the happy moment," she said, raising her voice, "but we should talk. All of us."
"About what?" Ah, McCarthy still hadn't forgiven her for the day spa; the wall went up the second he turned toward her.
"Lucia's right," Jazz said, and pulled up a chair—a straight-backed one that she could straddle, resting her crossed arms on the top. "They're on to us again. I sure as hell don't want to go back to hiding out and worrying who's gunning for me for the rest of my life. We need to figure this thing out, guys. And now that Ben's on board, we have a lot more of a chance to do that."
"Don't," Borden warned, and shot Jazz one of those serious looks. "Don't do this."
"Don't do what?" McCarthy asked.
"Jazz, I mean it. He's not—"
Jazz, of course, ignored him. She had the look. Lucia was frankly surprised that Borden hadn't learned to recognize it yet. "He has to know. If he's here, he has to know everything. See, the people who funded us, the ones who gave us the money—"
McCarthy held up a hand. The spa had done a good job on his manicure, Lucia noted. "You work for the Cross Society, and they can predict the future," he said. "They're asking you to do things. Weird things. Telling you it's all to prevent more people from dying, right? Am I close?"
Silence. Even Borden looked stunned. Lucia deliberately got to her feet, drew all of their stares and said, "I'll get coffee. We clearly have a lot to talk about."
Jazz wasn't taking it well. For that matter, neither was Borden, but for entirely different reasons.
"Seriously," Jazz said. She was pacing the room, hands behind her back. From time to time, she gnawed on the cuticle of her thumbnail, a habit that Lucia had hoped she'd lost. "You worked for Simms."
"Yes," Ben stated, for about the fourth time. Lucia kept her silence, watching the two of them; tension was growing like a storm in the room. "I worked for Max Simms. Freelance, at first. One or two jobs, no big deal. Didn't seem like a big deal, anyway, at least at first—"
Jazz interrupted him. Her face had gone from white to flushed, and her eyes glittered. Lucia inwardly winced, watching her; she knew that look. It normally was followed by a hard right cross, or a well-placed kick.
"Didn't seem like a big deal?" Jazz snapped. "Are you telling me that you knew about all of this crap while we were still partners? And what, you just kept that to yourself? Oh, but then, I guess you would, wouldn't you? Secrets were your thing!"
Well, it hadn't been a physical blow, but the words connected; Lucia saw him flinch. "Jazz—"
"You know what, Ben? Fuck you and your damn secrets!"
"Jazz!" It came out as a deep-throated roar, full of pent-up fury. "Dammit, will you shut up and listen to me?" He strode over to her and stood there, right in her space.
Lucia tensed, ready to lunge in as referee, but painfully aware that these two would get in plenty of damaging shots before she could put an end to things. If she could put an end to things.
"I was just like you, Jazz!" he continued. "Idealistic! Thinking these guys knew the score, were doing good work. But it's not like that, and you need to clearly understand, doing good is a sideline for them. It's all about winning, and let's face it, to win, sometimes you have to play dirty. And they did." He laughed wildly, bitterly. "Oh, they did."
Lucia had a sudden flash of insight. "Don't tell me they were the reason—"
"The reason I landed in jail?" McCarthy swung away from Jazz and locked gazes with Lucia instead. His hot blue eyes were full of pain and anger. "If I'd known either one of you was into this thing, don't you think I'd have spoken up? But no, you had to play it cagey, keep it all to yourselves—"
"Wait a minute." Jazz interrupted again, still with that hot-metal edge. "How did the Cross Society land you in jail?"
"You don't think they've got ways? Listen, I—" He checked himself, a hesitation so brief Lucia wasn't sure she'd actually seen it. "If I could prove it, I'd tell you, but the way everything clicked together and lined up like little tin soldiers? Cross Society. They're chess players. They don't get their own hands dirty. Their sacrifice pawns are the ones who bleed and suffer and die. And pay."
"Pay for what?"
Lucia was surprised to hear Borden ask the question, because he'd said nothing at all for a long while. He was studying McCarthy with half-closed eyes, looking bland. A damn fine poker face. She felt a prickle along her spine, and thought about reminding Jazz that Borden, regardless of how true his love, was also a card-carrying member of the Cross Society. But Jazz knew that. She never forgot it.
"Disappointments," McCarthy said. "They wanted me to stand by and let somebody get killed. I couldn't do it."