Page 57 of Devil's Bargain

“I’m not dressing up forBorden.”

“He dresses up for you.”

“Does not.”

“Does—” Pansy was interrupted by the phone, switched in midstream and snatched the receiver out of the cradle. “Jasmine Callender’s office, this is Pansy, how can I—oh, hey, Manny. Yeah, she’s right here. Tell her to buy some new clothes, would you?”

She extended the phone without looking at Jazz, who tossedElleunopened back on the desk and took the receiver. Pansy, like Lucia, had a nice manicure. Jazz studied the short, stubby nails on her right hand as she held the phone to her left ear and said, “Manny?”

“Is this line—

“Secure? Yeah, Manny, it’s secure.” She rolled her eyes at Pansy, who shook her head. “What’s up?”

“I have something you might be interested in. A private client brought it in.”

He was being careful. With Manny,private clientusually meant a cop who was working off the books, for various reasons—maybe because the department had shut down the investigation, maybe because the budget was too tight to run the tests he or she wanted done. Manny usually threw them a discount, and sometimes an outright freebie.

Something strangemight mean something he wanted out of his lab, which meant violent crime. Jazz was not averse to that.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll drop by. You still in the same place?”

“I’ll bring it to you,” he said.

She blinked. “Excuse me…?”

“I’ll bring it to you. To the office.”

“You’re leaving your lab.”

“Yes.”

“By yourself.”

“Yes.” Manny—Manny!—was starting to sound irritated. “I do get out, you know. Sometimes.”

“If you say so,” she said, and gave Pansy a pantomime of a wide-eyedwhat the hell?“Today?”

“An hour.”

“Are you going to be wearing a disguise, or—”

“Shut up, Jazz.” He hung up on her. She took the phone away from her ear and stared at it, then replaced it in the cradle.

“You know,” she said to Pansy, “there are some days when the world is just too strange for words, and this is one of them.”

Pansy patted her on the hand and handed herElle.

She put it back and picked upGuns & Ammoand, without even thinking, reached for the coffee and sipped it. Pansy grinned in triumph and left, shutting the door after herself.

Borden was coming, after a four-month absence. That made her feel warm and odd, and impatient with herself for it. She’d cut the cord with him. With Gabriel, Pike & Laskins in general. She and Lucia—she presumed—hadn’t had contact with them since the last red envelope had arrived, via FedEx, and that had consisted of taking the envelope, unopened, sticking it in another FedEx envelope and sending it right back with a sticky note readingNot playing the game.

Maybe Borden was coming to deliver a last-ditch personal appeal. Maybe GPL—or the Cross Society—was desperate enough to try to whore him out.

Like we’re that important.She didn’t believe it. She didn’t think Lucia believed it, either.

Maybe Borden was just … coming to see her.Someplace nice for dinner.She hadn’t even thought about dinner with him, not since Arthur Bryant’s, when everything had gone to hell with one phone call.

No. No dinner. No conversation. I want nothing to do with James Borden.

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