Page 39 of Devil's Due

She opened the last door and stepped into the cool dimness of the parking garage, then turned around. Manny stood right behind her, one hand on the knob, watching her.

“I didn’t mean to discount what he did for you,” she said. “And if you think I should be careful, then I’ll be careful. Thank you.”

He nodded once and slammed the door. The code panel’s red lights lit up.

No getting back inside.

She went to the SUV, where Omar lounged against the side, smoking, and Susannah waited in the passenger seat.

“Is he going to help?” Susannah asked anxiously.

Lucia climbed in the back when Omar opened the door for her. “No,” she said.

Omar flicked a look at her as he started up the truck. She shook her head. She didn’t know how to begin to tell him what had just happened, and she wasn’t sure she should.

As the big steel door cranked up to let them exit to the street, another car pulled in to block the way from outside.

James Borden got out of the sedan.

He evidently realized it was too late to wave at Manny for admittance, and he sure as hell must have thought it was important, because instead of stopping like any sane person as that massive door rattled down, he dashed forward.

Three feet left. Two and a half …

Borden dived through the gap, elbow banging on the steel door, and came to his feet in a not-quite-clumsy roll. He didn’t have the animal grace of, say, Jazz, but then again, he had a lot of arms and legs to work with.

“Manny!” he yelled. “You asshole!”

An intercom came on. “Next time call first.” That seemed to be that, so far as Manny was concerned. Hereallywasn’t feeling hospitable.

Borden brushed imaginary dust from his suit—he was nicely done up today; hopelessly off-the-rack, but he cleaned up well, considering. His hair had the unyielding, gravity-defying gel look that Jazz found so funny.

Lucia got out and walked toward him. “Looking for Jazz?” she asked. It was pretty much a given.

“No,” he said. “I was looking for you.”

And it hardly came as a surprise when he pulled a red envelope from inside his jacket. It was a little creased from his acrobatics.

“Let me guess,” she said, and didn’t move to take it. “You were told where I’d be.”

The tips of his ears turned red. “Don’t make this hard. I’m just a messenger.”

“Just following orders?”

“Don’t—hey, who’s she?” Borden’s eyes suddenly shifted to look over Lucia’s shoulder. He was staring at the bruised and abused faced of Susannah, visible through the van’s front window.

“Nobody you need to know, unless you’re taking on pro bono criminal cases,” she said. “Forgive me for being a little cautious, but the last one of those I got came with a toy prize.”

“I talked to Laskins,” Borden said, and came a step closer. Just a step, because Omar was watching him with that closed expression that meant trouble. “This one comes directly from the Society. Nobody’s touched it but me and him. Do you want me to open it?”

She’d feel like an idiot. And a coward. She took the envelope, ripped it open and drew out the single sheet of paper inside.

It said, GET MS. CALLENDER. GO WITH MR. BORDEN. PARK IN THE LOT ON THE SOUTHWEST CORNER OF PARALLEL PARKWAY AND 10TH AT 5:16 P.M. TODAY. LOOK FOR A MAROON CHEVY VAN. WE TRUST YOU WILL KNOW WHAT TO DO.

“Hang on,” Borden said, and handed her something else. It was a tiny flashlight, and when she tried it, the light emerged a cool, faint blue. “UV,” he said. “Shine it on the paper.”

When she did, a sprawling signature appeared. Milo Laskins.

“From now on,” Borden stated, “everything we send you comes marked both on the envelope and on the paper inside. Deal?”

---