Page 71 of Devil's Due

“You’re crazy,dorogaya.I like that in a woman.”

“You and me,” Jazz said grimly, “are going to go a few rounds. You know that, right?”

“I look forward to the opportunity.”

Laskins pushed forward, leading the way. McCarthy grabbed Lucia’s arm. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Go back up, get Rawlins—”

McCarthy was wrong. There was no chance—not even a small one—that if she went back upstairs the FBI could protect her. But that wasn’t what made her step out to follow Laskins. It was Gregory Ivanovich, who knew her as well as anyone alive, putting two fingers to the back of Jazz’s head and miming pulling a trigger.

She didn’t know what Laskins would do, but she knew Gregory. All too well.

Chapter 14

There was a big black limousine in the parking lot across the street and it held all of them comfortably. Or uncomfortably, thanks to the tension in the passenger compartment. It was a long, silent ride, but the landmarks were familiar. Lucia exchanged a quick look with Jazz, who raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes. Lucia shrugged.

The limousine turned down the slope of a parking garage, and parked on the top level, next to the elevators of … their own office building.

“You’re kidding,” Jazz said flatly.

“You may be assured, Ms. Callender, that I’m deadly serious today,” Laskins said. “There’s nothing I’m finding remotely amusing.”

Gregory Ivanovich hustled them into the elevators and upstairs. The doors had been opened wide into their office suite, and all the lights were on. No one there. At least, Lucia thought, Pansy hadn’t been caught up in this mess. That was some comfort.

Laskins opened the doors to the big conference room, with its long, gleaming table and recessed lighting.

It was full of people, who were chatting among themselves in a pleasant buzz of sound. Twelve—no, fourteen of them. Sixteen, counting Laskins, who took a chair at the table, and Gregory, who leaned against a wall, seeming entirely at home. Lucia scanned the other faces quickly. Laskins was the very image of a successful lawyer, but there was a tired, unkempt-looking woman who might have come straight from tending her kids. A tall, thin black man who wore glasses and looked like a professor. A slender, well-dressed young woman with understated jewelry and the unmistakable aura of wealth.

The buzz died down as everyone’s attention focused on the newcomers.

“Let me guess. The Cross Society,” Jazz said, just as Lucia was about to. “Wow. Imagine how impressed I am. No, go on. Just imagine.”

The stay-at-home mom smiled. She was the only one who did.

“Not the entire society, obviously, merely a few key players,” Laskins said, and shut the doors. “Be seated, the three of you.”

“Where’s James?” Jazz asked.

“James?” Laskins echoed, as if he’d never heard the name before. Lucia felt a twinge of anxiety, and saw it in Jazz, as well.

“JamesBorden, you asshole. Where is he?” When Jazz got scared, she got belligerent.

“Mr. Borden is on an errand. It’s quite an important one, actually. Be seated, Ms. Callender. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Gregory stepped forward and pulled out a chair. He performed an extravagant comic-opera bow. Lucia tried to send Jazz a message in a last, quick glance, and slid into an empty chair on the other side of the table. McCarthy took the one next to her.

Gregory bowed again, even more comically.

Jazz gritted her teeth and sat.

“What in the hell is this, Laskins?” Lucia asked. For answer, he held up his hand. Gregory stepped forward and put something into it.

A red envelope.

“This,” he said, “is a duplicate of what went to Ms. Callender earlier in the day,” he said. “It was waiting for her when she arrived back at her temporary home in Manny Glickman’s warehouse. Go ahead. Open it, Ms. Callender.”

Jazz just stared at him. Didn’t reach for it. After a long enough pause that it became clear she wasn’t about to comply, Lucia reached over and took it. She opened it and took out a single white sheet of folded paper.

On it was written, DO NOT ALLOW LUCIA GARZA TO CARRY THROUGH WITH THE INVESTIGATION OF J&J ELECTROPLATING.

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