“Deal.” She stowed the flashlight in the zip case in her purse, which included keys to her house and car, secondary ID and a thousand dollars in cash. The bare necessities of a life that might require running at a moment’s notice. “Do you know what it says?”
“No.”
She handed it over. Borden read it, rubbed his forehead as if he wanted to scrub his frontal lobe, and handed it back. “Fine,” he said. “Why me?”
“I think only your boss can answer that one.” She turned away from him, toward a corner where she knew a camera was watching, and raised her voice. “Manny! I need to talk to Jazz!” She held up the paper.
After ten seconds of silence, the steel door in the shadows clicked and sighed open.
“Just you.” Manny’s voice rang over the concrete. Then, after a delay: “And, uh, Borden.”
Borden grinned. “Hey, Jazz.”
Jazz’s magnified voice said, “Hey, Counselor. Get your fine ass up here.”
Lucia looked over at Omar, who shrugged and got back into the SUV. “I have DVD built in,” he said, and looked at Susannah, who had leaned back with her eyes closed. “You like Russell Crowe?”
“I just want to sleep.”
“Concussion,” Omar said. “No sleeping. Or I take you straight to the hospital.”
Susannah opened one eye. The other was swollen to a slit. “You gotGladiator?”
“A woman of taste.” Omar gestured for Lucia to go.
She shut the door, and heard thechunkof locks as he secured it into a minitank.
Then she followed Borden back upstairs.
This time Manny guided them by voice, releasing locks remotely. They entered on a different floor, into living quarters. Pansy was lying on the luxurious suede sofa in the middle of the loft, watching a big-screen plasma television. She had a DVD on as well, and Lucia experienced a moment of envy. Pansy looked rosy, clean and relaxed, and was wearing a fluffy white robe.If only I could do the same …
Pansy scrambled to her feet and brushed her dark bangs out of her eyes when Borden and Lucia passed, as if they’d caught her doing something illegal or immoral … like resting. Lucia couldn’t hold back a smile. “As you were, soldier,” she said. “Believe me, if I could, I’d pull up a couch next to you, robe and all. And we’d share a gallon of ice cream.”
“You feeling all right?” Pansy asked anxiously.
“I’m fine. Manny says you’re well…?”
“No symptoms.” Pansy’s pageboy hairdo bobbed vigorously when she nodded. “Um—shouldn’tyoube resting?”
“I will be,” she said, “as soon as we take care of some things.”
“Uh-huh.” Pansy didn’t sound convinced. “What can I do?”
“You,” Manny said, coming around a low cubicle wall that Lucia assumed separated off the surveillance equipment, “can sit down and relax. Right, Lucia?”
“Right.” She threw them both a quick smile. “This won’t take long.” She knew Jazz was going to say, in typical fashion, “Screw it,” and toss the message in the shredder.
Only, of course, Jazz surprised her. First, she was dressed, and well dressed—no badly fitting jeans and floppy sweatshirts today. She’d chosen another pantsuit, this one in dark red, and a tight-fitting white knit shirt. Cute. The shoes were still more or less a disaster; Jazz was never going to give up her flats when there was any chance of having to pursue a bad guy. Then again, she had enough height to pull it off.
“Going somewhere?” Borden asked, and crossed to kiss her. It was an open, intimate kiss, and brought instant bright color to Jazz’s cheeks. “Or just dressing up for Manny? Should I be jealous?”
“Shut the hell up.”
Manny’s living space held a series of temporary partitions in the open warehouse—some low translucent walls, some higher and more private. Lucia let her eyes roam over the entire floor, hunting for something she’d never noticed before—ah, there it was, a door set flush in the wall, with one of those red-lit key code panels. There was another door to his office, from this floor. She’d been wondering. But it made sense, really; Manny would want multiple access points, all under his control.
Despite the almost Japanese simplicity of the place, Manny’s build-outs, where they existed, were luxurious. The kitchen where Jazz sat could have been lifted from a model home, with wood cabinets and glossy appliances, double steel sinks, and a spacious bar area with high-backed stools.
Jazz was at the bar, Borden close beside her. Lucia hopped up on a stool next to her. “Are we finished with the love talk?” she asked. “If so, there’s work to be done.”