Page 51 of Devil's Due

“No, it isn’t,” she said. “It’s just temperamental. Jazz, I need you to listen to me for a minute.”

Her partner paused in the act of spooning grounds into the filter. “Yeah?”

“Something happened last night.”

“McCarthy brought you home.” Jazz snapped the filter basket shut and punched buttons. Nothing happened. She slapped the coffeemaker with an open palm, frowning. Lucia sighed, got up and pressed the right button. The machine began a soft chuffing. “Yeah, I know. You can skip the details.”

“No. No, Ben—didn’t stay. He just saw me home. Something else happened.”

“What?”

“I had an unexpected visitor.”

That drew Jazz’s total attention. “Here? I mean, I know it’s not Manny’s Fortress of Solitude, but it’s got ambassadorial security. Who?”

How could she explain it, exactly? “It was someone I once knew. His name is Gregory Valentin Ivanovich—”

“I remember the name. You saw it in the files about the Cross Society.”

Lucia blinked. “What?”

“The first day we were in Borden’s office, and you jimmied the lock on his file drawer. Ivanovich’s name was on a list of people employed by the Cross Society. You said he was somebody you recognized.”

She barely remembered it. Jazz, it seemed, had a rare gift for memory. “Gregory came to warn me that the Cross Society means to set us up. Set you up, I mean. This morning.”

Jazz took it with a shocking lack of surprise, and a shrug. “I don’t doubt it,” she muttered, and came to sit next to Lucia. “I’m not exactly a good little soldier. I mean, come on. Wouldn’t they rather have people who follow orders, in something this complicated? You start knowing too much—”

“You start questioning the right and wrong of things. Like we’ve already done.”

“Like Borden does, too.” Jazz frowned at the coffeemaker, which didn’t really deserve it, since it was doing its job. “That’s why you’re strapped? Because you think our buddies at the red envelope factory are out to get me?”

“Yes.”

“L., I’ve been assuming that from the very beginning,” she said. “Makes no difference if one of your oh-so-mysterious ex-boyfriends shows up to point a spotlight at it.”

Lucia smiled wearily. “The only difference is that he was very precise about it being this morning.”

“You trust this guy?”

She considered that very carefully. “In certain specifics, yes. And I think he was telling me the truth as he knew it.”

Jazz raised her eyebrows. “Huh. That sounds not very convincing.” She looked toward the coffeemaker, which had started filling the carafe. “That thing have a sensor so you can take the pot out and it won’t pee all over the burner?”

“Yes.”

“Figures.” Jazz filled two cups and put the carafe back in place. The machine continued its puffing, hissing work. She carried the cups over and handed Lucia one. “Listen to me, okay? I don’t care what kind of doomful signs of the apocalypse are on the horizon. You’re going into the hospital and you’re going to rest. End of story. Now go take off the gun and pack your bag. Consider me forewarned. You know for damn sure I’m always forearmed.”

Lucia eyed the time. It was going on 9:00 a.m. now, and Gregory had been quite specific. Morning. Assuming he had been truthful, and that came down to her instincts.

“I’ll stay with you until noon,” she said. “No negotiations,chica.I mean it. I’m not letting you run around unchaperoned. Three hours won’t make any difference. They can strap me to the bed and give me whatever they want this afternoon.”

“Lucia …”

Jazz, she saw, was close to exasperation. Lucia reached across and captured her hand. Jazz’s fingers were slack with surprise.

“You shot someone yesterday,” Lucia said. “The second man in a few weeks.”

Jazz’s eyes flew up to meet hers. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

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