Читать книгу Devil's Due - Рэйчел Кейн - Страница 10

At five minutes to one, Lucia’s desk phone rang in her office. She picked it up and said, “Omar?”

“Yo, girl,” he said. Omar had a sly, amused tone, as usual. He found everything a source of humor, from The Simpsons to the evening news. He claimed it had something to do with Buddhism, and seeing the world for the illusion it was. That might have been true. Omar was famous—infamous, really—for having done a seven-year stretch in Folsom as part of one of the most grueling covers in the history of law enforcement. After the takedown of one of the most vicious criminal enterprises on the East Coast, he’d declared himself out of the cop business.

But he did favors from time to time, and Lucia was on his list. Omar was about the most reliable, calm and effective man she’d ever worked with.

He was also one hell of a friend, and once upon a time, he’d been more. Not much more, though. Omar’s Zen outlook precluded more serious entanglements.

“Good morning,” she said. “Having a fabulous time down there?”

“Unbelievable. Your friends are here. I’m sending them up. Don’t shoot ’em.”

“Thanks. Keep sharp.” Not that she needed to remind him. Omar, for all of his built-in serenity, was rarely caught off guard.

As she hung up, she focused on McCarthy, who was sitting on the sofa at the far end of the room, looking out the tinted windows. The view warped a little; the glass was bullet-resistant, replaced after Jazz’s office had been targeted by a sniper. All of their security procedures were considerably upgraded these days. But the offices themselves remained elegantly appointed—not that she and Jazz had put much effort into it. In some ways, the region’s economic downturns had favored start-up businesses. They’d inherited this space fully equipped, including desks, lamps, chairs and decor. She’d added touches of her own, but it hadn’t taken much.

“What are you thinking?” she asked him.

McCarthy looked up and smiled. “I’m thinking it feels like I’ve been here before.” He shrugged. “That’s weird, right? Maybe I was here when the building was under construction.”

“Maybe it’s just nerves.”

“Why would I be nervous?”

She smiled and looked down at the paperwork on her desk. Always plenty of that to keep up with. McCarthy got off the couch and paced the office, hands behind his back; she tried not to watch him, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to concentrate on the report she was reading. Her eyes kept straying.

He came to a stop as the office door swung open, and Jazz and Borden entered the room.

The look on Jazz’s face when she spotted McCarthy was, quite literally, priceless.

“Ben?” she asked, as if she really couldn’t believe it. Lucia glanced over at him and felt a pleasant aftershock as well, even though she’d gotten over the initial impact. Lenora Ellen’s had done an astonishing job. His gray-salted hair was trimmed just enough to give him style. Whatever skin treatments they’d done, he looked healthier than he had three hours before. Freshly shaved, too. The suit seemed thoughtlessly elegant, and she’d chosen the colors well—the midnight-blue set off his eyes like foil to a diamond. He looked … gorgeous, she admitted, and promptly dismissed the thought, because it was inappropriate.

McCarthy was giving Jazz a wide smile, stepping forward, arms open. And she was rushing into them like a delighted child.

Jazz looked good, too. Fresh-faced, glowing, ever so slightly tousled. She never failed to look as if she’d forgotten to brush her short-cut blond hair, but on her, it worked. She’d made an effort with wardrobe today, too—a wellfitted black pantsuit and blue shirt, medium-heeled shoes. She was taller than McCarthy, but somehow she managed to make it look as if he towered over her, even in the hug.

Lucia met James Borden’s eyes as he took a seat on the leather couch in the corner of the office. He was casual today—blue jeans and a gray T-shirt. His brown hair was gel-free, and it made him look unexpectedly vulnerable. As did the glance he darted at McCarthy and Jazz, locked in their hug.

“Counselor,” Lucia said in greeting, and went to sit next to him. “So, I presume you had a good evening?”

That woke an entirely satisfied, private smile. “We did all right.”

“So I see. She looks very happy.”

“Happy to see McCarthy.”

Ah, already the jealousy. Men. They were, if possible, even worse at relationships than women. “She’s been waiting years for this. You might let her enjoy it.”

He had the grace to look ashamed of himself. “I am. I will.” He passed over a red envelope. “Same as you got?”

Lucia unfolded it, studied it and nodded. “Mine was hand-delivered.”

“Get anything out of the courier?”

She had to grin at the thought of interrogating the round little man in one of the dressing rooms, while the clerk sweated in terror and phoned the police. “Not a good time. But it doesn’t matter. He was simply doing a job.”

McCarthy and Jazz had finally pulled apart. He was holding her by the upper arms, giving her the once-over. Lucia glanced over at Borden, whose face had gone very bland, and wondered what he was thinking. No, she knew. She’d been there before, sitting as the spectator.

“Hate to break up the happy moment,” she said, raising her voice, “but we should talk. All of us.”

“About what?” Ah, McCarthy still hadn’t forgiven her for the day spa; the wall went up the second he turned toward her.

“Lucia’s right,” Jazz said, and pulled up a chair—a straight-backed one that she could straddle, resting her crossed arms on the top. “They’re on to us again. I sure as hell don’t want to go back to hiding out and worrying who’s gunning for me for the rest of my life. We need to figure this thing out, guys. And now that Ben’s on board, we have a lot more of a chance to do that.”

“Don’t,” Borden warned, and shot Jazz one of those serious looks. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” McCarthy asked.

“Jazz, I mean it. He’s not—”

Jazz, of course, ignored him. She had the look. Lucia was frankly surprised that Borden hadn’t learned to recognize it yet. “He has to know. If he’s here, he has to know everything. See, the people who funded us, the ones who gave us the money—”

McCarthy held up a hand. The spa had done a good job on his manicure, Lucia noted. “You work for the Cross Society, and they can predict the future,” he said. “They’re asking you to do things. Weird things. Telling you it’s all to prevent more people from dying, right? Am I close?”

Silence. Even Borden looked stunned. Lucia deliberately got to her feet, drew all of their stares and said, “I’ll get coffee. We clearly have a lot to talk about.”

Jazz wasn’t taking it well. For that matter, neither was Borden, but for entirely different reasons.

“Seriously,” Jazz said. She was pacing the room, hands behind her back. From time to time, she gnawed on the cuticle of her thumbnail, a habit that Lucia had hoped she’d lost. “You worked for Simms.”

“Yes,” Ben stated, for about the fourth time. Lucia kept her silence, watching the two of them; tension was growing like a storm in the room. “I worked for Max Simms. Freelance, at first. One or two jobs, no big deal. Didn’t seem like a big deal, anyway, at least at first—”

Jazz interrupted him. Her face had gone from white to flushed, and her eyes glittered. Lucia inwardly winced, watching her; she knew that look. It normally was followed by a hard right cross, or a well-placed kick.

“Didn’t seem like a big deal?” Jazz snapped. “Are you telling me that you knew about all of this crap while we were still partners? And what, you just kept that to yourself? Oh, but then, I guess you would, wouldn’t you? Secrets were your thing!”

Well, it hadn’t been a physical blow, but the words connected; Lucia saw him flinch. “Jazz—”

“You know what, Ben? Fuck you and your damn secrets!”

“Jazz!” It came out as a deep-throated roar, full of pent-up fury. “Dammit, will you shut up and listen to me?” He strode over to her and stood there, right in her space.

Lucia tensed, ready to lunge in as referee, but painfully aware that these two would get in plenty of damaging shots before she could put an end to things. If she could put an end to things.

“I was just like you, Jazz!” he continued. “Idealistic! Thinking these guys knew the score, were doing good work. But it’s not like that, and you need to clearly understand, doing good is a sideline for them. It’s all about winning, and let’s face it, to win, sometimes you have to play dirty. And they did.” He laughed wildly, bitterly. “Oh, they did.”

Lucia had a sudden flash of insight. “Don’t tell me they were the reason—”

“The reason I landed in jail?” McCarthy swung away from Jazz and locked gazes with Lucia instead. His hot blue eyes were full of pain and anger. “If I’d known either one of you was into this thing, don’t you think I’d have spoken up? But no, you had to play it cagey, keep it all to yourselves—”

“Wait a minute.” Jazz interrupted again, still with that hot-metal edge. “How did the Cross Society land you in jail?”

“You don’t think they’ve got ways? Listen, I—” He checked himself, a hesitation so brief Lucia wasn’t sure she’d actually seen it. “If I could prove it, I’d tell you, but the way everything clicked together and lined up like little tin soldiers? Cross Society. They’re chess players. They don’t get their own hands dirty. Their sacrifice pawns are the ones who bleed and suffer and die. And pay.”

“Pay for what?”

Lucia was surprised to hear Borden ask the question, because he’d said nothing at all for a long while. He was studying McCarthy with half-closed eyes, looking bland. A damn fine poker face. She felt a prickle along her spine, and thought about reminding Jazz that Borden, regardless of how true his love, was also a card-carrying member of the Cross Society. But Jazz knew that. She never forgot it.

“Disappointments,” McCarthy said. “They wanted me to stand by and let somebody get killed. I couldn’t do it.”

Shades of Jazz; she’d been asked to do the same thing, Lucia remembered. Asked to stand by and see an innocent man die. As had Borden. It had been a crisis of faith for him, knowing that his friend was marked for death by Eidolon, and the Cross Society had elected to do nothing about it. He’d turned to Jazz for help and almost gotten her killed for it, but together they’d managed to prevent the murder.

And what’s to stop Eidolon from trying again? Lucia had wondered that for a while. Maybe things had changed. She didn’t understand how it worked. She suspected nobody outside of the inner circles really did.

She hated the idea that all of this happened somewhere in secret, behind a curtain. Playing God. It reminded her why she’d left the government.

“Yeah?” Jazz challenged. She was still looking wounded and furious and betrayed, and in no mood to believe McCarthy. “Who did they want to kill?” She was demanding proof. Names and dates. Facts and figures she could check. Jazz was nothing if not thorough.

McCarthy hesitated for so long that Lucia thought he wouldn’t answer. He was studiously examining the carpeting, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. His hesitation seemed odd, considering the passion he’d already displayed. And then he said, slowly and in a much quieter tone, “Remember that hallway, three years ago? When the guy came out from under the stairs?”

Jazz went pale. Lucia watched her knuckles tighten on the back of the chair, her blue eyes narrow. Her mouth attempted two tries before she was able to ask the question. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.” He risked a look at his ex-partner, a startling flash of eyes. Lucia shivered at the expression in them. Pain and resignation.

If Jazz saw it, it didn’t make any impression. She was staring past him, stunned, seeing something miles away. “You knew? You knew that guy was there?”

“No. I knew something was going to happen, because they wanted me to wait in the car.”

“You did wait in the car.”

“For a while,” McCarthy said, his voice low and furious. “And then I came in and I shot the son of a bitch who was trying to kill you. Shot him in the back. Twice, if you remember.”

Silence. Lucia didn’t think even Borden was breathing. Jazz and McCarthy were staring each other down.

Links and circles. That officer-involved shooting had been McCarthy’s first and only. That put his service revolver’s ballistics information into the database, which had later linked him to murder.

Lucia turned on Borden. “Did you know this?” He mutely shook his head. “Borden. Did you know McCarthy worked for the Cross Society?”

“No!” he snarled, and got up off the couch to stalk to the far corner of the room. “Don’t you think I’d have told you if I’d known? Look, it’s not—it’s not like it’s an open book. I don’t think even Laskins knows everything. Some of it—maybe a lot of it—happens between Simms and his agents, and we’re just—”

“Just what?” Lucia asked. “Protective coloration? What is it the rest of you do for him that he can’t do for himself?”

“Maintain the network,” Borden said. “Deliver his messages when he needs it. Attend to the money and the business.”

Jazz had turned away from McCarthy, and now she was staring at Borden. “Did you know they’d put him in jail?” she asked. Whatever logical path Jazz had followed inside her head, there seemed to be no doubt in her now that McCarthy was telling the truth.

“No,” Borden said. He sounded suddenly weary. “I’d have told you.”

“We can talk about that later,” Lucia said, after a few seconds of painful silence. “McCarthy. The money you were taking, the payoffs. Were they payments from the Cross Society to you?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe that was answer enough.

“What were you, stupid?” Jazz yelled. “Didn’t you see how easily they could turn you? How deep they had their claws in you?”

“Not until I killed that guy,” McCarthy said. “And then it was too late. Simms already had me. The payments used to come through a bank, then they came through some friend of his, then they started making the drops at the Velvet. Then pretty soon it was handovers from Big Sal and his crew, and there was no point in fighting it anymore.”

“You could have walked away.”

He looked grim. “I tried.”

“Oh, so taking that last payoff on camera, that was, what—for the widows and orphans fund?” Jazz demanded. “Don’t bullshit me, Ben. Don’t you dare.”

He shook his head tiredly. “No point in doing that, either,” he said. “Look, you believe me or not. This is why I never even tried to explain any of it to you. How do you think this would have gone before you’d seen how it works for yourself?”

She wasn’t done yet, Lucia saw. “So what were they paying you to do, Ben? Compromise evidence? Get cases thrown out?”

“Fuck! Come on, Jazz! You can’t believe—”

“I don’t believe!”

“I wouldn’t do that. I was a cop!”

“Yeah? You thought about letting me die, didn’t you?”

He swallowed, and some of the anger drained out of his expression. “No. I just thought—look, I didn’t know they were talking about killing you.”

“So it was okay if they just messed me up a little? Crippled me? Where’s the line, Ben? It’s okay for them to put a scare into me, not to touch me? Or okay to throw me a beating, so long as it doesn’t scar?”

They settled into mutual glaring, jaws tight, teeth set. Lucia let a few seconds of silence go by, and then cleared her throat. “If I may continue,” she said carefully. “Evidently, the Cross Society decided you weren’t of use to them any longer. Was that because you moved to save Jazz when you did?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m out. I’m not taking orders from those creepy sons of bitches anymore, and neither should you. Either of you.” McCarthy turned a glare toward Borden, who was slumped against the wall by the broad windows. “And you should get rid of him. You’re sleeping with the enemy, Jazz. Watch what you say around him.”

“Hey!” Borden said sharply, and straightened up. “Watch your mouth.”

“Why? You’re not sleeping with my partner?” McCarthy showed teeth. “Or do you just not want to admit to it? Ashamed?”

Borden’s eyes turned dark and cold. “I mean it, man. Shut up.”

“Jazz wants me to shut up, she can say something about it.”

Jazz didn’t seem inclined to say much about it either way, Lucia noticed. Her mouth was closed, her jawline tight. Her hands were fisted on her thighs, knuckles white.

Borden towered over McCarthy when McCarthy walked toward him, but it seemed obvious to Lucia that it wouldn’t matter. McCarthy was the dangerous one here. Borden was tall and rangy and could probably hold his own in most situations, but McCarthy had done two years of hard time, and he’d gone in hard to start with.

And Lucia didn’t like the flat look in his eyes.

“Gentlemen,” she said, her voice pitched low and calm. Standing up with deliberate grace, she moved to form the third point of a triangle—not between them, but pulling their focus away from each other. Jazz, still seated behind her, would have done it differently; she would have waded in, shoving and shouting. That would work, but it would take time to sort out.

This worked instantly.

McCarthy stepped back. “Sorry,” he said. “You’re right. Your house. You want to have amoral bastards in it, that’s not my business.”

“Borden stays,” Lucia said. “He’s proved himself to us. You haven’t, Ben.”

“Hey, wait a second!” Jazz snapped.

“Jazz, shut up.” Lucia gave her voice an edge of steel.

Jazz pressed her lips together, eyes blazing.

“I’m talking to you, Ben,” Lucia continued. “The three of us, we’ve been through a lot together. You’re new to this agency. You don’t just walk in here and throw doubt on Borden, do you understand? And you don’t try to pull me and Jazz apart by playing on old loyalties. If you do, you can walk out the door and find your own way.”

Jazz badly wanted to speak, but somehow she controlled herself; Lucia watched the battle on her face. The outcome was a lowering of her blond head, deep breaths and silence.

Lucia transferred her attention back to Ben.

“I’m not working for the Cross Society again,” he said. “Get that straight right now.”

“Fine. If you want to work for us, you do straight-up work,” she agreed. “Straightforward investigation. You don’t deal with Cross at all.”

He thrust a thumb over his shoulder toward Borden. “Do I have to deal with him?”

“You have to deal with me if you disrespect him,” she said. “Are we clear?”

He nodded—one sharp movement, nothing more. After a few seconds, he said, “Thanks for the suit.”

He meant it to be embarrassing, as if he’d conned her out of something. She gave him a cool smile. “You’re representing us now. Can’t have you looking like a lowlife ex-con.”

Borden glanced from one to the other. “Did I miss something? You hired him?”

“Over breakfast,” Lucia said. “Jazz? Will that be a problem?”

Jazz didn’t answer. She was watching McCarthy, waiting for something.

He walked over to her, took her fists in his hands and slowly smoothed her fingers out. He wasn’t looking at her face. Borden had stiffened at the touch, Lucia noticed in her peripheral vision.

“Jazz,” Ben said quietly. “I couldn’t tell you any of it. Don’t you think that was hell for me? I was almost glad they set me up. At least then I didn’t have to face you every morning and lie to you. Look, I know you can’t forgive me for it, but—”

“I forgave you a long time ago,” she said. “I forgave you when there wasn’t a reason to do it. That’s why I’m angry.”

“Ah,” he said, and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. If you work here, I’m your boss. You think I won’t make you pay?”

He smiled. It was one of those warm, sweet smiles that had such devastating effect, and Lucia saw it had the same impact on Jazz that it did on her. “I’m counting on it. I owe you.”

“Damn straight. And I’m going to get every nickel.” Jazz flicked her gaze over to Lucia and deliberately nodded. “Yeah. It’s okay with me.”

Borden let out a sigh. It wasn’t quite loud enough for Jazz or McCarthy to hear, but Lucia shot him an amused glance.

“Then if that’s all the thunderbolts we have to impart,” she said, “let’s get back to work.”