Devil's Due. Рейчел Кейн
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“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