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“Good flight?” Jazz asked. Lucia made a so-so gesture. “Nice weather?”

“Fair skies.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got the small talk out of the way …” Jazz pulled the envelope from her pocket, handed over the letter and the check, and watched Lucia read them. Lucia, immediately absorbed, dug a similar red envelope from her bag and handed it absently on, as well. Jazz scanned it. Apart from the fact that this one had been mailed from New York, had a different home address, and didn’t include a check, it was pretty much the same song and dance.

Lucia’s carefully manicured fingernail flicked the check.

“It’s genuine,” Jazz said. “I called the bank this morning.”

“Shit.”

“No kidding.”

Lucia shuffled the pages to her résumé. Her dark eyes widened, and she shot Jazz a look.

“What?” Jazz asked.

She held up the paper. “This isn’t the public résumé. This one’s what I give to enforcement agencies. It’s got confidential information on it.”

“So how did these guys get hold of it?”

Lucia shook her head. “Last place I sent this résumé to was the FBI.”

Jazz raised her eyebrows. “They turned you down?”

“Not yet.” She shrugged. “But I’m not so sure I want to go back into government service right now. I’d like to do something with a few less rules. So, you said this guy seemed credible to you? How so?”

Jazz thought about Borden, his geeky leathers, his soft, sharply intelligent eyes. Maybe the getup hadn’t been clueless, after all. Maybe he’d been deliberately concealing just how smart he was.

“Just a feeling,” she said. “But then, I’m not always the best judge of character.”

She flung it out there to see if Lucia would react, and she did, looking up and locking eyes with her for a few deep seconds before turning her attention back to the paper.

“I assume you’re referring to your partner,” Lucia said quietly. “Yes. I know he was convicted.”

Sitting in that airless courtroom, watching the jury shuffle and fidget in their chairs, watching them avoiding McCarthy’s eyes, Jazz had known before the forewoman read out the verdict. She’d known, and Ben had known, too. Twenty-five years in prison. He’d be an old man when he got out. If he ever did. Cops were hunted in there, and Ben had always needed somebody to guard his back.

“He’s not guilty,” Jazz said, mostly just to hear herself say it, to hear how it sounded out loud after all these months.

Lucia didn’t look up. “You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“The evidence looked pretty damning on paper.”

“Lots of guys on death row with paper evidence,” Jazz shot back, feeling something tighten in her guts. “McCarthy didn’t kill anybody. I’d have—”

Known.That was the mantra that rocked her to sleep at night.I’d have known. All those nights, sitting together, talking, pouring out our lives to each other, I’d have known if he was capable of cold-blooded murder.

Lucia didn’t comment again. She finally looked up and said, “What do you think about all this?”

Jazz shrugged. “I think it’s worth a conversation.”

“Because?” Those elegantly shaped dark eyebrows rose just a little.

“Because even though you shop at Ann Taylor for your suits, I can’t afford to. I need the money. And I need to set up shop with decent resources so I can find out what happened to McCarthy, and maybe keep it from happening to me.” Jazz glared at her, daring her to find fault. “I need the money. That’s it.”

Lucia’s lips curved into a smile. “That’s it? You’re not curious?”