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She swallowed hard and forced herself to keep reading. Lots of background on Simms, who had all the usual quiet sins that could be dug up on any adult. Gossip from his peers, mostly. Nasty comments about his work habits, ogling his female subordinates, having harsh words for people … the kind of stuff that came to the forefront when someone was down and probably not getting up again.

Simms had taken a plea agreement. Twenty-five to life. Or just life, for someone of his age. He’d been lucky to escape the needle.

The kitschy gold sunburst clock on the wall said that morning was rolling on. She washed up the mug and coffeepot, shuffled off to the bathroom and attempted a sponge bath, with limited results. Her hair was a disaster, and she wasn’t up to washing it. Bending over wasn’t really in the cards. She settled for giving it a punky spiked look with gel—thank you, Liar Borden—and climbed into fresh underwear and sweatpants and T-shirt.

Then she collapsed back on the bed, spots dancing in front of her eyes. Painkillers beckoned seductively from her bedside table, but no way was she doing that, not today. Too much to do. Too much at stake.

She got out her cell phone and dialed.

“Gabriel, Pike & Laskins,” said a crisp female voice, all business. “How may I direct your call?”

“James Borden,” she said, and eased herself to a sitting position against the headboard. She didn’t want to be lying down for this.

“One moment, I’ll see if he’s available.”

Thirty seconds, a fluttering click, and Pansy’s cheerful voice said, “James Borden’s office, how may I—”

“Let me speak to the lying rat,” Jazz interrupted. “Tell him it’s Jasmine Callender.”

There was a second’s puzzled pause, and then Pansy said, “Ms. Callender, I’m sorry, but the lying rat isn’t here. He flew out yesterday. I understood he was coming to see you. Incidentally, how are you feeling?”

“Good enough to kick his legal briefs,” Jazz snapped, and heard Pansy choke on what might have been a laugh. “He flew back last night. He’s not there?”

“Not at the office. He called to say that he’d be out of town a couple of days at least. Do you want me to try his cell phone?”

“No, I’ll do it.” Jazz was suddenly struck by an evil inspiration. “Do you like your job, Pansy?”

“Sure.”

“Like New York?”

“It’s okay,” Pansy said. Jazz could almost see the shrug. “I’m from Kansas, originally. New York takes some getting used to.”

“If you’re homesick, do you want to come to work in K.C. for me?”

“I couldn’t do that,” Pansy said cheerfully. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Suit yourself. But I can promise you that I’ll never, ever make you get coffee.”

There was a long, long pause, and then Pansy said, “Kansas City, huh?”

Jazz grinned.Take that, Lawyer Borden.

Chapter 6

Upon returning from her run, Lucia informed Jazz of two things. One, she’d be camping out on Jazz’s couch until her leasing agent found her a local apartment. Two, they had an appointment to shop for office space.

“We’reshopping?”

“Shopping is a necessary part of life, Jazz, you should reconcile yourself to it. Unless you want me to make all the decisions.” Lucia didn’t sound averse to it. Jazz eyed her distrustfully.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll take a look.”

Lucia drove. All the way, Jazz kept an eye on the street, but traffic patterns looked random and safe, and she saw nobody following—either from in front or behind—for more than a couple of blocks. It was possible the faceless bad guys had enough manpower to do fast-rotating teams, but if so, they were screwed anyway, and all the eagle-eye vigilance in the world wouldn’t help.

No white vans, no black cars with tinted windows, no electric blue sedans with out-of-date plates.

But when they pulled up in the parking lot of a five-story office building, she spotted someone she knew waiting, leaning against the granite-faced entrance with his long arms folded. Borden was back in casual mode, long leather jacket and blue jeans and an oatmeal-colored long-sleeved Henley underneath. Gelled hair again. He looked up as Jazz’s car rattled to a stop, and straightened.