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She was just starting to feel really good and pretty well healed when Chris Sparrow rang the intercom in the middle of her transcription of the notes for the latest executive background review to announce a visitor.

James Borden.

Jazz hesitated for a second, staring at her lit computer screen, fingers poised on the keys, and then wheeled her chair back. Lucia was gone, still, on one of her nonlocal cases. There really wasn’t much of an alternative, except to tell Chris to send him on back.

Through the open door, she witnessed the priceless moment when Pansy, coming out of the coffee room, encountered her ex-boss on his way in. They blinked at each other, and then Pansy, without a tremor, offered Borden the cup of coffee in her hand.

And he, without a tremor, accepted it, toasted her with it, and continued into Jazz’s office, where he took a seat on the couch, sipped coffee and sprawled as if he was sitting in his own living room.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, and got up to close the door on Pansy’s curious smile. “I’d ask what brings you here, but I’m thinking I already know.”

Without comment, Borden—who had just had a hair-cut, and it suited him—reached inside his trenchcoat and took out a red envelope. She walked over, took it from his hand and sat down next to him to rip it open.

“Why red?” she asked absently.

He finished sipping his coffee before saying, “What?”

“Red envelopes. Seems like a pretty obvious way of delivering a message. Why red?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Okay, that goes without saying, but humor me.” She unfolded the paper inside. More Gabriel, Pike & Laskins letterhead, the same businesslike printing.

Proceed at 11:00 p.m. local time tonight to the 1400 block of Legacy Drive. Park on the left side of the street and wait for a black Toyota Celica to arrive and park on the opposite side of the street. Follow the woman in the Celica from her car until she enters the building at 1428 Legacy Drive.

“That’s it?” Jazz checked the back of the letter. Apparently, it was. “No pictures, no video, no nothing? Just park, follow, leave?”

“Yes,” Borden said. “I told you, they wouldn’t all be exciting stuff.”

She flapped the envelope. “Why red?”

“Are we back to that again?” He’d not only cut his hair, he was freshly shaved. And if she wasn’t mistaken, that was a fresh application of cologne, too. She scooted a little closer, just to confirm her suspicions. “It’s so we won’t get them mixed up with other correspondence. There’s a lot of it in our offices, in case you haven’t noticed. Lawyers. We do paperwork.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” He put the coffee cup aside on the side table and turned toward her, resting an elbow on the back of the tufted leather couch. “By the way, I like your hair.”

She blushed. She didn’t mean to, and she was furious at herself for doing it, but she instantly felt the burn climb from her neck into her cheeks, and saw the immediate lazy amusement in his eyes. She’d let Lucia talk her into a new hairdresser, and as a result, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. Her hair was still in a shag, but no longer reminded her of sheepdogs or thatched roofs; it looked cute, perky and fluffable. It even felt soft, thanks to some expensive conditioners she wasn’t sure she could afford, or had enough training to use. But it seemed to work. Lucia had pronounced her fit for boardroom meetings, anyway.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “Yours, too.”

He shrugged. No blush, damn him. “How’s the side?”

“Fixed.”

“But you’re taking it easy.”

“No, I’m going to sign up for the Ultimate Fighting Championship cage match later today. Yes, of course I’m taking it easy. The toughest thing I’ve had to do so far is walk fast.” She smiled, just a bit, as the blush started to fade to a distant prickle. “Bet I can still kick your ass, though, Counselor.”

“No bets,” he said. She wondered if he was humoring her.

“Regular rates on this?” She waved the envelope between them, which should have formed some kind of barrier and instead just wafted more of his warm cologne toward her.

“Regular rates,” he agreed. Was he leaning closer? She thought he was.

“Are you going to keep doing this? Being the GPL Postal Service?”

“GPL?”