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A chance to see Ben smile again.

Borden must have seen it in her eyes. “You’re not going to do it.”

“No,” she said, and instead of coming out cold, the way she’d intended, it sounded regretful. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re going to let a man die.”

She didn’t have an answer to that, except to say, “If what you guys said in that car was right, there are other people out there. Other people who can stop it. It doesn’t have to be me.”

“You know what, Jazz? Sometimes, it does.” He didn’t sound angry, just sad. Sad, and a little lost. “Sometimes there just isn’t anybody else to step up and do what has to be done. You should know that.”

She didn’t say anything at all to that. Borden shook his head.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get you copies of the autopsy photos. Maybe you can put them in your scrapbook.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Yeah? You know what?None of this is fair!” He shouted it at her, and for a second she saw something flare, something hot and wild and desperate, and it jumped across to her like ignition through a wire. “This ismy friend!Do you understand me?My friend!So yeah, you want me to beg? I’m begging! Please, Jazz. Please help me save his life!”

She swallowed and came a step closer to him. His pulse was beating fast along the matte-velvet skin of his throat, and his lips were parted. He looked on the edge of doing something … dangerous.

“If you don’t go,” he said softly, “I will.”

“What does your boss say about that?”

“That I won’t come back.”

“But I will.”

He nodded slightly.

“So it’s not really just your friend I’d be saving,” she said. “Right?”

No answer. He didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“That’s a hell of a blackmail, Counselor. And it only works if I believe even a fraction of the bullshit the Cross Society is peddling.”

“Then don’t believe it,” he said. “Go on with your important case. I can’t stop you.”

He started for the door, then came back and grabbed his fruit basket.

She watched in disbelief as he stalked out the door, handed the basket to Pansy, whose lips parted in a silentOof amazement, and kept going, heading for the elevators.

Jazz caught up to him at the reception desk. “Hey! Counselor!”

He stiff-armed through the glass doors and into the elevator lobby, where he hit the button twice before stopping. He didn’t look at her.

“Borden,” she said, and then, half-desperately, “James.”

That got his attention. He glanced over at her, then away.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t like being—manhandled. You might have noticed that the first time we met. And Ireallydon’t like being manipulated.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Sorry. I’m not trying to manipulate you. I just—I just don’t know where else to go.”

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she knew that. “I’m keyed up,” she said. “I’ve got some new information about …” For some reason, she didn’t want to explain it to him. “About a case. Asking me to take three days away from it’s a pretty high price to pay.”

He nodded, eyes on the closed elevator doors and the lit call button. “Maybe so,” he replied, “and I can’t ask you what’s more important. I can only tell you that my friend is important to me, and I’m willing to go if you don’t. So tell me now, because buying a last-minute plane ticket is murder.”