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“Any particular reason I need to take this stroll? Other than for my health?”

A shockingly loud scream burst out of the phone, wild and full of agony, a full-throated bellow. She flinched, nearly lost the phone and slowly straightened up. She felt the blood drain from her face.

“You know what I call a half-dead lawyer?” the voice asked. “A good start. Move your ass, bitch, or he gets something else cut off. Maybe something that he can’t live without.”

The phone went dead in her hand. She closed her eyes for a second, felt a hot bead of sweat trickle down her back. She turned slowly, keeping the phone to her ear as an excuse to stay where she was, and looked at the cops and Lucia.

Lucia, who was talking, glanced over at her, away, back again to stare. She paused for a breath, smiled at the cop and murmured something that sounded like a graceful apology. Then she walked over to where Jazz stood, red envelope in hand.

“What?” she asked softly.

“Borden,” Jazz replied. “They have him. They want this.” She moved the envelope slightly, drawing Lucia’s attention to it. “They sound real serious.”

Lucia nodded. Something sparked bright in her eyes, and her expression smoothed into an unmoving mask. “You want to get real serious?”

“I do.” She was still vibrating from the force of the scream.Maybe that wasn’t him,she thought, but she knew that was a stupid wishful lie. She’d felt that scream go deep. She’dknownit. “I want to get real fucking serious, right now.”

“We have visitors.” Lucia crossed her arms and tilted her head toward the cops.

“I go first. You back me up.” Jazz fixed a hard stare on her. “I need you on this.”

“I know. I’ll be there.”

Jazz nodded once, took the envelope and shoved it into her coat pocket, then walked, in no great hurry, around the corner.

“Where’s she going?” one of the cops asked behind her.

“Bathroom,” Lucia said. “Do you think we should get away from the windows? In case he’s not really gone?” She suddenly sounded vulnerable and scared.

“Sure. No problem.”

Jazz heard them moving away, and grinned without humor. She was just moving for the stairs when someone hurried around the corner and almost collided with her. She jumped away, ready to punch, and Pansy staggered back to catch herself against the wall, hand flat against her chest and an expression of shock all over her face. She straightened her glasses and fanned herself.

“What?” Jazz demanded.

“Here!” Pansy pressed something into her hands. “Manny gave it to me. Give me this one. Go!”

She hurried off, back the way she’d come. Jazz, mystified, looked down at what she was holding in her hands, and felt a sudden surge of wild, strange glee.

She shoved it into her pocket and hit the stairwell door at as much of a run as she dared to keep noise to a minimum. Rocketing downstairs on tiptoe was a trick, but she managed, checking her momentum with an outstretched hand raking the walls at the turns. At the lobby door she paused and risked a look outside. More cops down there, but they were all on the street by the patrol cars. She eased open the stairwell door, hurried across the lobby and made it to the service entrance.

Loading dock. Deserted. She left at a flat-out run, breathing deep, feeling a burn in her knee where braises hadn’t begun to heal from her fight the day before. It was easy enough to dodge the cops on the street, and then she kept running, moving as fast as she dared to cover the two blocks. As she waited for the light to cross to the left-hand side, she looked behind her. No sign of Lucia. No sign of cops looking for her, either. She supposed that was a wash.

She pelted across the street the instant traffic paused, bounded over the curb and jogged another block, past the blank side of a long windowless building. Cars were parked at meters on the side. She passed a beat-up Ford, two trucks, a panel van …

The sliding door on the van slapped open when she was even with it, and she darted backward, hands up, as the muzzle of a gun slid out in her direction.

“Against the wall,” a voice barked. She couldn’t see into the van. Too dark. Sun glinted on window glass, blinding her. No markings on the van,dammit,she needed to see something, describe something … “Do it. Now.”

She backed up until her heels and shoulders pressed against brick, hands still high.

“Where’s the envelope?” The voice sounded different in person than on the phone, but she was still sure she’d never, heard it before. “You have two seconds or I start shooting.”

“Here,” she said, and pointed down at her pocket. “Let me get it out.”

“Go. Slowly.”

She reached in with two fingers, showed him the red envelope. Still sealed.