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She lost thread of that in the stroke of his skin on hers, in flashes of heat and light and a fast, almost brutal rhythm thudding in her head, in her heart, her back against the wall, climbing, struggling …

“James,” she whispered, and felt him shudder and spiral into her, heat and light and a perfect crime of passion, committed in hot blood and without regret.

Guilty as charged.

The next morning, she woke sore and exhausted and utterly filled with light, and rolled over to find Borden sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed.

“Hey,” she murmured. He smiled. It looked sad, that smile. Not what she’d expected. She sat up, instinctively pulling the covers close over her skin. “What?”

He reached out and touched her hair, pushing it back from her eyes, caressing the tender skin at her temples. Long, gentle fingers. His thumb brushed her lips, a soft echo of the need in the night.

“We missed the hearing,” he said. “McCarthy’s hearing. They held it off-schedule, because he was designated at-risk in the prison. The judge admitted the photographs into evidence and the prosecution moved for the conviction to be vacated.”

She felt an odd stab go through her. “We … we missed the hearing? What happened?”

“Ben’s out,” Borden said. “He walked away a free man an hour ago.”

She let out a cry. It was half fury, half joy. He’d been set free, and she hadn’t been there, hadn’t been there—how could that have happened? How could she have missed that moment, after all this time? All this work?

Had he looked for her? Been disappointed not to see her?

“We have to go,” she blurted. “We have to go see him—”

“Jazz, he’s okay. Lucia was there, he’s with her,” he said. “There’s something else. Lucia got a red envelope thirty minutes ago. Hand delivered.”

“And?”

“So did you,” he said, and turned to pick it up from the foot of the bed. “Someone slid it under the door while I was getting dressed.”

She took it from him and pulled out the sheet of paper. It was on the letterhead, not of Gabriel, Pike & Laskins, but of Eidolon Corporation.

And it said, in printed, plain block letters, ONE OF YOU HAS MADE A MISTAKE.

She looked up at Borden. Thought about the night, about the fury and perfection of it.

Thought about Ben McCarthy, walking free from murders he didn’t commit.

About the look in Lucia’s eyes at the prison.

Everything you do matters.

“Why would they send this?” she asked. “It’s nothing, right? A mind game?”

Borden shook his head and reached out to pull her head close and plant a burning kiss on her forehead.

“I don’t know,” he murmured against her hair. “I don’t know.”