She hung up and dropped the phone back in her coat pocket. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Borden was leaning back in his chair, motioning for the waitress.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Getting the check,” he said. “Doesn’t look like you’re in the mood for this right now.”
She felt a hot, hard surge of gratitude that made her eyes sting with tears. He was careful not to look at her, and she was grateful for that, too.
“Your partner? McCarthy?” he asked. She nodded. “He okay?”
“No.” She pulled in a damp, shaking breath. “It was just a matter of time. Could have been worse, I guess. They’ll let me see him tomorrow.”
Borden finally focused on her face, then turned to smile at the waitress and do the mechanical duty of paying the check and boxing up the rest of the food to go. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any of this on the table,” he said. “Besides, I’ll need something for breakfast in the morning.”
“Breakfast?” she blinked.
“I’m interested,” Borden said. “I’d like to meet the guy you’re so sure is innocent. If you don’t mind having a lawyer escort you to the prison.”
Her throat closed up. She wasn’t sure what it was she was feeling—a dizzying, hot, disorienting mix of fear, anger, pain, guilt, relief…just that it nearly undid her.
Borden reached over and took her hand. Sticky fingers. She gripped them with desperate intensity.
“Thanks,” she whispered. “But I thought you had to fly back.”
“Vacation day,” he said.
She offered her couch for the night, but Borden, with impeccable instincts, took a cab to a four-star hotel instead. No kiss, nothing like a romantic goodbye unless you counted a skimming touch of his fresh-washed fingers over the back of her neck and a reminder to be careful.
She put her hands in her pockets, watching the cab pull away, and felt the crackle of paper. She checked her watch and found she still had an hour to get to the address on the envelope.
She’d never wanted to do anything less in her life, but driving to Ellsworth right now wouldn’t do her any good. They wouldn’t let her see him, and Ben wouldn’t thank her for any female hysteria anyway. No, she needed to focus on something else. Get calm. Get cold.
She went to work.
Legacy Drive was near a lot of clubs, and the late hour made parking tough. She circled the block for several minutes before she caught a break with a Cadillac pulling away from the curb on the left-hand side of the street of the correct block. Quickly she parallel parked between an SUV and a dusty pickup. A muffled rhythmic bass thump from the country bar down the block shivered through metal and skin as she killed the engine, slightly out of tempo with the headache throbbing in her temples. Focus. She checked the car’s clock and found that she had fifteen minutes to spare before eleven. She turned off the dome light and made sure everything she needed was ready, including the digital camera, though Borden had told her she wouldn’t need it.
Then, because she had nothing else to occupy her head, she thought about what might have happened to land Ben McCarthy in the prison hospital, and what that significant pause on the other end of the phone had meant when she’d asked about any other injuries.
This was her fault. Her fault for letting him down, for not pushing his case to the top of the list. For not turning down these crazy assignments. Watch a woman park and walk to her building? What the hell was that about? They could’ve gotten anyone for that. They didn’t need her. And she’d let other things get in the way, too. What right did she have to be out talking and laughing and eating Arthur Bryant’s barbecue when her best friend, her partner, was getting the hell beat out of him and…
She shut her eyes, sucked in a hard, hurting breath, and deliberately let it go.
At just before eleven—minutes before—she saw a couple walk out of the cowboy bar down the block and stagger to a truck parked across from her on the right side of the street. They managed to get doors unlocked with a minimum of giggling and groping, and wove off down the road, hopefully to a destiny that involved flashing lights and DUI citations. She was considering phoning in a tip when headlights turned the corner behind her, and she saw a car coming, moving slowly.
It slowed even further as the driver spotted the empty space and executed a smooth parallel-parking maneuver.
Black Toyota Celica, furred with a light coating of road dust. As Jazz watched, the driver opened up a vanity mirror, and as the light bathed her face, Jazz saw an attractive middle-aged woman with dark, shoulder-length hair checking her lipstick. That didn’t take long. The driver opened her door and stepped out of the car.
Jazz let her get a few steps away before noiselessly opening her own car door and crossing the street, keeping out of the harsh pools of light near the corner. The woman was wearing a dress, and her high heels tapped concrete as she walked up the street. She had a notebook in her hand, and a penlight, evidently consulting an address. As Jazz hung back in the shadow of a large truck, the woman scanned building numbers, spotted the one she was looking for, and headed decisively in that direction.
Jazz checked for anyone watching or following, but the night was quiet and the street was clear. She was the only tail in sight.
She moved carefully as the woman jogged up the steps to 1428 Legacy Drive and pressed buttons. Jazz got close enough to see which one was pressed—bottom left.
The access gate buzzed. The woman entered.
Well, that’s it, Jazz thought, and watched the door snap shut again behind her. Whatever they thought would happen, didn’t. Obviously.
She watched for a while longer, waiting to see if anything interesting would come along, but apart from a few more amorous couples exiting the dance club, nothing popped.
She went back to her car and checked the time.
Eleven-fifteen.
“Five thousand dollars,” she said aloud as she backed out of the parking space and headed home. “You people are totally insane.”
She stopped off at a bar on the way back, and after a few shots, she no longer felt the raw ripping edges of fear over what she was going to see at Ellsworth in the morning.
It was worse than she’d thought, and better than she’d hoped. Ben looked different, lying in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms and splints and bandages all over him, but not that much different. His smile was the same, even through puffy, bruised lips. Cool blue eyes, brush-cut medium-brown hair that looked longer than she remembered. Some gray in it, maybe a bit more than the last time she’d been by.
“Jazz,” he said. His voice sounded muffled and indistinct. She could hear him breathing. “Sorry about the mess. Slipped in the shower.”
She sat down in the chair next to his bed, suddenly unable to find anything to say. McCarthy didn’t give her much of a chance. He skipped his attention away from her to lock on to Borden, who was standing behind her.
“You’re new,” he said. “Let me guess. Lawyer?”
She looked back at him. Borden’s smile remained cool and tightly controlled. “I’m a friend,” he said. “Why? Do you need a lawyer?”
“Lawyers got me where I am today,” McCarthy said. “Pull up a chair. I hate people looking down at me. Then again, you’re so tall you’ll probably look down on me anyway…so. Jazz. What’s up?”
She was speechless, again. He looked at her, clearly waiting, and she felt an insane urge to laugh. This was pure McCarthy. Lying here hooked up to tubes, bubbling blood in a punctured lung, with broken bones and a morphine drip, demanding to know how her life was going.
“Who was it?” she heard herself ask him. McCarthy’s blue eyes suddenly went shadowed, twilight cold, half-hidden by lowered lids.
“Not your problem,” he said. “It’s like Vegas inside Ellsworth, sweetheart. What happens here stays here.”