"No symptoms at all?"
"Nothing. I'm watching over her," he said, and went quiet again for a few seconds. "I want to talk to you about Ben McCarthy."
Of course. Manny knew Ben; in fact, he had more loyalty to Ben than anyone except Jazz. "Go ahead."
"You can't trust him."
She sat back, surprised. It clearly cost him to say that; his expression was deeply unhappy.
"Don't get me wrong," he added quickly. "Ben…Ben means a lot to me. I mean, he's— I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Ben. I wouldn't be anywhere. But—" She watched him struggle for words, with no impulse to help him along. "He manipulates people. Women."
She smiled slowly. "Manny, you've just described ninety-five percent of the men I've ever met, if you insert the words tries to.”
"No, I mean…" He ran his hand through his curling dark hair and left it looking just a bit mad-scientist. "I don't think he's telling us everything. There's something wrong here, Lucia. Jazz doesn't think so, but I do. You should watch out."
"It's all right if you just don't like him," Lucia said. "You don't have to, you know. You can owe him your life and still not like him."
Something flickered over Manny's face.
"I died," he said quietly, and curled his hands into loose fists on the wooden top of his desk, as if he wanted to keep them from doing anything foolish. "Seemed like I died, anyway. I was down there in the dark, all that dirt on top of me, running out of air. Screaming until I couldn't scream anymore, with that tape running, the one of his last victim. He tied me up so I couldn't breathe much. So that every move I made pulled the rope tighter around my neck. I had a choice—I could lie there quietly and suffocate, or I could try to get loose and strangle."
"Oh, no, Manny," she whispered. She hadn't known.
"Over forty hours. You know what it's like to run out of air? You get a headache. It just gets worse until it kills you, until you can't breathe, until you're nothing but a gagging animal. And when I tried to struggle, the rope was like his hands, like his hands around my throat." He swallowed hard and wiped his forehead. "All my life I thought I was smart, but he showed me that when you're down in that hole, smart doesn't mean shit. You need someone else. Someone else. Anyone else."
"Manny—"
"Ben dug with his bare hands, you know. With his bare hands, while the other cop went to get shovels. I was dead. He gave me mouth-to-mouth to bring me back. I'm alive because he dug me up and made me live." Manny raised his eyes and fixed them on hers, fierce and angry. "Ben's the hand of God to me. You know how much it costs me to tell you not to trust him? You think I don't like him? How do you not like someone after that? I love him, and screw your smug attitude!"
He was angry. She'd never really seen him angry before—scared, sure, but this was different. He stood up, and she did, too, feeling a little worried. But he stalked over to the door and jerked it open. Made a jerky after-you gesture, head bent. She went to the stairs and walked down them, aware of his bulk behind her. There were no code panels on this side of the barriers. Manny could always get out.
She opened the last door and stepped into the cool dimness of the parking garage, then turned around. Manny stood right behind her, one hand on the knob, watching her.
"I didn't mean to discount what he did for you," she said. "And if you think I should be careful, then I'll be careful. Thank you."
He nodded once and slammed the door. The code panel's red lights lit up.
No getting back inside.
She went to the SUV, where Omar lounged against the side, smoking, and Susannah waited in the passenger seat.
"Is he going to help?" Susannah asked anxiously.
Lucia climbed in the back when Omar opened the door for her. "No," she said.
Omar flicked a look at her as he started up the truck. She shook her head. She didn't know how to begin to tell him what had just happened, and she wasn't sure she should.
As the big steel door cranked up to let them exit to the street, another car pulled in to block the way from outside.
James Borden got out of the sedan.
He evidently realized it was too late to wave at Manny for admittance, and he sure as hell must have thought it was important, because instead of stopping like any sane person as that massive door rattled down, he dashed forward.
Three feet left. Two and a half…
Borden dived through the gap, elbow banging on the steel door, and came to his feet in a not-quite-clumsy roll. He didn't have the animal grace of, say, Jazz, but then again, he had a lot of arms and legs to work with.
"Manny!" he yelled. "You asshole!"
An intercom came on. "Next time call first." That seemed to be that, so far as Manny was concerned. He really wasn't feeling hospitable.
Borden brushed imaginary dust from his suit—he was nicely done up today; hopelessly off-the-rack, but he cleaned up well, considering. His hair had the unyielding, gravity-defying gel look that Jazz found so funny.
Lucia got out and walked toward him. "Looking for Jazz?" she asked. It was pretty much a given.
"No," he said. "I was looking for you."
And it hardly came as a surprise when he pulled a red envelope from inside his jacket. It was a little creased from his acrobatics.
"Let me guess," she said, and didn't move to take it. "You were told where I'd be."
The tips of his ears turned red. "Don't make this hard. I'm just a messenger."
"Just following orders?"
"Don't—hey, who's she?" Borden's eyes suddenly shifted to look over Lucia's shoulder. He was staring at the bruised and abused faced of Susannah, visible through the van's front window.
"Nobody you need to know, unless you're taking on pro bono criminal cases," she said. "Forgive me for being a little cautious, but the last one of those I got came with a toy prize."
"I talked to Laskins," Borden said, and came a step closer. Just a step, because Omar was watching him with that closed expression that meant trouble. "This one comes directly from the Society. Nobody's touched it but me and him. Do you want me to open it?"
She'd feel like an idiot. And a coward. She took the envelope, ripped it open and drew out the single sheet of paper inside.
It said, GET MS. CALLENDER. GO WITH MR. BORDEN. PARK IN THE LOT ON THE SOUTHWEST CORNER OF PARALLEL PARKWAY AND 10TH AT 5:16 P.M. TODAY. LOOK FOR A MAROON CHEVY VAN. WE TRUST YOU WILL KNOW WHAT TO DO.
"Hang on," Borden said, and handed her something else. It was a tiny flashlight, and when she tried it, the light emerged a cool, faint blue. "UV," he said. "Shine it on the paper."
When she did, a sprawling signature appeared. Milo Laskins.
"From now on," Borden stated, "everything we send you comes marked both on the envelope and on the paper inside. Deal?"
"Deal." She stowed the flashlight in the zip case in her purse, which included keys to her house and car, secondary ID and a thousand dollars in cash. The bare necessities of a life that might require running at a moment's notice. "Do you know what it says?"
"No."
She handed it over. Borden read it, rubbed his forehead as if he wanted to scrub his frontal lobe, and handed it back. "Fine," he said. "Why me?"
"I think only your boss can answer that one." She turned away from him, toward a corner where she knew a camera was watching, and raised her voice. "Manny! I need to talk to Jazz!" She held up the paper.
After ten seconds of silence, the steel door in the shadows clicked and sighed open.
"Just you." Manny's voice rang over the concrete. Then, after a delay: "And, uh, Borden."
Borden grinned. "Hey, Jazz."
Jazz's magnified voice said, "Hey, Counselor. Get your fine ass up here."