would serve the two of them well to be mismatched.
Maybe.
But she had a sudden impulse to clean herself up a little, for Lawyer Borden. Stupid. He's not a date, he's a...a what? A witness? A suspect? Suspected of what, exactly?
It was too complicated and cloudy to work through. She shoved essentials into a ditty bag, hesitated, and fumbled in the surplus-stuff drawer for perfume. People were always giving her perfume, most of it sickly sweet and horrible, and she'd always made a point of keeping herself fragrance-free on assignments. Bad guys had noses, too. You couldn't exactly get away with playing a homeless woman if you reeked of Obsession.
She compromised with two tiny dabs of some red variant of Poison given to her two Christmases ago by Ben...it had a warm feeling to it. Made her feel, well, feminine. She tossed the bottle into the ditty bag and zipped it closed, then added that to the small carry-on bag that held exactly two changes of clothes, both casual. One more than she'd need, but she liked being prepared.
Lucia was examining her CD collection when she came back, ready to depart. She held up one for inspection and said, "I never would have thought you liked Beethoven."
"Hey, I'm down with Metallica, too," Jazz said. "I've got layers. Let's move. We've got two hours before the flight."
Nobody followed them. Nobody Jazz could spot, anyway. Without discussion, Lucia kept scanning crowds once they'd reached the airport, even while giving rote answers to the security questions and submitting to a wand scan and bag search. Jazz was passed through without a second glance. She waited, checking her watch, as Lucia patiently underwent the security process and finally ducked through the crowd to join her. They took off at a jog for the far end of the terminal.
"What was that about?" Jazz asked. Lucia looked at her, unsmiling. There was a glitter in her dark eyes.
"Think about it," she said. "You're blond and pink. I'm not."
"Racial profiling's - "
"Illegal, yes, but you'd be amazed how many random searches I turn up on," Lucia replied. Her voice sounded tight. "I'm lucky I've got federal credentials. As much as I travel, this could get to be a real problem."
The flight was full. The vast majority of travelers were sour-faced businesspeople with more bags under their eyes than in the overhead compartments. She and Lucia had wing seats, midcabin, next to an emergency exit. Jazz didn't think it was luck. Lucia seemed to think about these kinds of things.
They chatted about light stuff during the inevitable delay and the bumpy takeoff...family, to start. Lucia had none to speak of beyond an aunt in Spain who didn't approve of her. They moved on to favorite movies and bad dates. Jazz didn't have a lot to offer on the dating story front, although she was hell on wheels with the movies. She was content to listen to Lucia spinning stories, after a while.
"Chefs are the worst," Lucia was saying, as the plane leveled out its climb for the relatively short arc to New York City. "Never marry a chef."
This was a novel sort of idea. "You're kidding, right? Don't marry a guy who can actually cook?"
"That's their day job. Sure, they can cook. And while they're trying to impress you and charm you into bed, it's crème anglaise and shrimp souffle, but after that, it's all too much work for them. You'll never get anything right, and you can't go out to dinner with them, either. Everything's a review. The soup's too thin, the meat's too tough, the dessert's not served hot enough." She shook her head and flipped pages in the Cosmo she'd retrieved from the magazine rack. "And God forbid you shouldn't ever care for something they create. There's less drama on HBO."
"Did you marry him?" Jazz asked.
"Hmm?" Lucia lifted her eyes from contemplation of the Fall Fashion Lineup. "Michel? Oh, no. He would have been a disaster as a husband. He never met a hostess he didn't greet, if you know what I mean." Those dark eyes appraised her for a cop's hard second. "How about you?"
"Hey, I can promise you I never greeted Michel. Hell, I don't even know any man French enough to be named Michel."
"I mean - "
"I'm clear on your meaning," Jazz said. "You're trying to find out if I'm gay."
Lucia blinked. "No...I was actually wondering if you and Ben McCarthy...?"
Sore subject. Jazz swallowed and fixed her gaze on the beverage cart slowly