Devil s Bargin Page 0,73

was in a towering bad mood, which was weird, because after all, she'd saved his friend. Weird, starting on annoying.

"Is that legal advice?"

He firmly directed her into the car - backseat - and walked around to climb in the other side. He'd gotten another limo for a reason, she saw - better leg room. Not so critical for her, but his knees were an absurdly long distance from his hips.

He flicked the locks, engaged the privacy screen between them and the driver - evidently not a Cross Society insider - and without looking at her said, "You could have called the police instead of going in."

"Oh, please, what's the nine-one-one response time in L.A. when you call and say, hey, I'm on stakeout and my subject hasn't come out of the building yet? I'm guessing it's twenty-four to forty-eight hours, if they don't laugh you off the phone."

"You could have called them when you knew something was happening."

"By that time, your friend was about ten seconds away from choking to death on a broken throat. Look, what do you think you sent me here to do? Knit doilies? Run and hide when the going gets tough?" She shrugged. "Borden, you know me better than that. If there's a fight, I'm in it. That's who I am."

"I didn't send you here to stage the first annual Stairwell Smack-down and nearly get yourself killed. Again." His voice sounded tight and grim, and as she stared at him, she saw the tension in his shoulders. In the hard line of his jaw. "You like this, don't you? The adrenaline rush. Kicking ass at every possible opportunity."

"You think I did this for fun?" she asked, and felt her hands trying to make fists.

"Tell me what was going through your head, then."

"The subject went out of the range of electronic surveillance," she said. "The subject didn't reappear on schedule. I went in to check it out, which was exactly what you knew I was going to do. And if you think maybe I should have checked on him, discovered him being choked to death and gone back to the car, well, maybe you don't know me very well."

Borden raised his head, finally, and looked straight at her. "I know you better than you think," he said. There was something odd in his eyes. "I'm not the only one. Take out the envelope."

She didn't. She looked at him, frowning, and then reached into her windbreaker and pulled it free.

"Open it," he said.

She slit it with a fingernail and pulled out the letter folded neatly inside.

"Read it."

She didn't want to, suddenly. It felt as if something was wrong, something was very wrong, indeed, and if she just slid this letter back in the envelope...put the genie back in his bottle...then maybe things would be different.

Instead, she unfolded the crisp paper, and saw the letterhead of Eidolon Corporation. It was a bold red logo, a world in an hourglass. It read in neat typewritten lines:

To Jasmine Callender,

Should you read this, you will have taken matters into your hands that would have been better left to others. We have no choice but to take steps. In acting today, you have forfeited what little protection the Cross Society could offer you. Inform them.

She read it through twice, numbly. There was no signature. She finally looked up mutely to stare at Borden.

"It says - "

"I know what it says," he interrupted her. "Laskins got a fax two hours ago and read it to me on the plane. Jazz, you were just another Actor before, but they know what you are now, and you've proved a real threat. They've moved you up to the top of their hit list. You're not safe now."

"But they addressed it directly to me," she said. The words felt strange in her mouth. "How the hell could it be to me, when I took it from the other guy? Why - ?"

"They must have known there was a chance you'd do this. I think - " He paused, licked his lips and looked very, very sick. "I think the Society knew, too. They..."

"Let me guess," she said. "You heard Santoro was on the hit list. They decided to let him get taken out for strategic reasons, and you decided to act on your own. You didn't fly out to deliver an assignment from Laskins. That's you. You decided to produce the paperwork and bring it to me in a red envelope, just like the rest of them.