Devil s Bargin Page 0,77

strangle him with it? Granted, the second part of that wasn't out of the question....

The deputy gestured widely toward the cubicles. There were six of them, all doors gaping open. All empty. "Whichever," he said. "Go on in. Press the button when you want out."

Meaning that once they were inside, the door locked behind them. Jazz forced a smile and headed for cubicle number one. It didn't feel too bad until Borden crowded in with her, and then it was instantly too small, his heat too vivid against her skin. Their knees bumped as they tried to jostle their cheap plastic chairs for position. He muttered an apology as he elbowed her. She glared back.

They both froze for a second as the lock snapped shut behind them, and their eyes darted into a shared gaze. In his, Jazz read the same undertone of panic and frustration she felt. She deliberately forced herself to relax, nodded at him and folded her hands in her lap.

They sat in silence, waiting. The Plexiglas was scratched and warped, muddy with fingerprints. Some woman had kissed it at some point and left a smudged hooker-red imprint; Jazz itched to clean it. And if I want to clean it, she thought, this place really must be filthy.

"Jazz," Borden said.

"What?"

He was looking down at his right hand, which was curled into a loose fist on his knee. The top two buttons of his shirt were open, cotton hanging loose and limp around his long throat, and the skin there looked exposed and sleek and vulnerable. "I got angry with you, before. I'm sorry."

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She just stared at him.

"You need to quit doing this to yourself," he said. There was a strange tension in his voice. "Hurting yourself. Jazz, you keep putting yourself in danger, and there's no reason for it. You throw yourself in the way of every speeding truck hoping to get run over, and sooner or later, you're going to - "

"You think I'm suicidal?" she asked, astonished. His loose fist tightened.

"I think you blame yourself," he replied. "For McCarthy either being innocent in prison, or being guilty in prison, and that's a no-win scenario. I think you don't see a way it isn't your fault, and that's bullshit. You need to quit assigning yourself the blame."

She felt anger fill her up like boiling water. "Look, Counselor, you don't know me, and I don't need your Psych One-oh-one crap about what I do or don't feel. You don't know Ben McCarthy, you don't know anything about - "

"What makes you think I don't know Ben McCarthy?" he interrupted, and met her eyes. Held them. "What makes you think I don't know you?"

She had no defense for that. She resorted to pure fury, to reaching out and grabbing a handful of his jacket lapel and pulling him closer, but then the heat from his body washed over her and the smell of that warm, edible cologne, and the gentleness in his eyes...

"Jazz," he said, and she'd never heard anyone say her name like that, with such infinite tenderness. "If you hurt me again I'm going to have to hurt you back. So please. Don't punch me, okay?"

She felt herself flush. "I'm not - I wasn't going to - " She let go of his jacket, but they were still too close together, alarmingly close, and her heart was racing so fast she could barely feel individual beats. "Back off, Counselor."

"You use that like a shield," he said. Still low and calm. "My title. You can use my name, you know."

"Borden - "

"I've got another one."

"Fine, James. Back the hell off." But it didn't sound right, even to her ears. It sounded weak and fragile and oddly uncertain. "Don't do this to me. Not now."

He was so close his breath was stirring the hair around her face. His eyes were tired and bloodshot, his freshly shaved face pale with exhaustion.

His smile, when it came, looked wounded. "Do what? Worry about you? Care what happens to you?"

"James - " It slipped out before she could stop herself. Counselor and Borden, those were things she flung at him to keep him at bay. James was a name that felt intimate on her lips, and from the sudden flash in his eyes, he knew it. "I don't need your help."

"I know," he said, and it was almost a whisper this time. "You never need anybody's help."

It was utterly insane, but she couldn't stop herself.