trying to get her to react, and boy, she wanted to. She wanted to slam her fist into his face, but she knew better, knew he was waiting for it and besides, she'd promised the doctor she'd be good.
"The pictures are fakes," he said softly. "I'm going to prove it. McCarthy's not getting off on this one. Not ever."
She gave him a slow, liquid smile. "Evidence is going before the court next Tuesday," she said. "It's exculpatory. The conviction's going to be vacated."
Stewart's eyes flared heat, then narrowed. "Maybe he doesn't make it to Tuesday."
She almost hit him. Almost reached for his throat.
She said nothing.
Behind him, the door opened, and Jazz looked over his shoulder to see Lucia standing there, tense and ready. "Jazz?" she asked.
"I'm fine," she said. "Detective Stewart was just dropping off - what was it you were dropping off?"
"Congratulations," he snapped, and turned and walked away, brushing past Lucia as if she wasn't even there.
Jazz let out a slow breath, tilted her head and got a similar wide-eyed look from her partner.
"Well?" Lucia asked.
"I think we'd better go warn Ben," Jazz said. "Just in case."
Jazz hadn't given it much thought, really, about how much time Lucia had spent in and around Ellsworth during the investigation. How many times she must have dropped in to talk to McCarthy.
But when they sat down at the table in the visitor's area - no claustrophobic booths here, it was just open plain tables with preformed benches, much more accessible - and McCarthy walked in from the prisoner's door, the first one of them he smiled at was Lucia, and that look...
That was a look Jazz had never seen in his eyes before.
She glanced sideways at Lucia, who was staring back, and caught the same glint.
Well, she thought blankly. Huh. That's...interesting. She couldn't decide if it was interesting-bad or interesting-good. McCarthy had always been her territory, more or less...not in a romantic sort of way, but in a proprietary sense, anyway. He'd been her partner. Her friend.
She cut her eyes toward Lucia again as McCarthy walked over and slid onto the bench across from them. Yes, that was the look. A hungry look. Something open and - odd, for Lucia - vulnerable.
"Hey." McCarthy nodded at Lucia, and then - with reluctance, it seemed to Jazz - transferred his smile to her. "Jazz. You look good. How you healing up?"
"Not so bad," she said. "I guess there can't be too many people who've taken it like that and lived to tell about it. Even with a vest."
"Not too many," he agreed. His hair had grown out more, and was curling on the ends. Silver threads gleaming all through it like hidden treasure. His eyes flicked over to Lucia again, as if he couldn't keep them away for long. "But you're taking it easy, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, everybody interrogates me about that. I'm fine, okay? How about you? How's the arm?"
He extended and flexed it. "Healed," he said. "Ribs, too. Collarbone's still a little tricky, but it'll do."
"We want to make sure you keep them that way," Jazz said. "Stewart came to see me this morning."
McCarthy went still, arm still flexed, fist clenched. She heard tendons crack, but his face had gone expressionless, his eyes hidden and dark. "Yeah?" he asked neutrally. "Dropped off hearts and flowers?"
"Not exactly. He said you might not make it to the hearing on Tuesday," she replied. "You're going to watch your back, right? Night and day?"
"Jazz, no way I'm letting them get to me now. Too much to hope for." He looked at Lucia again, a little longer this time. "What about the pictures? Any leads on who sent them to Manny?"
"No, but we authenticated them," Lucia said. "The photographer's name is Harrison Rohrman, he's a private investigator out of Michigan. He got the pictures by accident, actually. He was photographing everybody who came out the back door because he was waiting for a husband to duck out with one of the strippers. Divorce case. He had no idea the pictures were important."
"But somebody knew," Jazz said. "Somebody who recognized you in them and dropped them to Manny, knowing he'd be able to do something with them."
"Meaning?" McCarthy's hands stretched out flat on the table. Jazz thought about reaching for them, but before she could, Lucia's hand moved and stroked lightly over his knuckles, then retreated.
As if she couldn't help herself.
McCarthy's hands moved after hers, then stopped.
Neither of them willing to commit, not in front of Jazz. She