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By Rachel Caine

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Careful," Ben murmured, and drank the last of his as well. " He leaned forward and put the glass on the side table, nest to the bottle of whiskey. " he asked. " "Can't have that," she agreed. " Lucia had a sudden, vivid image. No, not an image, really—a full sensory mirage. McCarthy moving her back to her desk, sweeping the top of it clean. Her legs wrapping around him, their lips meeting and devouring. His hands… She cleared her throat and stood up, aware that she was flushed, and not sure whether it was a product of the whiskey or her imagination.

Yeah, you'd never do that yourself—take anything personally," he said. " "It's important work, guarding cars," she said. " He kissed his fingers at her and left. She shook her head, smiling. Omar was a good friend, and he'd once been a good lover, but that was long past. It wouldn't happen again. She'd seen him at his very lowest point, and a man like Omar didn't forget. Better to keep it light and loose, these days. She picked up the phone and began the first of the day's phone calls. By the time she was done with the second conference call, Omar was back at her office door, holding out a series of small key folders marked with the stamp of four popular, ubiquitous, utterly anonymous motel chains.

Good morning," she said. " "Unbelievable. Your friends are here. I'm sending them up. " "Thanks. " Not that she needed to remind him. Omar, for all of his built-in serenity, was rarely caught off guard. As she hung up, she focused on McCarthy, who was sitting on the sofa at the far end of the room, looking out the tinted windows. The view warped a little; the glass was bullet-resistant, replaced after Jazz's office had been targeted by a sniper. All of their security procedures were considerably upgraded these days.

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