Devil s Bargin Page 0,1

been any kind of invitation to talk, but the guy swiveled on his bar stool, held out a big, long-fingered hand, and said, "Hi."

She looked at the hand, which was well manicured, then glanced up into his face. His soulful brown eyes widened just a little at the direct contact. Now that he was closer, she could see that he looked tired, and older than she'd thought, probably close to her own age, with fine lived-in lines at the corners of his eyelids. He had a nice, mobile mouth that looked as if it wanted to smile and didn't actually dare to try under the force of her stare.

Normally, she might have thrown him a break. Not today. And not in that getup.

She turned back to her drink. The whiskey was setting up a nice nuclear fire in her guts; pretty soon, she'd start to feel relaxed, and after throwing a few more peat logs on, she'd start feeling positively good. That was why she was here, after all. It was a private kind of ritual. One that didn't involve making new friends.

"I'm James Borden," he said. "You're Jasmine Callender, right?"

The hand was still out, holding steady. It occurred to her a half second later that he shouldn't know her name. Especially not Jasmine. Nobody called her Jasmine. She felt tension start to form in a steel-hard cable along her back and shoulders.

"Says who?" she asked the mirror. No eye contact. He was staring at the side of her face, willing her to turn around.

For a second, she thought he was going to answer the question, and then he reverted to a lame-ass pickup line. "Can I buy you a drink?"

He shoots, he misses by a mile. "Got one." She nudged her full glass with one long, blunt-nailed finger. "Blow, James Borden."

He leaned closer, into her personal space, and she smelled that aftershave again. The urge to move into that warm, inviting scent was almost irresistible.

Almost.

"Jasmine - " he began.

She turned, stared him in the eyes, and said, "If you don't want to get blood all over that nice new outfit, you'd better back your biker-boy wannabe ass off, and don't call me Jasmine, jerk."

He leaned back, fast. His expression was one of shock for a second, then it shut down completely. His eyelids dropped to half-staff, giving him a belligerent look. Good. He matched the leathers better that way.

She held his gaze and said, "If you have to call me anything, call me Jazz."

"Jazz." He nodded. "Got it. Right. Like the - okay. I was sent to deliver something to you."

And the cable along her spine ratcheted tighter, tight enough to crack bone. God. She wasn't carrying a gun, not even a pocketknife. Even her collapsible truncheon - a girl's best friend - had been left on the hall table at home. Great. Of all the nights to tempt fate...

He must have read it in her face, because he smiled. Smiled. And the smile matched the eyes, dark and gentle and completely not right for a guy pretending to be a Hell's Angel reject.

"Don't worry, it's nothing bad," he assured her. "In fact, I think you'll find it pretty good. Not a subpoena or anything."

He started to unzip a pocket on his leather jacket. The zipper was stiff. As he tugged at it, she asked, "How'd you find me?"

He didn't look up. His head stayed down, but she saw tension accumulating in his shoulders for a change. "Sorry...?"

"How'd...you...find...me." She kept her voice cold and flat. "You follow me from home? You watching my house?"

"Nothing like that," Borden said. "I was told where to find you."

She rejected that one out of hand. "I've never been here before, asshole. How could anybody tell you to come here to find me?"

He conquered the pocket's zipper and wrestled out a red envelope. "Here," he said. "I'll wait until you read it."

"Because?" She didn't take the envelope.

"Because you're going to have questions once you do."

He gestured with the envelope again. Big, red, square, like a thousand Valentine cards she'd never gotten over the years, but it was long past Valentine's Day and she was in a far-from-romantic mood.

She let him hang there for a good thirty seconds, watching his outstretched hand slowly sag with rejection, and thought, Well, what the hell, at least I can throw it back in his face if I actually take it.

She was reaching for it when Borden lowered the envelope and sat back, staring over her shoulder.

She felt alarms