Page 70 of Devil's Due

Milo Laskins, senior partner at Gabriel, Pike & Laskins, nodded briskly to Agent Rawlins, set his briefcase down on the table and handed over a card. “I represent Ms. Garza and Ms. Callender,” he said. “Please explain to me why they’re being detained.”

“They’re not being detained. They’re—”

“—assisting you in your inquiries, to coin a British phrase?” Laskins didn’t bother to sit. He gave the impression he wouldn’t be staying long. His silver hair gleamed in the dim lighting, and so did his diamond stickpin. “Please, sir, I didn’t graduate from Harvard yesterday. You’re on a fishing expedition, trying to find something to level a charge against my client, who was, by the way, attempting to save the life of one of your own.”

“She put him there in the first place. I don’t like private investigators using my people to do their dirty work.”

Laskins’s white eyebrows rose, giving his electric-blue stare even more impact. “And if she hadn’t called you in on a potential terrorist threat, I can only imagine how much difficulty she’d be in right now. She received suspicious information, and turned it over to the FBI. She offered to assist the authorities in their investigation. In the course of the investigation, she came to the aid of a federal officer in the performance of his duties and was unfortunately forced to wound one man participating in a suspected terrorist conspiracy. Do I have the facts straight, Agent Rawlins?”

Rawlins’s ears were red again, his face masklike. “More or less.”

“You have all the information my clients possess in this matter. You have Ms. Davis, who was the source of the information in the first place. You have the location, and you have the players involved. Am I to assume that you have everything you need to conclude your investigation for the moment?”

“For the moment.”

“Then I believe I’ll escort my clients home at this time. As you know, Ms. Garza has recently been ill. Ladies…?” Laskins hadn’t even opened his briefcase. Lucia had seen dazzling lawyering before, but this had set a land speed record. She stood up, Jazz close behind her, and followed Laskins out of the interrogation room.

Rawlins didn’t say a thing. He said it very loudly.

Outside, the other FBI agents stared, but didn’t stop them. McCarthy was waiting nearby, arms folded, leaning against the wall. When he saw Lucia he slowly straightened, hands falling to his sides. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t read, except that it was strong, and it was all he could do to look casual under the pressure of it.

“All in one piece?” he asked.

“Still,” she confirmed.

Laskins’s hand closed on her upper arm in a viselike grip. “Downstairs,” he said, and all of the smooth civility had disappeared from his voice. “Move it.”

“Hey!”

He’d grabbed hold of Jazz, too. Lucia could have told him that wouldn’t go over well, but not even Jazz was willing to start a physical confrontation in front of several rapt FBI witnesses. Laskins herded them to the door, tossed his visitor’s badge on the receptionist’s desk, and then steered them out into the elevator lobby. McCarthy followed.

Jazz yanked free as soon as the office doors closed. “Boy, you’dbetternot put your hands on me again, or—”

“Or what?” Laskins snarled. He was scary, for an old man. “Shut up, the lot of you. You’re coming with me.”

Lucia felt a weary flare of anger. “Or?” she asked. “Because I’d very much like to go home now. Can’t your obligatory lecture on responsibility wait until tomorrow?”

“No,” he said, and stabbed the elevator button with a forefinger. His jaw muscles were so tense she was surprised he could force words out. “Tomorrow is too late, Ms. Garza.Todaymay very well be too late. As I said, you’re coming with me, and if you resist the order, then I have people who will enforce it.”

“People?” Jazz laughed out loud. “Damn, this I gotta see.”

The elevator doors opened, and Gregory Ivanovich gave them all a wide, lovely smile. The wolf was back in his eyes. “Do you?” he asked Jazz, and gestured politely for them all to get in the elevator. “Perhaps better if you don’t see.”

He was holding a gun. Gutsy, Lucia thought, considering that just feet away were six armed FBI agents.

He had the gun focused unwaveringly on Jazz’s head. “In the elevator, my dear,” he said—not to Jazz, to Lucia. “I would hate to have to create a mess all over the federal agents’ lobby to make my point.No!” he said sharply, without shifting his gaze, as McCarthy moved forward. Ben instantly stopped. “You know I mean it. One at a time, into the elevator. My lovely Lucia first.”

She moved in and took the opposite corner. She knew of no one with more iron concentration than Gregory; she’d seen him hold a target in the middle of a firefight, waiting for just the right second to pull the trigger. McCarthy seemed to have realized it as well; he came next, hands well away from his body. Laskins followed, standing behind Gregory.

Gregory smiled very slowly at Jazz, and made a tiny little gesture with his empty left hand.

She walked in, eyes still locked on his, full of fury and challenge. He held the stare as he released the Hold button and the doors rumbled shut.

It was a long ride down. Nobody spoke. Jazz never blinked, Neither did Gregory.

“Your name is Jazz, yes? Like the music?”

She kept on staring. He returned the gun to his shoulder holster with the fast, elegant gesture of a stage magician, about one second before the doors opened.

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