Devil's Due by Rachel Caine

nudged the next, smaller stack. “These are ongoing investigations. Mostly corporate, of course, because that seems to be what we gravitate toward.”
    “And you don’t end up freezing your ass off in a parking lot at 2:00 a.m., videotaping a cheating husband with a hooker,” Jazz added, then considered what she’d said. “Not that it can’t be fun.”
    Lucia rolled her eyes. “Jazz is currently restricted from anything that involves undercover or stakeout work—”
    “Because of the death threats,” McCarthy said.
    Jazz snorted. “And I keep telling you, that’s over. There hasn’t been a peep out of them since—”
    “Since they tried to shoot you through your office window?” Lucia said dryly. “Yes, well. Forgive me for wanting to come down on the side of caution. Give it another month, and then we’ll see about stepping down protection.”
    Except for an expressive roll of her eyes, Jazz remained businesslike. “Yeah. So, you see the problem—my investigations mostly consist of talking on the phone. So I could use your assistance on some of these when there’s legwork to be done.”
    He nodded again. “I’ll read the files. What’s the third stack?”
    The shortest of all, in red folders. She glanced at Jazz, who looked back. “Cross Society,” she said. “You’ll have nothing to do with those.”
    He didn’t like that, she saw, but he wasn’t going to come out with it, not in his first few hours of gainful employment.
    “Now, to details,” she said. “We need to get you a carry permit, which shouldn’t present a difficulty, as your conviction has been vacated. But the sheriff’s department may decide to drag their feet. By law, they have to make a decision within forty-five days of application, and issue within three days of approval, so we’ll hold them to it. Here’s the application.” She pulled one from a folder and slid it across the table to him. “You know how it works. I’ll give you cash, and you can drop it off yourself at the sheriff’s office. Until we go through the process, you won’t be able to legally carry a weapon in Missouri.”
    “The key word,” Jazz said, “being legally .” She reached into a case she’d set by her chair, clicked it open and pulled out a weapon. She cleared and checked it with professional ease, then handed the gun to McCarthy. “Manny says hello, by the way.”
    “For as long as you are illegally carrying, should you choose to do so, you won’t officially have any connection to this firm,” Lucia continued. “No employment paperwork to tie you back here. No paychecks. You’ll be paid in cash, from my own pocket. Got it? As far as the state of Missouri knows, you’re pending employment based on approval of your carry permit.”
    McCarthy examined the gun, even though Jazz had already done so; he removed the clip, checked the chamber, then snapped it all back together. Smooth, artistic motions. “I understand,” he said. “Good plan. How is Manny?”
    “Better,” Jazz said. “He’s working with us now.”
    “What, in the office? ”
    “No, he’s got his own lab. You know how he is. He doesn’t get out that much, but he does get out.” Jazz grinned. “He’s dating Pansy. Our assistant.”
    “You’re kidding me. Manny dates?” McCarthy took theholster that Jazz handed over, slid the gun inside and removed his jacket to don the harness. He took his time adjusting it, making sure it was comfortable. When he put the jacket on again, he left it open.
    “I didn’t know the guy ever had a girl in his life,” Ben added. “What do they do? Compare forensic swabs?”
    Lucia couldn’t resist a smile; Jazz outright laughed. “I try not to think about it,” Lucia said. “So look those folders over. Let me know what you want to tackle first and we’ll figure out the next step.”
    McCarthy looked from one of them to the other. “And you two? What are you doing?”
    Lucia silently picked up the top red folder. Jazz