“Look, I’m not blowing out of Caldwell until I’m good and frickin’ ready. So send whatever you like, but if you think you’re shipping me overseas the day after tomorrow to off someone, you’ve got your head up your ass.”

“How do you know what I’m going to ask you to do?”

“Because you and all my bosses before you have wanted only one thing from me,” Jim said hoarsely.

“Well, maybe we’d mix it up a little if you weren’t so fucking brilliant at what you do.”

Jim cranked his hold down on the cell phone, and decided that if there was any more of this bullshit banter, he was going to take up Vin’s method of terminating connections.

He cleared his throat. “E-mail won’t work. I don’t have an account anymore.”

“I was going to send you a package anyway. You don’t honestly think I trust Hotmail or Yahoo!, do you?”

“Fine. My address is—”

“As if I don’t already know.” More of that laugh. “So I’m guessing you want Marie-Terese Boudreau’s rundown?”

“Yes, and—”

“Vincent diPietro?”

So not a surprise. “Nope. Devina Avale.”

“Interesting. She wouldn’t happen to be the woman who said good ol’ Vincent put her in the hospital last night, would she? Why…yes, she is. It’s right here on my computer screen. Terrible set of people you’re hanging around with. So violent.”

“And to think it’s a step up from the likes of you.”

Now there was a little less of that amusement: “How does that saying go? It’s not wise to bite the hand that feeds you…. Yup, I think that’s right.”

“I’m more likely to shoot than use my teeth. FYI.”