“It’s a sham, isn’t it?” I said, walking to the window and looking out. “The job, I mean. Yes, there is grumbling in the gang, but that was only an excuse to call me in. To put me through my paces, see what I can do.”

“And give you a taste for what you could be doing.”

I balled up my hands, fighting to keep from raising them to my mouth. Chewed nails wouldn’t become Faith Edmonds. It was a habit I’d finally broken six months ago, but had never been so tempted to restart as I’d been in this past month.

Tricked by the Cortez Cabal again. This wasn’t just about testing me; it was about tempting me.

I wanted to say, “Maybe that’s his plan, but he’s not succeeding.” A lie. Karl had seen it in my face last night. Drunk on chaos, chugging it back and paying for it in the morning. As with booze, though, if I kept at it, my tolerance level would rise and the guilt hangovers would disappear. I’d end up in the place I fought so hard to stay out of.

“So your advice?” I asked carefully.

“Don’t call. If he complains later, it was my decision. You won’t like suggesting I have the final say, but as progressive as Benicio is, he’s old enough that he won’t bat an eye at the implication that you’d defer to someone older and, yes, male.”

I managed a snort. A smile touched Karl’s eyes, though it didn’t reach his mouth.

He continued. “Proceed with the break-in as planned. Later, we’ll inform Benicio of the findings. If, however, you discover nothing, and they plan to interrogate this employee, notify me, discreetly, and I’ll call Benicio.”

“I can text you with the name and address.”

He paused.

“Text messaging,” I said. “On your cell phone.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.”

I tried not to smile. As technologically savvy as Karl was, I’d bet he’d never once used the text message option. For him, the phone was a one-way tool, to make hotel reservations or call a source. And his number always appeared as blocked.

I continued. “If you do contact Benicio, you should ring Lucas too, as a heads-up. He asked to be kept in the loop in case anything turns ugly.”

“Agreed. So—”

My gang-supplied cell phone rang.

“Sorry,” I said as I retrieved it from the kitchen. “It’s probably Jaz.”

“Jaz?” He said it as if it was a foreign word.

“Jasper. The—”

“Boy.”

“He wanted to hook up—”

“I’m sure he did.”

I gave him a look. “I don’t mean—” Well, actually, that was why Jaz wanted to get together. I answered the phone.

“Hey.”

“Faith?” It was Guy. “Is Jaz there?”