“Aren’t you going to invite me in, hot stuff?” I wiggled my shoulders at him. Jackal’s frown deepened, but he stepped aside. I leaned forward and grabbed his chin, kissing him hard.

He pushed me away first. “You taste like you’ve been licking a bathroom floor.”

I kissed him again, harder, nipping at his chin, then shucked my shoes off and headed for his kitchen. I ransacked the cupboards until I found a bottle. I held it up, eyebrows raised, a clear offer, and Jackal waved his hand, a no. And I realized what was different wasn’t me, but him. He was, of all things, sober. And had been for a few days. His eyes were clear green marbles, no clouds. How strange.

“What’s got you so goddamn chipper?” Jackal leaned a hip against the counter, his arms crossed, and watched me dunk a few fingers of warmish tequila into a glass. I looked for citrus to cut the flavor, but Jackal was fresh out of limes, so I settled on a molding orange from the fridge.

“What was the biggest score we ever made?”

Jackal thought a moment, pondering all the bribes it had been his responsibility to turn over to the Lady Upstairs, and I took a sip of my drink. A moldy orange-and-tequila cocktail: I almost gagged it back up again. That didn’t taste so great, either.

“I think Lou turned fifty grand one time. Years ago.”

Fifty grand. Carrigan could definitely get his hands on that, or more. If he was properly inspired. “And how much of that did we see?” The next sip went down only feeling like orange-tinted gasoline.

“The usual. Lou got twenty-five percent, I got another ten. Do the math.”

I drained the glass, feeling the buzz of the alcohol and Carrigan’s hands on the small of my back, my hips as he pressed me into his lips. Golden fingerprints on my waist, my hips, my ass. A modern-day Midas.

“That’s a big percentage the Lady keeps,” I said, watching those sober green eyes. Greed was the way to go with Jackal. A man who was feeding a habit by selling photographs on the side wouldn’t say no to cash. “On top of what the clients pay her.”

“I will have a drink.” Jackal reached to pour himself a thimbleful of the warm tequila. He drank it straight. “Carrigan,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

“That kind of money doesn’t take kindly to blackmail.” Jackal closed his eyes, and his nostrils flared against the tequila. “You know better than that.”

“Look at you, big man cautious,” I said. “That’s a hell of a new quality to pull on me now.”

“The police have already questioned you once about murder. Better to keep a low profile.”