Devil's Bargain by Rachel Caine

stop on one name. Gregory Valentin Ivanovich. “I know this one. Definitely not a scientist.”
    “Who is he?”
    “Spy,” she said absently. “Once upon a time. He’s in security these days. Or that’s the euphemism for it. Actually, I think he more or less works for the highest bidder…. What would you say, there must be a few thousand names listed here, right?”
    Jazz felt her eyebrows quirk again. “Seems to be a lot. This Ivanovich guy…you know him from business or pleasure?”
    “Both,” Lucia said, and ran her fingertip over the name again, as if it was a bar code she could scan. “Although you mix those together often enough you get something that doesn’t fit the definition of either. Anyway, Gregory isn’t a scientist by any stretch of the imagination.”
    “Neither are we,” Jazz pointed out, and pointed at the footnote on the page.
    Offers extended to Jasmine Evelyn Callender and Lucia Imelda Losano Garza on March 23…
    “Interesting.”
    “Yeah, no kidding. I’d call it more like shocking. Imelda? ”
    “Shut up, Evelyn. ”
    “If they’re researching egghead stuff, why do they need spies, cops and whatever the hell you are, anyway?” Jazz asked, and tapped the paper nervously.
    Lucia said, “Let’s find out,” and flipped through the files again.
    “What are you looking for?”
    “I don’t know. Anything out of the ordinary, I suppose.” She flicked the tabs, reading names. “Active cases. Mr. Borden’s a busy young man. He’s defending an insurance company against a class-action suit on denial of claims…a tobacco company…some rich billionaire with tax problems— not The Donald…”
    She paused, backed up, and eased a file out of the middle of the drawer.
    “What?” Jazz asked.
    “Eidolon Corporation.”
    “Never heard of it.”
    “I have.” Lucia kept staring at the file folder. She pulled it out and opened it on the desk, flipping pages.
    “Well?” Jazz prodded.
    “I know the name. I just can’t remember—” Lucia shook her head and looped silky dark hair behind her ear as she bent over the folder. “This is nothing. Tax accounting on assets, standard corporate stuff. But I know this name, I know I do.”
    They were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. In retrospect, Jazz supposed it would have been a good idea to keep an eye out, even though Borden had said he wouldn’t be back for thirty minutes. Rookie mistake. She controlled the impulse to sweep the folders off the desk and looked at Lucia, who was looking utterly cool and composed and not at all tempted to try to hide what she was doing.
    Must have been a spy thing.
    “Ah. Eidolon Corporation.” The voice had a hoarse edge that came from a lifetime of close acquaintance with cigarettes or, Jazz amended, maybe Havana cigars. The old man standing framed in the doorway—short, neat, white-haired, with electric blue eyes—looked as if he’d never stoop to anything so pedestrian as cigarettes. Old money. Polish and style and sophistication. His immaculate tailoring made Lucia look dowdy. “I thought you might recognize it. You have an excellent memory, Agent Garza. That’s one of the reasons you came so highly recommended to us.”
    Lucia said nothing. She met the newcomer’s stare squarely, chin firm, eyes bright. He came forward and put his hand on the back of Jazz’s chair, and turned his attention to her for a few seconds. “Miss Callender,” he said, and nodded down at her. His eyes were Paul Newman blue, and they looked as if they might require a separate power source. Maybe he recharged them at night, along with his cell phone. “My name is Milo Laskins. I am a senior partner with the firm, and Mr. Borden’s immediate superior. You may address any questions you have about the agreement to me, as Mr. Borden has been temporarily detained.” He nodded toward the file still sitting on the desk under Lucia’s hand. “Although I see your research is going quite well without