"Hey, you old cockroach," he said. After a moment his eyes slid to me, my tattooed arms, and my bare midriff, then forward to the officers. "Forgot to pay your fees?" he leered.

"What the fuck?" I asked.

"Miss Frost isn't here for floor five, Jack," Rand said. "She's working with me."

"Well lucky you," the man said, slapping his shoulder. He caught my pissed-off, puzzled look and shrugged, with the conspiratorial leer suppressed but still trying to peek out. "Floor five is where you get your stripper license."

"And fuck you too," I said.

"We don't license for that," Rand said, deadpan.

"I'm just saying, girl, you could do the job if you wanted."

"Which one?" one of the officers said, and the other one chuckled.

"Floor five is also where you get your license to do magical tattoos," I snapped, "which always sounds funny until you wake up with a working asshole tattooed on your forehead."

Suddenly the cab got quiet. The two officers stiffened up, and Rand jammed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the back wall of the cab. He was trying to look pissed, but he looked so hot he came off more as a brooding GQ model.

But the sandy-haired Jack was staring at the officers, suddenly serious. "Cut the boys a little slack," he warned me. "Things are crazy. You don't want to go to jail tonight, do you?"

"Kind of feels like it," I said.

"Nobody's going to jail tonight, unless it's you, Jack," Rand said.

"Already been," Jack replied, not the least bit perturbed. "Second time this week-"

"Oh, no," Rand said. "Don't tell me your boys messed up bookings-"

"Nope," Jack said, grinning, "one of your boys tripped a power cord. Again."

"Jeezus," I said, abruptly hot under the collar. One of the only college jobs I'd enjoyed had been lab tech, and I couldn't stand people who fucked up my computers. "You should set up a webcam to find out who's doing it."