Exit Strategy

Wilkes huddled under the tarp, back against a lumber pile, gun drawn to blast the first shape that came near him. Gone to ground. Holed up like a rabbit.

God, wouldn’t Evelyn love to see him now?

No. She wouldn’t. Wouldn’t care one way or the other. She’d just sniff, as if to say “What do you expect?”

His hands trembled, but he told himself it was rage, not fear. The fury of a wounded lion cornered by a sniveling jackal. He’d set the trap at the window, assuming they’d draw the obvious conclusion and climb out. Jack would let the girl go first to help her down. Such a gentleman. Then Wilkes would have swung around the corner, opened fire and rid himself of an annoying little scavenger.

That’s all Jack was-a scavenger. A jackal. Fed scraps by Evelyn, petted and pampered until he thought he was good enough to compete with the lions. One swing of Wilkes’s paw and he could have brought Jack down twenty-five years ago. Should have.

Wilkes shifted, inhaling sharply as pain knifed through him. Two shots. How the hell had Jack managed to hit him twice? He knew the answer in a heartbeat. Because he’d screwed up.

These past two weeks he’d prided himself on the care he took, on the control he exercised. Easy enough when it was a stranger at the other end of his gun barrel. But when given the chance to take down Jack, that cold layer of detachment had evaporated, and he’d been running on hate and adrenaline. He’d moved quickly, carelessly. Unforgivable.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. At least he’d had the sense to back down after he was wounded. Neither shot was serious, and that was all that counted…even if it meant he was forced to crouch here, bleeding like a stuck pig, when he should be hunting Jack.

A fresh burst of rage, and he inhaled again, sharper, clearing his head, then peeked out. Where were they? Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe they weren’t searching for him. He must have hit Jack at least once. Must have. Maybe he was lying in a pool of blood right now, the girl bent over him, desperately trying to staunch the flow.

The thought cheered Wilkes enough to push to his feet. He staggered forward and tugged back the tarp for a better look.

“Blood here.” Jack’s distant whisper carried through the silence. “Got a trail.”

Didn’t sound like he was bleeding to death.

Wilkes clenched his jaw hard enough to feel a jolt. As he took another step, the pain from his side and shoulder flared. He gritted his teeth and pushed past it. No time for weakness. He had to get out there and-

The pain was so intense he stumbled, hands smacking the tarp as he broke his fall.

“-hear that?” the woman’s voice whispered.

Wilkes pushed up straight, both hands on his gun to steady it, waiting for one of them to appear. But all went silent, even the sound of the flapping tarps from earlier gone as the wind had died. He surveyed the construction yard. It was dotted with piles of lumber, covered drywall, bricks…a dozen places to hide.

Did he expect them to waltz over here, letting him get a clean shot? Did he really think Jack was that stupid? He wanted to. God, how he wanted to. But he knew better.

He checked his watch: 11:48. No more time to waste. As much as he’d love to stick around and see this through, he had a train to catch.

He hadn’t made it to his car. He’d got about a quarter of the way when he’d picked up the sounds of pursuit. Knowing he was in no condition to outrun them, he’d taken the first port of refuge: the security guard’s van. He’d known it was open-he’d left it that way after he’d killed the guard.

The perfect hiding place. He’d positioned the guard so, from a distance, he appeared to be dozing. Jack wouldn’t dare come close enough to see otherwise. He’d spot a sleeping guard and avoid the van, assuming his quarry would do the same. So now, hunkered down in the back, tying makeshift bandages on his wounds, Wilkes only needed to wait Jack out.

He checked his watch. Could he still make the train? He had over an hour’s drive just to reach the station. He fought the first prick of panic. He’d still have time. Jack wouldn’t search for long, not with the girl in tow.

They’d left. They’d finally left. Wilkes checked his watch for the hundredth time in the past hour, his rage so white-hot that sweat streamed down his face.

No, it wasn’t too late. He could drive to the next station. He could-

Impossible. He’d calculated it, recalculated it with every possible variable in his favor and knew he’d never make it on time.

Take another train. Kill another victim.

And, while he was at it, he’d send the Feds a congratulations card, for scaring him off his promise, making things too hot for him to pull the promised hit. That’s what they’d assume.

He’d failed.

No, not failed. Changed his plan. He was toying with them. He never even got on the train. Couldn’t have, because he’d been in Vegas, killing a security guard.

He smiled, took out his wallet and removed a dollar bill, rubbing it between his gloved fingers to make sure he only had one. Then he reached into the front seat, laid it on the guard’s lap and-

And looked down at the bloodied shirt he’d stripped off.

His gut went cold.

He fought the panic back. He’d been careful. Even the shirt was folded, unbloodied side down. But if he made this an HSK kill, the Feds would rip this van apart. A single blood drop. A single hair. Even an eyelash. They’d comb the building site, too, and he knew from Jack’s words that he’d dripped blood somewhere.

He swallowed. Fresh rage enveloped him.

In a flash, he was back in that house, in that hall, seeing Jack down the hall illuminated by the moonlight. His face hard. Emotionless and cold, as if he knew he’d make his shot. Jack hadn’t feared starting a gun battle in an empty house because he knew he’d instinctively cover all the contingencies, that even if he wasn’t hunting a mark, he’d have covered his traces.

So damned perfect. Jack wouldn’t have panicked and crawled into this van, bleeding.

Wilkes shook off the thought. He’d leave this as an unmarked killing, and he’d be safe. That meant the Helter Skelter killer couldn’t strike in or near Vegas tonight-couldn’t take the chance of the murders being linked.

It didn’t matter. He’d make up for it. Something bigger. Better. Splashier. Let the Feds think he’d been pulling their strings with the train hit, making them dance. He’d do it right next time.

Then he’d take care of Jack.

FORTY

We searched for longer than we should have. If I needed further proof that Jack was as frustrated by this “interruption” as I was, this was it. After a thorough sweep, we should have left, in case the dozing guard awoke. Even more dangerous was our pursuer himself, possibly holed up somewhere, gun poised, ready to blast if anything crept past his hiding spot. That I realized this first-when the black fury over losing our prey lifted long enough for me to take stock of my situation-proved how furious Jack was.

When I did realize it, I felt a lick of fear, worried that if I suggested we should quit, he’d turn that anger on me. Yet I didn’t get more than a whispered “Jack, I think-” out before he was nodding and nudging me to a quiet spot, where he said the very words I’d been ready to speak, as if he’d already realized we should leave and had just been holding out a few minutes longer before surrendering.

And it did feel like surrender. Jack said our target had probably left, and I agreed, but we both knew neither of us believed it. Even if we suspected it, we wanted to be sure, to cover every square inch, hunt until dawn drove us off.

It was a silent drive to the hotel.

Instead of letting me sink into my black thoughts, the quiet refocused my attention. Jack was just as angry, just as frustrated as I was, and what I felt was the overwhelming need, not to join him, but to pull him out of it. Help him as he’d helped me last night, after the opera.

Yet last night, he’d initially seemed uncertain how to help, leaving my room to buy a bottle. Only later did he hit on the perfect diversion-And so now I sat there, wishing I knew him better, knew how to help.

When we finally reached the hotel and got inside, I said the only thing I could think of.

“You got him. Shot him, I mean. For all we know, he’s holed up, dead.”

Jack shook his head, tossing his keys on the dresser, rattling as they collapsed in a heap.

“Fucked up,” he said.

“You? I never even got off a shot.”

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the chair then, with a glance my way, picked it up and laid it neatly across the back. I watched him, measuring the set of his jaw, the force of his footfalls as he crossed the room. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, vertebrae crackling. Then he kicked off his shoes, thumping one-two on the carpet.

“Fucked up,” he said again, as if he’d never paused the conversation. “Back at Little Joe’s place. That punk. Message wasn’t enough.”

“We don’t know that. This was more likely Gallagher’s man-”

“Doesn’t matter.” He lowered himself onto the bed, springs squeaking. “Ten years ago? Would a put a bullet in him. Never thought twice. Punks like that? Can’t let them think they bested you.”

Another neck rub. “But like I said tonight? Ten years ago? Don’t much like who I was then. Things I did. These days? Try to find other ways. Sometimes? Go too far.”

“Even if you had killed that guy the other day, that’s not to say the Nikolaevs wouldn’t have sent this one…if that’s who did send him.”

Jack opened his mouth, as if to argue, then said, “Gotta get some sleep.”

“Can you? I mean, I’m not sure I can so if there’s anything I can do…”

He paused and I could tell he was ready to lie and say “Nah, I’m good,” but then he glanced my way, hesitated a few more seconds and said, “Talk to me.”

I managed a wry smile. “Now that I can do, as you well know-though, after I get going, you probably wish I came with a shut-up button.”

He met my gaze. “Never.”

I felt my cheeks heat. Didn’t know why, but felt the blush anyway as I stumbled on. “If it’s war stories you’re looking for, I’m afraid I can’t match yours. Mine are all pretty much ‘find Mafia thug, kill Mafia thug.’ Good for putting you to sleep, though…”

“None of that shit. Just tell me…” He shrugged. “Talk about the lodge. Your plans. Where you want to be in five years.”

“Still open for business.”

A quarter-smile. “Yeah. I know. You will be. Must have plans, though.”

“Tons of them.”

“Tell me.”

And so I did. Babbled on about the lodge, my plans for it, and he listened, even prolonging the conversation with questions and suggestions. Absolutely meaningless drivel that we managed to invest with all the gravity and consideration we gave to our investigation plans.

After ten minutes, we were stretched atop our respective beds, heads on the pillows. Jack had his shirt off, jeans still on, half ready for bed but not prepared to make the full commitment. Another twenty, and his questions came slower, as he relaxed, lack of sleep from the night before catching up with him. Ten more and he was gone, snoring softly, as if exhausted.

I slipped from bed, tiptoeing, knowing how easily he woke. I took a blanket from the closet and laid it over him, as he’d done with his jacket the night before. Then I changed into my nightshirt, turned off the lights and crawled into bed.

“Nadia…”

Running. Lungs on fire. Heart pounding. It hurt. Hurt so bad. Pain ripping through me. Couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about me. All that mattered was Amy. Gotta get home. Gotta tell my dad…

Hands grabbed me, strong hands. I fought, kicking, biting.

“Nadia…”

Arms going around me, holding me still. Restraining me. No! Wouldn’t let him touch me again. Wouldn’t let him-

“Nadia!”

I slammed awake, head flying back, gulping air. For a moment, I seemed to hang there, between sleep and waking, not sure where I belonged. Then I felt the arms around me, bare skin hot against mine. I blinked. A face appeared, black eyes, tousled black hair, black beard shadow framing a frown…Jack.

I jumped, arms flailing, one catching him in the jaw hard enough that the smack resounded through the tiny room.

“Oh, geez,” I said, scrambling up. “I’m sor-”

“Deserved it,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Shouldn’t have startled you.”

He sat on the edge of my bed, still dressed only in his jeans.

“You were having a nightmare,” he said.

Wisps of the dream fluttered back to me. “I was. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-Did I wake you?”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about. Losing a few hours of sleep.” He met my gaze. “Seemed like a bad one. You were…screaming.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Sorry.”

“Stop that. Fuck.” He shook his head and went silent, as if considering something, then, slowly, turned to meet my gaze. “You were calling for your cousin.”

“My-?” The word jammed in my throat. “You know.”

“Yeah. Evelyn.”

Of course. I’d already suspected she’d found the case. It wasn’t difficult-almost any article on the Franco incident mentioned my past.

I rubbed my throat. His gaze went there, and stayed there. I yanked my hand away.

“That’s where you got it,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

His fingertips brushed the faint scar on my throat.

“N-no,” I said, backing up and instinctively ducking my head, covering the mark. “That’s just-Kids’ stuff. You know. Goofing around, doing what our parents always tell us not to do. I learned my lesson. Anyway, I’m sorry I woke you and-”

“Papers don’t say anything about you.”

“Papers?”

“Your cousin’s murder. The articles. Said you escaped unharmed.”

“Amy-” I swallowed. “She was prettier, more mature. So he picked her first and…”

“Left you alone?”

I met his gaze. “Yes.”

In the silence that followed, I sat there, mouth slightly open as I struggled for slow, easy breaths. He stared out across the room, and rubbed his lower lip. Twice his gaze swung my way and I froze, certain he was going to ask another question.

The third time, his gaze came to rest on my throat and I struggled to keep my chin up, letting him look.

“What’d you do?”

“Wha-?” The word came out as a squeak. I coughed. “What?”

“The scar. Looks like a knife wound.”

I managed a laugh, a little too high-pitched, but he didn’t seem to notice, his expression unchanged.

“If anyone asks, that’s exactly what it is,” I said, forcing a smile that felt like baring my teeth. “It’ll give me some street cred. Truth is, I sliced it open climbing a barbed-wire fence.”

“Huh.”

“Stupid kid tricks, huh?”

I pried my grip from the bottom sheet, twisted to sit up more and found myself caught in the covers. I looked down to see them tangled around my bare legs, my oversized T-shirt bunched up around my stomach, underwear on full display.

I yanked my shirt down. “I think I need more roommate-friendly sleepwear.”

He didn’t answer. Just sat there, studying me, then after a moment, his gaze dipped away and he shrugged, gesturing at his bare chest. “I’m not any better.”

“Well, between the two of us, we’re fully dressed.”

“Yeah.”

He stayed there, gaze fixed on something across the room. I tried not to stare…but, well, he was sitting right there, in front of me, so he was all I could see, his head tilted slightly, face in shadow, strong jaw set, dark beard stubble somehow emphasizing the planes of his face, making it rougher, sexier. Yes, sexier, as much as I hated to admit it, even to myself. He looked damned good half naked, with the muscled chest and arms of someone who stays in shape because he has to, not necessarily because he wants to. Nothing showy, just lean and hard and sexy as hell.

And here I’d been lying in bed beside him, my shirt riding up around my stomach, more than half naked, and he hadn’t so much as snuck a second look…if he’d even noticed at all. That stung.

As I pulled back and tugged the covers over my legs, he looked over sharply, as if startled.

“You tired?” he said.

“No, and it wouldn’t matter if I was. Once I start having the nightmares, they don’t end until I stop sleeping.”

He nodded. I adjusted the sheet some more, but he still didn’t get up. His hand moved to the space between us, bracing himself, and his bicep flexed. The skin there was rough, unnatural, and when I looked closer, I could make out the ghost of a surgically erased tattoo, a symbol of some kind, invisible from more than a few inches away.

My gaze slid off his arm to another patch of disfigured skin over his breast. A star-shaped pattern of quarter-inch circular burns. I’d seen marks like that before, and knew immediately what they were. Cigarette burns-the lit end held against the skin, applying enough pressure to scorch but not to put out the flame. A crude torture tactic. These marks were old, the burns faded to skin color.

Jack followed my gaze before I could look away.

“War wounds.” His mouth opened again, as if considering saying more. It shut, then reopened, but he only said, “Old.”

“So I see.”

Again, that hesitation, lips parted, debating the urge to say more. Again, he stopped himself. Again, he restarted.

“Hungry?”

“What?”

“You hungry? We could get breakfast. Catch an earlier flight.”

Figures. Here I am, waiting for a great personal revelation, and he’s just trying to figure out whether it’s too early to suggest breakfast.

“Well, I’m up,” I said. “But you’re the one whose sleep was disturbed, so if you’d rather catch another couple of hours-”

“Didn’t disturb me.”

“Okay, then. We might as well get going. As for breakfast-” I checked the bedside clock. Four-ten. “Our chances of finding a place serving food at this time are pretty slim.”

“It’s Vegas.”

“Right. Breakfast it is then.”

I shifted up in bed, but he still made no move to stand until I tapped his leg. As he turned, I saw a pair of fresh scratches clawed across his back.

I touched them with my fingertips. “Did I do that?”

“Hardly mortal.”

“Geez, I’m-”

“Don’t say it.”

We put on our disguises, but didn’t play them up to full effect. It was four-thirty in the morning, and neither of us was in the mood to take on the guise of a character who made our skin crawl.

By four-forty-five, we were seated in the corner of a diner, as far as we could get from the other patrons, most of whom were nursing coffees in silence, recovering from a long night of drink or disappointment.

As I rearranged the containers on the table, Jack thumbed through the menu. Under the harsh florescent lights, he no longer looked sexy. Just tired. Very tired, the creases over his nose turned into furrows, shadows under his eyes, skin pale against the beard shadow, the black threaded with gray.

“At least now we know who we’re looking for,” I said quietly.

A slow nod.

“But it doesn’t really help, does it?” I laid down my menu, and traced my finger over the cartoon pig on the front. “All we have is a name, and it’s not even a name; it’s an alias.”

“Evelyn knows his name.”

“His real name?”

“Yeah. Evelyn knows everyone’s name.” A pause. “Well, most everyone.”

“But not yours.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

The obvious segue here was to talk about Evelyn and her relationship with Wilkes. Back when we’d been compiling the list, Wilkes had been the first name to Jack’s lips. But Evelyn had dismissed him in a heartbeat.

His wasn’t the only name she’d dismissed, and we hadn’t discounted any of them. Given Evelyn’s reaction to Baron, her fast and strong opinions on our suspects hadn’t seemed out of character. And yet…

I thought back to when we’d gone after Little Joe’s first hitman-Bert-and how she’d tried to stop me. Had it been more than a test? Had she worried that the hitman might be someone she knew? Someone she hadn’t wanted me going after?

Could Evelyn be involved? Could that be why she’d been so adamant about joining the search, to keep an eye on our progress? I didn’t know her well enough to form an opinion. Someone at this table did, and I knew I had to ask, but wasn’t sure how I could. Whatever his quarrel with Evelyn over me, there was a deep history between them, an almost parental relationship. What if Jack couldn’t bring himself to consider the possibility-

“For two hundred million?” he said. “Or a decent cut? Yeah. She’d do it.”

I blinked. “Wha-?”

“Evelyn. The big question. Could she be part of this.”

“Was I talking out loud?”

A tiny smile and shake of his head. “We were talking about Evelyn. Her and Wilkes. You went quiet. Looked worried.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t take ESP.”

“And you think the answer is yes? That she could be involved?”

He sipped his coffee. “Gut reaction? No. But that’s not good enough. Question’s there. Needs an answer. From the head. Not the gut. Could she?” He stared out the window at the passing cars. “Not impossible.”

“You think, if someone offered her a cut of two hundred million-”

I stopped and realized what I was saying. How many people would help a killer if it meant a share of that kind of money?

I continued, “But she has to be smart enough to know the government would never pay that much-”

“She is. But is this it? The final play? Maybe there’s more. Some…way of getting it. Even a partial payment…” He paused, still watching traffic. “Bigger question? Would she work with Wilkes? Can’t see it.”

“So you think we should-?”

“Dismiss it? Can’t. Like I said. It’s a question. Needs an answer. How?” He tapped the menu. “Eat first.”

The server approached, refilled our coffees and started to leave again. We had to call her back to place an order. She seemed a bit put out, as if this shift demanded little more of her than carrying around a pot of fresh coffee and that was how she liked it.

After she left, I said, “Back to Evelyn knowing Wilkes’s real name. How much good will that do us?”

“Depends.”

“On how much he still uses it for anything.”

“Yeah.”

I sipped my coffee. “Maybe you don’t know Wilkes as well as Evelyn does, but you must have some opinion on this exit strategy of his. Was his original plan to just cover Kozlov’s death? Kill off the only witness? Maybe because Kozlov had tried to activate his blackmail retirement plan. Or is this where Wilkes was headed all along? His retirement plan. Try to earn himself a huge pension and get rid of Kozlov as a bonus?”

“Doesn’t need a pension. Put in all these years? At this level? Unless you got bad habits, you got money. I do. Evelyn does. Fucking all you have. But you have it.”

“And Wilkes didn’t have any ‘bad habits’ when you knew him? Drinking, gambling, drugs?”

“You get bad habits? You don’t last. Get desperate. Get caught. Small shit? Drink too much Friday nights? Play the ponies Saturday afternoons? Yeah, sure. Doesn’t dent his paycheck.”

“So he’s developed a jones for the killing, is that what you figure?”

Jack sipped his coffee, then nodded. “Yeah. Fits him. Fits the situation, too. Retiring, all that.”

“One last bang before you go?”

He leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping against the side of his mug. “More like figuring out you got no place to go. All this work. For what? To retire? To what? Go fly-fishing? Buy a condo in Florida? Take a cruise? Guys like Wilkes. Like me. Like Evelyn. This is it. You get this far because this is all you got. Some guys have more. Kids. Girlfriends. Wives. Bunch of wives, more like. But they’re pulling jobs for five grand. Kill-the-cheating-bitch shit. Real money comes with real risk. You don’t do that with kids, wives, whatever.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept going, leaning forward now. “That’s why I tell you, you got it right. Something else besides this. The lodge. Your life there. Ever comes a time? You have to choose?”

“I know what I’d pick, Jack. There wouldn’t be much sense in keeping this job and losing the lodge when the main reason I have this job is for the lodge.”

“Keep it that way.”

Our orders arrived. I sliced into my egg and cut a clean stroke through the solid yolk…a yolk that was supposed to be over-easy. I carved a line around the yellow and took a bite of white.

“Seems like you’ve given this some thought,” I said after a moment, my gaze still on my plate. “Retiring, I mean.”

When he didn’t answer, I glanced up, hoping the question hadn’t offended him, but he was in the midst of chewing. He finished, then said, “Did. Past tense. Couple years ago. Thought I was ready. Realized I wasn’t.”

He sliced into his ham steak. “It’s like any job. Whole time you’re looking at the exit door. When will I have enough? Money, I had. Still young enough to enjoy it.”

“That’s important.”

“Yeah. But enjoy it how? Piss off to some tropical island? Lay on the beach all day? Work on my tan?”

I grinned. “Hey, you could always pull a Brando. Retreat from the world, buy an island and set up your own little tropical kingdom. Build up a harem, laze around getting laid and getting fat.”

He gave me a look that said he’d as soon stick lit match-sticks under his fingernails.

“Seriously, though, there must have been something you wanted to do, something you always planned to do when you retired.”

“Travel.”

“Now that’d be cool.”

“You like traveling?”

“I’m really more of a homebody, but it would be nice to see the world once. Visit all the places you’ve read about.”

He laid down his fork. “Seeing Paris in the spring. Strolling the Great Wall. Standing under the pyramids in the moonlight. Sounds great. Reality? Standing by a mountain of broken rock. Shoes full of sand. Sweating my ass off. Worrying about my pocket getting picked. Surrounded by strangers…” He shrugged. “Waste of fucking time. Might as well buy a book. Look at pictures.”

“I wouldn’t care. Sand, heat, pickpockets…it’d all be atmosphere. I’d just like to say I saw the pyramids.”

His gaze met mine, studying me, his fingers tapping the side of his mug, probably trying to decide whether he should ask if I wanted a coffee refill.

“Maybe…” he began. “Sometime? You wanna go? I’d go with you. See the pyramids-”

A crash across the diner cut him off.

FORTY-ONE

I twisted to see a red-faced man in a cowboy hat, a toppled canister of sugar at his feet, standing beside two uniformed officers on coffee break.

“Now, just calm down, sir,” the one officer said, keeping his voice low.

“I’ll calm down when I get some fucking answers! And the answer I want is why the fuck I can’t pay this!”

He thrust out a piece of green paper. From here, I could barely see it, but I knew what it was. A one-dollar bill.

“Shit,” I breathed, closing my eyes.

“It’s one fucking dollar,” the man continued. “I can find this much by digging through my sofa cushions. Do you think there’s a person in this room who wouldn’t pay this insurance policy?”

“I wouldn’t,” said the first officer’s partner as she swiveled her chair to face the man. “And do you know why? Because, if I did, what would stop a thousand other freaks from doing the same thing? If you pay once, you have to keep paying.”

I could feel myself nodding, but a glance around showed I was the only one.

“What you have to do, sir,” the second officer continued, “is put that dollar back in your pocket, go home to your family, look after them, and trust that we will look after you, and the FBI will catch this guy.”

“Catch him?” a woman yelled from across the diner. “The FBI has their heads so far up their asses they’re investigating drooling lunatics. They can’t even stop him when he hands them a schedule and directions.”

“Yeah,” a man’s voice boomed. “Tell that poor old fart in Chicago how safe he is. Can’t even take a crap without getting killed. And what about that Indian yesterday? Did the killer tell the Feds where he was going to be then, too?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the first officer said. “The FBI is conducting an independent investigation and we-”

“And you’re sitting on your asses eating doughnuts!”

A rumble went through the smattering of diners. As my hands clenched my mug, Jack’s knee brushed my leg. He jerked his chin toward the door, a twenty already on the table. When I hesitated, he caught my eye and shook his head, and with great reluctance, I stood. Around me, people continued to shout questions and abuse at the two officers. A few were already on their feet. Jack’s fingers wrapped around my upper arm. He leaned into my ear.

“You can’t help. Not now.”

I resisted for a moment, then yanked my gaze away and let him lead me from the diner.

So we knew there had been another killing since Chicago, and that the public knew about the opera house, too. All yesterday I’d avoided papers and radios and TVs, struggling to concentrate on the task at hand. Even now I did my best to resist. I walked past the newsstand at the airport terminal, tuned out other passengers’ conversations, even looked away from a big-screen TV tuned to CNN when the ticker flashed “Helter Skelter killer.” Like Jack said-and said often-knowing didn’t help, didn’t get me any closer to catching him.

On the plane we decided what we’d do about Evelyn. We were halfway to her house when Jack pulled into a strip mall.

“Want a coffee?” he said.

I shook my head.

“Need to use the bathroom,” he said, opening his door. “Smoke shop down there. Could grab a paper.”

I sat there a minute after he got out, wondering whether I should hold out, could hold out, then pushed open the door, went in and bought a paper-well, three of them, two nationals and a local. As I was paying, I noticed the rows of cigarettes behind the counter, at least half of them in packages I didn’t recognize.

“You have a lot of foregin brands,” I said, waving at the display.

“You name it, I got it,” said the old man behind the counter. “Whatcha looking for.”

“I’m not sure. Something…Irish? Maybe English. Probably an older brand, been around awhile. I know what the logo looks like…”

“Then we’ll find it.”

When I climbed into the car, Jack was already back. I put down the bag with the papers and took out a smaller one, then did up my seat belt.

“Candy?” Jack asked with a small smile.

“Uh-uh.” I pulled off the bag with a flourish.

His brows arched. “How’d you figure out-”

“Keen detective work. You seemed a little stressed after that flight, so I figured it might not be unwelcome. We’re not really ‘on the job’ right now so…”

“Appreciate it. Better not smoke in here, though. Bring the papers.”

We found a picnic table behind the strip mall. Jack shook out a cigarette and had it lit before we were seated, and went through another before we finished our reading.

The killer’s last known victim had been killed at noon the day before. William (Billy) Curtis, a twenty-eight-year-old Nebraska construction worker, pushed off the high-rise he’d been working on. At first, police thought it had been an accident…until the coroner found the lone dollar bill in his pocket. While the papers spent little time dwelling on the victim, they were speculating over one thing: had the Feds been tipped off about the killing?

I slapped down the paper. “Just because he forewarned the Feds of the opera house plan doesn’t mean he’s going to keep doing that. He can’t. It’d be stupid.”

Jack took out his third cigarette and lit it.

“My guess is that the opera house was tougher than he expected, and that’s the last time he’s going to pull something like that.”

Jack nodded, head tilted, holding the lit cigarette a hairsbreadth from his lips.

“And the problem with that theory is…?” I said.

He took his time tapping off the ash on the picnic table before responding. “Wasn’t a warning for Nebraska. Couldn’t have been. An occupied building? Sure. Just a construction crew. Nah. They’d have caught him.”

“Which proves my point. There was no warning.”

Jack stared out across the trash-strewn strip of grass, smoked half the cigarette, then stood.

“Gotta call Quinn.”

When Jack returned, he sat down across the table, hand going out for the spot where he’d left his cigarettes, then shaking it off and stuffing the pack into his pocket.

“There was a tip-off, wasn’t there?” I said.

“Train. Last night. Promised to kill a passenger.”

“But he didn’t?”

“Everyone accounted for.”

“So either the tip-off was a fake-”

“Quinn says no.”

“Then he failed. I can see that. It’d be very hard to pull a hit on an enclosed vehicle. He must have realized he’d overshot and backed off.”

“Maybe. Maybe he missed the fucking train. Wilkes never could keep time.” He stared off into the distance for a moment, then gave a sharp shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter. He fucked up. That’s good.”

“So are the Feds going to release the note? Make it sound like they managed to abort the attack? That’d be a nice win for them, and right now they could use it.”

“Quinn doesn’t know. Doesn’t think they’ve decided. They’ve got another problem. Bigger concern. Another tip-off.”

“Another? Goddamn it. That’s going to put them in a corner. Did he intend to make the train hit and something went wrong, in which case they should put all their efforts into dealing with this new one? Or are the tips red herrings now, keeping them busy chasing phantoms instead of pursuing the investigation?” I looked at Jack. “Maybe missing the train hit was part of the plan. Get the Feds second-guessing him, splitting up their manpower.”

“Could be. That’s what they’re doing. Main team is ignoring this one. They’ll go back to investigating. Put a secondary team and local forces on security detail.”

“Where’s the hit supposed to go down?”

“Homecoming parade. Late this afternoon. West Virginia.”

I was still shooing the dogs from the gate when Evelyn appeared on the back porch.

“Girls,” she growled.

They fell over each other getting out of my way. I unlatched the gate, walked in, then closed it behind me.

“Where’s Jack?” Evelyn asked.

“He took another flight. He said he had to check something someplace else and he’d meet up with me later.”

She waved me into the house. “You two have a falling out?”

“I don’t think so.” I set down my bag and tugged off my shoes. “Why? Did he call?”

“No, but I can’t see him splitting up. There’s no reason to take separate flights-you two aren’t on a job. If he wanted to check something, why not take you with him?”

“So it seems odd to you, too, huh?” I moved into the living room and sat down. “I thought he’d at least try to persuade me to go with him but…well, he’s been acting weird.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Weird? Jack? I can use a lot of words to describe that man’s behavior sometimes, but weird isn’t one of them.”

“I know. Normally he’s so focused. But he seemed distant last night, almost…rattled. Ever since he talked to Maurice Gallagher.”

Evelyn went rigid, then settled back into her chair, taking awhile to get comfortable, trying to hide her initial reaction. When she spoke, her voice was calm. “I warned him, didn’t I? About crossing the old spider. I suppose Gallagher threatened him…” She let the words fade, frowning, as if thinking. Putting two and two together?

“Were you there?” she asked.

“When Jack talked to Gallagher? No, he didn’t take me in.”

“Not to the meeting maybe, but into the casino? Could Gallagher have seen you with Jack?”

I wasn’t sure where she was leading, but not in the direction I wanted. “I don’t think so. Whatever upset Jack, it had to do with the name Gallagher gave him.”

“The hitman Gallagher hired and Kozlov saw?”

I nodded. “Jack wouldn’t tell me who it was, but…I don’t know. Maybe it was a friend of his.”

“Jack doesn’t have friends. He might know him, but wouldn’t care enough to get ‘rattled.’”

“Well, something sure upset him.” I stood. “I should unpack my things.”

I headed upstairs. After laying down my bag, I retrieved my gun from its hiding spot, where I’d left it before we’d gone to Vegas. Then I slipped from the room, closed the door loud enough for Evelyn to hear and crept to the top of the stairs to listen.

If Evelyn was involved, the reason for Jack’s “odd behavior” in relation to the name would be obvious. According to him, she’d take advantage of my temporary absence to do one of three things. The first two, he said, were most likely: make a phone call or send an e-mail. The third…

Soft taps sounded across the wooden hall floor, then stopped. A double clump, as she removed her pumps and laid them down.

The click of the hall closet door. The rasping whoosh of a box being pulled off the shelf. A moment of silence. Then an unmistakable sound.

“Hall closet.” I could hear Jack’s voice as we’d discussed this on the flight. “Top shelf. Box with some scarves. Keeps a gun there.”

One of several guns secreted around the house, he’d explained, listing all the locations.

“You’re upstairs? Hall’s most likely. Hear her get it? Leave.”

A shadow crossed the bottom landing.

“Evelyn?” I called.

The shadow retreated.

“Yes?” she replied.

“I’m going to take a shower. Wash away some of this jet lag.”

“All right.”

I walked backward into the bathroom, locked the door, thumped around a bit and turned on the shower. Then I retreated to my hiding place, making sure no shadow or mirror reflection gave me away.

This wasn’t what Jack wanted, but I didn’t think he was the best person to make that decision. Even when he’d been convinced Evelyn hadn’t been involved, he’d tried to figure out way to confront her himself, take me out of the equation. When it became obvious there was no way to do that, he’d instructed me to go into the bathroom, run the shower…and escape out the window, which overlooked the porch roof. Whatever happened, I was not to confront Evelyn myself.

Worried for me? Or her?

Did I pose a danger to her? That depended on whether she’d done anything to deserve it. But even if she was involved in this, I’d stay my hand, for Jack’s sake-let him handle this, as was his prerogative.

When he’d asked me to sneak out the window, I hadn’t agreed-just let my silence suggest I did. I’d had no intention of backing down from a confrontation. Even if Evelyn was guilty, I could control my instincts and step aside for Jack when the time came.

After a moment, the lock on the door clicked open. A pause. Then the sound of the handle turning. I adjusted my grip on the gun.

A faint squeak as the door opened. A blur of motion, Evelyn swinging around the doorway, gun trained not on the shower but behind the door.

I stepped from the alcove by the toilet. She spun, gun going up, lips twisting in a hard smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Clever girl,” she said. “Not quite clever enough, though.”

“I managed a draw. I’d say that’s pretty good.”

I could have dropped her while she was turning, but I didn’t say that.

“Where’s Jack?” she asked.

Her gaze was on my hands, watching for movement. Mine stayed on her eyes. I’d see her decision there before her trigger finger responded.

“You think I’d tell you?” I said. “So you can shoot me, then-”

“If you don’t tell me where Jack is in five seconds, I will shoot you, and then you’ll be in so much pain you’ll tell me anything I want…but it won’t be anything comparable to the pain you’ll be in if I find out you’ve done anything to him. Now, where is Jack?”

A shadow filled the doorway behind her.

“Right here,” Jack said. “Don’t turn. Just look in the mirror.”

She did. When she saw Jack behind her, with a gun pointed at the back of her skull, something indecipherable flashed through her eyes. Then she blinked, and said, “Et tu, Brutus?” A glance my way. “Well, if Jack’s alive and pointing a gun at my head, this obviously isn’t what I thought it was.”

“And what was that?” I asked.

“First?” Jack said. “Evelyn? Gun on the floor.”

She flashed a smile at him through the mirror. “Making you nervous, Jacko?”

She raised her gun, pointing it at me, but her eyes stayed on him. A look passed between them, unreadable from my angle. Then Evelyn lowered her weapon, crouched and laid it on the floor.

FORTY-TWO

Downstairs, Jack sat with his gun on his lap, a polite reminder.

“You said this wasn’t what you thought,” I began. “And that would be…?”

“I hadn’t made up my mind,” Evelyn said.

I waited for an explanation, but she only eased back in her chair and slanted a look at Jack, who grunted, as if her meaning was perfectly clear.

“So what the hell is this about?” Evelyn said. “I can’t even imagine what I could have done to deserve both of you pulling guns on me.”

“Gallagher talked,” Jack said. “Gave Dee a name.”

“ Dee? But she said…Okay, so this must be connected to that name. What could-?” She paused. “Gallagher didn’t finger me, did he? Now, that would explain this reaction, but it’s obviously impossible. I was with Dee for one murder and couldn’t have done the others then gotten back here in time to meet you two.”

“Wilkes.”

“The killer is Wilkes-Bullshit. Gallagher is pulling your-” She studied our faces. “And if I continue like that, I’ll only convince you I’m involved. You honestly think I’d cover for that loser, Jack? Partner with him on a job this big?”

“Had to know.”

“The only person I’d trust on something like this would be you. Wilkes ranks at the bottom of my former partners and protégés. I still say he could not be responsible. He doesn’t have the ingenuity-”

“Forget ingenuity. Technical skill?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Could have quietly killed Kozlov. Not easy. Not impossible, either. Didn’t need this…exit strategy. Wanted more. Had something to prove.”

“Well, yes, theoretically that would fit Wilkes-”

“Gets a taste for power. Control. Gets drunk on it. Full of himself. Challenging the Feds. Making impossible demands. Playing head games. Thinking he’s winning. Now he’s somebody. Finally somebody.”

Evelyn sighed, then shook her head. “Son of a bitch. So now we need to find him. That’s not going to be easy.”

“Jack says you know his name,” I said. “His real name. Is that going to help?”

“I trained him well,” Evelyn said. “If he’s using a name, it’s probably not his own. If it is his own, any information you’d find with it would lead to a dead end. Even at the absolutely best scenario-he’s forgotten everything I’ve taught him and has a house registered under his real name-we aren’t going to show up there and find him. I’ll do the search and give you what I find, but right now, he’s out there-” She waved at the window. “Setting up his next attack. We need to figure out what that is.”

“We might already know,” I said, and told her about the missed train tip and the next one, in West Virginia.

“He fucked up with the train,” Evelyn said. “Personally, I like your idea, Dee, fulfill a promise, break a promise, get the Feds running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Brilliant-and exactly what I’d do. You, Jack or I could pull that stunt without giving a shit who thought we’d ‘failed’ the train hit. But Wilkes? Not a chance.” She lifted three fingers. “One: he’s single-minded. Two: he lacks creativity. Three: he’s got a balloon ego.”

“Balloon ego?” I said.

Jack grunted. “One prick, it deflates.”

“Something did go wrong with that train hit,” Evelyn said. “As for what, it’s moot. What matters is that he’ll be mad as hell right about now. He’s going to be at that parade, and he’s going to make a hit, and if the Feds are standing this one down, then I’d sure as hell recommend we be there.”

“To do what?” Jack said. “Needle in a haystack.”

“True,” I said. “But do you know the best way to find a needle in a haystack? With a magnet.”

Evelyn chuckled. Jack went still for a minute, then his gaze shot to mine, eyes hardening.

“Better not be suggesting-”

“That we draw out the needle ourselves? That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“You are not setting yourself up to become the next victim,” Jack said.

I considered commenting on the length and completeness of that sentence, but the look in his eyes said this wasn’t the time.

“Jack’s right,” Evelyn said. “Wilkes has established a plan and he’s already ‘done’ any type you could play. We need to bait the trap with something he doesn’t have yet, something he won’t be able to resist.”

She looked at Jack.

“Because he knows Jack?” I shook my head. “Sure, he might go for it, off a fellow hitman, but-”

“It’s been over twenty years. A bit of work and he’d never recognize Jack. What he will recognize is a prize missing from his collection. A tough guy.”

Jack snorted.

“You know what I mean. A biker, a hood, muscle, all roles you’ve done many times before. There are a million guys out there right now, bragging in bars about how they’d take down the Helter Skelter killer if he ever came near them. Give him one of those, in a setting that’ll make an easy kill, and he’ll pounce on it, to prove that nobody is safe…and reinflate his ego after the train fiasco.”

FORTY-THREE

It was a five-hour trip and we didn’t have time to stop for lunch, so we grabbed sandwiches on the way. We were almost to West Virginia when we had to pull into a gas station to fill up, and for Jack to use the washroom. I eyed the attached convenience store, considered getting some candy for the stakeout. But I had a more important use for the time alone with Evelyn.

I waited until Jack headed into the store to prepay for gas, then shifted into the middle of the seat, so I could lean forward and talk to her on the front passenger side.

“So, I suppose after what happened today you’ll be rescinding that ‘offer’ you made?”

“Because you held me at gunpoint?” She smiled. “I consider it a logical and important step in a developing relationship with any good student. I’m sure I’ll give you cause to do it again and, if I don’t, then you’re not the sort of hit-woman I’d care to mentor.”

“Ah.”

As I eased back into my seat, she peered under the headrest at me. “Is that disappointment I hear? Don’t tell me you’re hoping I’ll retract the offer, save you from having to make the decision. I expected better of you, Dee.” Her gaze studied mine, then she smiled. “Or, I suppose, this was just a good excuse for bringing up the matter, since I haven’t done so myself.”

“Just checking. Seeing whether it still stood.”

“It does and, as you haven’t said no, I presumed you’re still considering it, which is good enough for me. If that offer doesn’t suit your tastes, I can get others. Someone with your talent is wasted on Mafia punks.”

When I said nothing, she tilted her head, gaze boring into mine. “I’m giving you a chance to really quench that thirst, Nadia. Take out people who even I’ll agree have lost the right to walk on this planet.”

I didn’t miss the switch from Dee to Nadia. A calculated reminder of how much she knew about me. If I called her on it, though, she’d only claim a slip of the tongue, so I said, as evenly as possible, “I’m not a vigilante.”

“So you’ve said.”

I turned my gaze to the window, watching Jack start pumping the gas, then looked back at Evelyn. “What would you get from it?”

“A cut, of course. Money is always good.” She eased back in her seat, gaze returning to the windshield. “When I got into this life, I only wanted three things. Money, power and respect. A girl like you, comes from a nice middle-class background, born after the so-called sexual revolution, gets a good education, takes on a man’s job. I’m sure it wasn’t as easy as we might hope, but it was possible. These days, girls don’t know what it is to want those things and know you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of getting them. I fought like you couldn’t imagine and got everything I wanted. But it wasn’t enough.”

A long pause as she watched Jack fill the tank.

She continued. “They say that man gains immortality through his children. I don’t have any. Never wanted them. What I do have are students. I take raw clay and I fashion something remarkable.”

“That’s what you want to do with me. Make me better.”

A laugh so sharp it startled me. “Oh, you don’t like that idea, do you? You can play the cool professional, act like you don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, but you’ve got your share of ego, of ambition. You’re just good at hiding it. Reminds me of someone else.” Her gaze slid to Jack, now walking to the bathroom. “What I can make you, Nadia, isn’t better. It’s famous. Legendary. Reach the point where you can do exactly the kind of work you want and nothing else.”

I stared out the window, watching Jack as he returned.

“He’s still with me, isn’t he?” Evelyn said, as if reading my thoughts. “I haven’t damaged him. Haven’t made him anything he didn’t want to be. Jack doesn’t hang around because he feels obligated. He wouldn’t do that and you know it. So if I’m good enough for him…”

Jack dipped his head, peering into the car, gaze shooting to Evelyn, as if he could see us watching him and talking.

“I’ll let you think about it, Dee,” she murmured. “Take all the time you need.”

For over an hour, I’d been standing in front of a fifth-story window, watching the parade route fill. To pass the time, I mentally ran through ballistics tables, recalculating the distance, velocity, trajectory, wind drift, making sure I had everything right.

I’d have rather been in one of the taller office buildings down the street, but if there were SWAT team snipers here, that’s where they’d be. And even if there weren’t, the Feds would be checking out the best perches in case Wilkes was trying for a sniper shot himself. So I had to make do with one that was third rate.

Having to take the shot standing didn’t make the situation any better. The higher up you get, the less stable you are. Ideally, I’d be on my stomach. Given that the window was four feet off the ground, lying down wasn’t an option. So, as any good sniping manual would tell you, I should have used the materials at hand to create a level and sturdy four-foot-high platform. Works great, if you’re on a SWAT team…not so great when you’re a professional killer who can’t leave any trace and may have to abandon your perch at a moment’s notice.

So I’d shoot standing, as I usually did. Not only was it the least steady position, it was the hardest to hold for an extended period. Since I used it the most often, though, I’d trained for it, doing most of my practice upright-the offhand position. To alleviate some of the unsteadiness, I used a sling. A dark-colored loop of nylon, the sling attached to a swivel at the end of the gun stock, near the barrel. I put my left arm through the opposite end of the loop and pulled the keeper along the strap until the loop was snug against my biceps.

At this distance, it was possible-if unlikely-that someone on the parade route could look up and see a silhouette in the window. To reduce the risk, I wore a brimmed hat, beaten into a shapeless lump, so my head wasn’t a rounded dome. Mosquito netting over the front of the hat darkened my face and helped it blend in with my black clothing. I’d also draped a larger swatch of netting over the window, to further darken and blur my silhouette. For the window itself, I’d cut out a pane. Breaking glass makes noise. Lifting the sash looks suspicious. If you see a closed window, you assume all the panes of glass are there.

I could see Evelyn’s hat weaving through the crowd. It was pink and old-ladyish. For Evelyn, I’m sure that was a fashion torture on par with my push-up bra, and judging by the look she’d given me when I found it for her, I was in for some serious payback. But it made her easy to track, and that’s all that mattered.

I needed to be able to find her in a split-second survey of the parade scene because my attention had to remain focused on the main lure, Jack. He couldn’t wear anything as obvious as a pink hat. Fortunately, tracking him wasn’t the issue because he’d staked out a table at the edge of a licensed patio, where he nursed a pint of beer and read a motorcycle magazine. If he attracted the attention of anyone who looked as if he could be Wilkes, Jack would fold up his magazine, vacate the patio and head for the alley beside it, which was right across from my perch and lined up for a perfect shot. Alternately, if Evelyn spotted Wilkes, she’d get Jack’s attention and he’d make his way to Wilkes, while staying within my line of fire.

Wilkes could be planning a sniper shot himself, but according to Evelyn, he was crap at distance shooting. Besides, if he wanted to reassert his credibility with the Feds, firing from a safe distance would be a cop-out. Just in case, though, I’d been careful to pick a spot with no surrounding high buildings.

As I was thinking this, something thudded over my head. My first reaction was an instant gut-clench, accompanied by a vision of Wilkes standing at the window over mine, his scope trained on Jack. My second reaction was a stifled laugh. There was no floor above mine-just a roof, one with a sloped front and a high lip, unsuitable for shooting.

From overhead came the distinct sound of gravel crunching underfoot. I gave myself a mental shake. Nerves are a sniper’s worst enemy. The slightest tremor, and you might as well put the rifle back in its case.

I checked my pulse. Steady. Good. Now concentrate on-

A chirp from the rooftop exit hatch.

Maybe it was only my mind playing tricks, but until I reassured myself of that, my shot was in jeopardy. I took one last look at Jack, then checked my watch. Six minutes to parade time. I laid down my rifle, slipped out of the sling, then spread my tarp over my gear-the fastest way to hide it.

As I pulled out my handgun, I ran though the description Evelyn had given for Wilkes-late fifties, six foot one, big-boned. The rest didn’t matter-a disguise could change hair and eye color, make him older and heavier, but shorter or significantly younger were impossible.

It was only then, as I visualized him, that the full impact of what was happening hit. This man, now sneaking into the building, could be Wilkes. The Helter Skelter killer. My target.

I was transported back to the opera house, to that hour when I’d been so sure we’d get him, and I felt again that excitement, that rising sense of oddly calm anticipation. Senses heightening, muscles tensing, pulse hitting a steady rhythm, sliding into that perfect zone.

In that hour at the window, I’d known who I hoped to find in my scope. Yet I never felt it. Too distant a target, too cerebral a goal. What I loved about distance shooting-that total control-also robbed me of this, that delicious moment of knowing that in a few minutes, I’d see my target’s face, hear his gasp of shock, smell his fear.

As a loose ladder rung creaked, I pictured him, frozen in midstep, the creak seeming to ring out like a gunshot. He’d listen for any responding sound from below, then start down again, slower now, testing each rung first. Finally, he’d reach the bottom. A few steps and he’d be at my door, turning the handle…

The soft click of the latch. Good. Now look out into the hall. Make sure it’s clear, then step out…oh, better close the door behind you.

Click.

Silence.

He was in the hall, looking, listening. No sign of the Feds-if they had a team camped out on this floor, he’d hear it; there was no need for them to be quiet when they were just pulling stakeout or sniper duty from a fifth-story window. Hearing nothing, Wilkes would start forward again, looking for the best window, which was right here, in my room.

I flexed my grip on my gun and smiled.

At least three minutes of silence passed. Still listening for an occupying force? Wilkes hadn’t struck me as the nervous type. Maybe the pressure was getting to him. Another two minutes, then a floorboard creaked. Still sneaking down the hall, expecting trouble?

Another creak. He’d be at my door in a few seconds…

Silence.

From my vantage point, I couldn’t miss seeing anyone passing the doorway. So where was he? Being cautious was one thing, but he was moving so slowly-

I stopped, imagining not Wilkes, but an officer from the security detail canvassing the building. But if Wilkes wasn’t in this hall, that meant Jack was in danger, down there trying to lure in a killer, confident that I was watching his back.

My gaze tripped between the window and the door. Just a few seconds. Let them pass the door and move on. Dear God, I hoped they moved on.

I watched the doorway, tensed for the first shadow. I lowered my gun barrel to leg height. No, too risky for an impulse shot. I might hit his femoral artery. A shoulder shot? That had been my first choice with Wilkes, but would I risk it on a cop? Could I even shoot one?

Silence from beyond the door. Awaiting backup? If so, I had time to move away from the door and…And what? Jump out the window? Hide. I could get behind-

A shadow moved across the door opening. I could make out a filthy sneaker and an arm clad in a battered leather jacket. Hardly standard wear for law enforcement. An undercover officer?

I stayed against the wall and waited for him to step inside. Then I’d knock him down and get the hell out-

The shadow crossed the open doorway. Through the crack behind it, I saw a young man, maybe twenty, dressed in ill-fitting clothes that screamed charity wear. He cast a nervous glance through my doorway, then scuttled down the hall.

It could be an undercover officer, but if so, he should have stepped into this room to conduct a thorough search. Through the crack, I watched the young man continuing down the hall, peering into some rooms, ignoring others, haphazardly searching. Not a cop but a junkie spooked by the police presence outside and looking for a safe, quiet hole to shoot up.

All this for a goddamned junkie who probably wouldn’t have even noticed me standing at the window with a rifle?

I swallowed a burst of rage, reminded myself I had a bigger concern. When the figure reached the end of the hall, I sprinted for the window, looked down…and saw an empty table.

I whirled and grabbed my rifle. Then I spun back to the window, my gaze going to the alley. It was empty. From here, I could see right to the end. I swung back, visually retracing the path from the alley to Jack’s chair, but saw no sign of him. A server was at his table now, holding his half-empty beer glass as she wiped his table.

Heart thudding, I scanned the crowd for Evelyn’s pink hat, and found it a few storefronts away. I slowed my survey of the crowd, searching for Jack’s light brown wig, bearded face and leather jacket. But people were moving off the road and crowding onto the sidewalk as the distant sound of music announced the beginning of the parade.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Evelyn glance up. I waved my arms. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes. I grabbed my gun-cleaning cloth-the lightest-colored item I had. I waved it, then gestured toward Jack’s table. When she saw that empty chair, she stiffened, and I knew she understood. She jabbed her thumb down, then pointed at me and jabbed down again. Come down.

I hesitated. I could see better from up here-then I understood: if she’d looked up here for me, Jack was likely doing the same. He’d check for my shape at the window before he got near Wilkes. If I wasn’t ready, better that he shouldn’t see me at all and know something was wrong.

With one eye and my gun aimed at the door, and both ears on full alert, I pulled the tarp off my gear and stuffed it into my rucksack. Then I unloaded the rifle and slung it across my shoulder-dismantling it was too loud and too time-consuming.

I hurried to the door and peered out. All clear. A pause, a deep breath, another check, then I sprinted down the hall. Keeping an eye out for the junkie and anyone else, I retraced my steps down to the first floor and out the back exit.

I never should have left that window. I never should have left that window.

Even as I beat myself over the head with the chant, I knew if I hadn’t left my post, I could have been seen. There had been no way to know it was only a junkie until it had been too late. What I should have done was arranged an emergency alert plan, told them that if I had to leave my window I’d stick a piece of paper on the pane, so when Jack looked up he’d know he was unprotected.

From the door, I headed into the back alley. As I ran, I stripped out of my gear and haphazardly wiped the camouflage makeup from my face, then stashed my rucksack and rifle behind a trash bin and kept going.

As I stood at the junction of the sidewalk and alley, a float rolled past. The men’s swim team, clad in Speedos and goose bumps, enduring the cold as they basked in the hoots and catcalls of the students and alumni lining the street. My face had to still be streaked with paint, but I attracted no more than a casual glance. If there were near-naked young men on a float, then a face-painted alumna on the sidelines didn’t look out of place.

I strained to see over the crowd and, for once in my life, wished for high heels or platform shoes, anything that would help me spot that pink hat bobbing along in the mob. When Jack had vetoed the use of cell phones, I should have insisted we have something for emergency communication.

“I hate backup plans,” Evelyn had said. “If you have one, it makes it acceptable to screw up the original.”

Maybe that was true, but under these circumstances, a fallback plan wasn’t an escape hatch, it was a safety net.

The parade was in full swing, and I doubted it would last much longer. Was I too late? Not unless a man could drop dead on the sidewalk and no one noticed. Maybe the Feds were right and there would be no hit at the parade. Or maybe Wilkes hadn’t seen Jack. Or maybe he had, and decided to strike elsewhere. At least Jack was armed and knew what was happening. I just had to keep-

There! Across the street. A bearded profile over a leather jacket moving behind a cluster of drunken alumni. Now how was I going to get across the road? In the middle of the parade? Run like hell…that was the only way, as much as I hated doing anything that might call attention to myself. I elbowed my way to the front of the crowd, with murmurs about “someone holding my place” and plenty of apologies.

Maybe the streaks of face paint made it easier, but I managed to get through the blockade. Perched on the curb, I rolled on the balls of my feet, counting the seconds until the float was just far enough past-

I darted out between the photography club float and the woodwind band. I dashed for the curb. As I neared it, I caught the stare of a man about twenty feet away. An older man, late fifties, just over six feet tall, big-boned. In that second I knew I’d accomplished what Jack had failed to do: attract the attention of a killer.

My heart slammed against my rib cage. Wilkes. Right there.

I had to make him chase me.

As the thought formed, my heart rate swung into rapid acceleration. Lure him away. Make sure he was the one. Let him think he was in control, the great hunter stalking his innocent prey. And then…

I grinned.

I jumped onto the curb and started making my way to the rear of the crowd. Would he follow? As Evelyn had pointed out, Wilkes had done my demographic. But if it was an easy kill? If I made it an easy kill? A seeming guarantee of success?

I had to make this easy. Too easy to resist.

As much as I longed to scan the crowd for his face, to see his reaction, I didn’t dare. I walked fast, eyes straight ahead, chin high, striding toward some imaginary rendezvous point.

When I neared the point where he’d been standing, the urge to look into the crowd was so strong I had to force myself to glance the other way. As I did, I caught my reflection in the window of a storefront. Behind me was the crowd. After a moment’s searching, I saw that face again. Watching me. Curious. Considering…

I suppressed a shiver of excitement, shoved my hand into my pocket and slid it around my gun. Then I wheeled left and headed into the alley.

FORTY-FOUR

When we’d first arrived that afternoon, Jack and Evelyn had done a full reconnaissance sweep, checking every street, alley and nook. With my extra setup work, I’d only had time to map out two escape routes from my building perch. That should have been enough. I just needed to know how to evacuate my perch in an emergency. They were supposed to be the ones luring Wilkes into an alley.

Those routes I’d investigated were across the road, and my chances of getting Wilkes there were slim to none. So I had to do something I hated-blindly walk into the first suitable-looking alley I crossed.

When I stepped into that alley, I looked toward the first intersection and thought of nothing but getting there…as fast as possible. For that thirty-second trip, Wilkes could come around the corner and shoot me from behind, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

I could argue that a gun hit made no sense. It was too risky this close to the sidewalk. Shooting someone in the back was a coward’s ploy, and unlikely to impress the Feds. Plus, considering he’d invited the police, he wouldn’t take the chance of walking around carrying a gun.

Dirt crunched as my pursuer rounded the corner behind me. I kept my pace fast but steady. Speed up and he’d know I heard him. Just a few more steps…

I hit the first corner and took a split second to look each way, searching for the nearest doorway or second corner, getting Wilkes far enough from the crowded street. The alley intersected with another about fifteen feet to my right, so I turned that way. I crossed the first half of the distance in a few long strides. From the occasional whisper of his shoes on the dirt, I knew my pursuer was still behind me. Yet he seemed to be moving slowly-slower than I expected. Being cautious? Or wasn’t it Wilkes?

I was convinced it was him, but I could leave no chance I would, in my eagerness, shoot an innocent man.

The man I’d seen could have been a random pervert or mugger, more than willing to follow a woman into an alley. It might not be the man I’d spotted, but Jack or Evelyn or a cop seeing me turn into the alley and following. Or it could be some drunken student who’d slipped from the parade for a piss break. And if it was the latter, then I sincerely apologized for what I was about to do, and hoped his full bladder could withstand it.

When I reached that next junction, I’d round the corner, then get up against the wall and wait, gun drawn. Wilkes would turn-

I hit the corner…and found no corner to turn. What I’d thought was the junction of another alley was a doorway-with a recess so shallow I couldn’t even duck in and hide. As I slowed, my gaze swung forward again, looking for a second option. Ahead, less than a dozen feet away, a real alley intersection, one I could see from this angle wasn’t another dead end. But Wilkes was too close. He’d never let me get that far. My only option was to break into a run and escape.

Run and he’d know he’d been made. And, like any good hitman, he would back off.

Run and I’d lose him.

I stared at that intersection and knew I should do it. Escape and try again later. But everything in me rebelled at the very thought.

Run like a coward? Like a helpless thirteen-year-old girl? Run and let him kill someone else, sacrifice another life for mine? Never again.

I saw my chances, knew they were far from perfect, maybe even far from good, and I made the only choice I could.

I slowed down.

Gravel crunched behind me. Right behind me. I spun and saw Wilkes closer than I’d expected. Saw the wire raised above my head. My gaze met his and, for a split second, I saw his surprise and dismay.

He twisted behind me again, and the wire swung down. For one second, as the metal flashed, something inside me went wild with fear, seeing not a wire, but a knife. Then my hand tightened around the Glock and the feel of it jolted me back. I started to raise the gun, but my brain screamed “too late,” and I let it drop inside my pocket. Both my hands shot up, palms up, just in time to block my throat as the wire came down.

The wire sliced into my palms and I let out a soft gasp. Instinctively I pushed it away, but it only bit in harder. For a second, we just stood locked in indecision, our hands occupied, unable to let go. My first urge was to kick backward. But I stopped myself before my foot left the ground. Kick and I’d lose my balance. Lose my balance, and I risked letting go of this wire, and the second I did that, it was through my windpipe and into my carotid artery.

I unclenched my right, releasing a stream of blood down the inside of my wrist. With the slick blood, my hand slid free. Then the wire jerked up. If I wasn’t going to lose my balance, he’d do it for me. I swung my hand forward, then drove my elbow into his gut.

My elbow made contact just as he kneed me again and my legs gave way. I let them give way. Let myself crumple forward onto the wire just as he stumbled back from my blow, grunting, as if I’d hit him harder than I thought. He released the wire and I pitched face-first to the ground.

“Hey!”

The shout rang down the alley, followed by the pound of running footsteps. Young male voices. Multiple running footsteps. I ignored them and flipped over, my hand going to my pocket for my gun. As I rolled, I saw Wilkes poised over me. But he’d frozen in place, head up, hearing the approaching voices and footsteps. Our eyes met. His filled with rage and frustration and, again, I drank it in.

He wheeled. I pulled out the gun. Swung it toward his fleeing back. Smiled as I watched him trying to run, but faltering, as if still feeling that blow to the gut. Such an easy target. I allowed myself one delicious shudder. Then, finger on the trigger-

A pair of legs jumped into the way, running out from a side alley.

“Whoa!”

My rescuer backpedaled, but stayed in my line of fire…and Wilkes disappeared around the next corner. I flew to my feet, but hands grabbed me.

“He’s gone. It’s okay. He’s gone.”

I turned, snarling, ready to shove this kid out of my way and tear off after Wilkes. But then I saw the boy’s face, eyes wide with terror-innocent-and it was like a bucket of ice water. I’d missed my opportunity. Now I was on the ground, a gun in my hands, blood streaming down my arms, surrounded by a bunch of college kids who thought they’d just saved me from a killer.

I had to play it out, get away safely, then go after Wilkes. Find him again and catch him before he killed someone else in my place.

I looked at my gun and widened my eyes, as if surprised to see it there. Then I backed against the wall, hands going around my knees, feigning shock while making sure all my blood went on my pants, not on the ground where a crime scene team could find it.

One of the kids dropped down beside me, his hand going to my shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” he said. “We called the cops. They’ll be here in a minute.”

My head shot up, and I didn’t need to fake my reaction. My brain scrambled for an excuse and latched onto the first one it came across.

“No,” I said, pushing to my feet. “No-no cops. I’m-My dealer. I was here meeting my dealer. I’m carrying. I can’t-”

“It’s okay,” the boy said. “They won’t care about that.”

“Oh, God, I can’t-I have to go. If my husband finds out-”

They tried to calm me, but then someone called from the end of the alley, asking whether we needed an ambulance, and in the ensuing confusion, I shoved the garrote wire in my pocket, gave a last scan for evidence, pushed to my feet and bolted.

I followed the same path Wilkes had taken, praying he’d hit a dead end or run into a crowd and would circle back for another escape route. I’d just rounded the first corner when I heard feet on gravel. Behind me? In front of me? I couldn’t tell and was about to look when a pebble pinged off the top of my head.

I glanced up to see Jack on the roof two stories above. He motioned to the nearest fire escape. I shook my head and kept going, on the trail, after Wilkes, so absorbed in my task that I saw Jack swing down the fire escape, moving fast, but didn’t comprehend the meaning of it until I was passing the bottom, and he grabbed my arm.

Fingers so tight they’d leave bruises, he hauled me up the ladder. Too confused to struggle, I followed as best I could, my feet fumbling for purchase on the rungs, barely touching one before being dragged up to the next. At the top, he yanked me over the edge.

I tripped and sprawled onto the gravel.

“Wilkes,” I managed gasping for breath. “I-”

“I saw.”

“I need to get-”

“He’s gone.”

“But I can find him,” I said, still gasping, my pounding heart not letting me relax enough to catch my breath. “Before he takes someone else, before he escapes.”

I started to rise.

Jack planted his foot on my stomach, then leaned over. “He’s gone. I followed. Lost him. Think I’d be here otherwise?”

“You don’t understand, I need-”

“Too fucking bad, Nadia. This isn’t about what you need.”

The fury in his eyes made the hair on the back of my neck rise and I almost backed down. But then I imagined Wilkes below, running, escaping. Jack was wrong. He didn’t understand, and I wasn’t going to sit here and take this, even from him.

I pretended to relax, as if giving in, then shoved Jack’s foot off. I started scrambling up, then saw something metallic flash in front of my face and looked up to see a gun pointing down.

Had there been anything in my bladder, I think I would have lost it, not because I was staring down the barrel of a gun, but because of who I saw on the other end. Jack. Pointing a gun in my face. For one horrible moment, I thought I’d been tricked, that Jack was involved, that he was working with Wilkes-

“It’s too late, Nadia. Listen.”

“I’ve listened to you enough-”

“No,” he growled. “Not me. Listen.”

The distant sound of voices carried up to the roof, but I couldn’t make out any words. Then the distinct sound of a cop shouting orders.

“You staying?” he said.

I nodded.

He lowered the gun.

I swallowed. Got my thoughts under control. “I’m sorry. About leaving my post. Believe me, Jack, I didn’t try going after him myself and leave you out there unprotected.”

“I know. Evelyn told me.”

“I heard someone on my floor and I had to leave the window, then when I got back, you were gone and Evelyn wanted me to come down-”

“Doesn’t matter. Had to change plans. That’s fine. But this-” He jerked his chin toward the alley. “Leading him in? No backup-?”

“There wasn’t time for that. I got his attention, Jack. I didn’t mean to-I certainly wasn’t trying to. I was looking for you and he saw me, and I-”

“Where’s your gear?”

I told him.

“Stay here.” He headed for the ladder, then paused and looked back at me. “I mean it. You leave? You go after him? Pull this shit again?”

He didn’t finish, gaze dipping from mine, rage retreating.

“I’ll stay,” I said. “I promise.”

He nodded, then disappeared down the ladder.

Jack returned with a change of clothing-a full campus-gear outfit of sweatshirt, khakis, ball cap and knapsack. As I dressed, he stuffed my clothes and wig into the knapsack. We wouldn’t keep them, but we had to dispose of them outside the city. I battered my cap in the gravel a bit, so it didn’t look so new. Then I cleaned the rest of the grease-paint off my face and wiped my hands as best I could.

Through it all, Jack said not a word. I could feel his temper smoldering, waiting only for a spark from me to ignite. So I was keeping my mouth shut. It was only when I was cleaning my hands that he acknowledged I was there, walking over and yanking my hand, none too gently, for a closer look.

“Keep them clean,” he said. “Needs a first-aid kit. Might be awhile.”

“That’s okay.” I paused, then decided to risk it. I’d done something wrong-very wrong-and I needed to know what it was. “I don’t think I left any trace. Well, there might be a few drops of blood if they look hard enough…”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re after him. Not you.”

“Is it the witnesses? They didn’t get a good look at me. I kept my face down and-”

“You were in disguise.”

“No one would have made me for a pro, if that’s what you’re worrying about. Not Wilkes and not those college kids. Wilkes just got a victim who fought back. He never saw the gun. The kids did, but not in any way that would seem like anything other than a victim defending-”

“I saw. Looked fine.”

“Then what-?”

“Evelyn got your gear. We’ll head straight to the car. Merge with the crowd. Stay beside me. You see a cop-”

“Act normal,” I said. “Don’t avoid him, keep my gaze up, maybe look curious, wondering what’s going on, but act like everyone else seeing cops swarming around.”

He hefted my knapsack and started across the roof, leaving me to catch up.

FORTY-FIVE

When the Feds learned that Wilkes had tried to take a victim-and left a missing witness-they’d probably erect roadblocks. But if they had, we didn’t see them. We did see cops, fanning out to search the crowds leaving the parade route, but our back-street path kept us-and probably Wilkes-out of their way.

When we reached the car, Evelyn was already there, with my gear in the trunk. As we approached, she got out of the driver’s side. She looked from me to Jack, and waved me to the passenger seat, then reached for the back door. I shook my head and crawled in the back.

Jack got into the driver’s side, leaned over Evelyn and opened the glove box. He pulled out the napkins and hand wipes we’d stashed in there after lunch.

“Clean your hands,” he said, tossing them over the seat at me.

“I’ve already-”

“Clean them again.”

As he started the car, Evelyn twisted and caught sight of my cut hands.

“Christ, what happened to you?”

I glanced at Jack.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” she said. “Just came over to where I was supposed to meet you two, threw me the keys, told me where your gear was and stalked off.”

“I met Wilkes.”

She blinked, then glared at Jack. “Well, that’s not worth telling me about.” She looked at me. “So what happened…and start at the beginning.”

I told her.

“So now he’s missed two scheduled hits,” she said. “Plus he has an eyewitness…a victim who fought back. Probably saw you and decided to skip the demographics and take the easy mark.” She chortled. “Oh, he’ll be mad now. Spitting mad.”

“And off-balance. We need to keep him there. If we act now, we can use it to our advantage and end this.”

Jack’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. “We’ll end it. The old-fashioned way. Legwork. Stop this shit and-”

“That’s not fast, Jack.”

Our eyes met in the rearview mirror. His were ice cold. “And this is? Running after him? Facing him down in alleys? Almost getting killed?

“I had him. If you saw it go down, you know I had him.”

“Where I stood? Looked fifty-fifty.”

“Seventy-five/twenty-five. At least.”

“So that’s okay? Twenty-five percent chance of getting killed? Fuck, yeah. Why not? Goes bad? Who gives a shit? You don’t.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jack went silent, his gaze turning back to the road.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” I said, taking off my seat belt and moving to the edge of the seat. “If you have something to say, have the guts to say it.”

He said nothing. I clenched the edge of the seat. Goddamn him. Challenge most guys with that, and they’d rise to the bait. Not Jack. Never Jack.

“Pull over,” Evelyn said. “You and Dee need to have a chat.”

He kept driving.

“Jack…”

When he didn’t answer, Evelyn thumped back against the headrest.

“Okay, fine, do it your way. Dee? The next time you get a chance like that, you go ahead and take it. You want this guy taken down more than we do, so any risk you take is your decision, and we support that-”

Jack turned the wheel so sharply I smacked into the door panel. The car slowed at the side of the road. Without a word, Jack got out and headed for a dirt track leading into a cornfield.

Evelyn looked over the seat at me.

“Go on. You won’t get another chance.”

Brown cornstalks whispered in the breeze, empty and dying, waiting to be mowed down for next year’s crop. Through them I could see the back of Jack’s jacket.

“I’m here,” I said.

He didn’t move. I walked through the rows to come out in front of him.

“I’m here,” I said. “So talk.”

He only stared at the setting sun.

“Okay, you don’t want to talk. You just want Evelyn to shut up, and you know what, Jack? That’s fine with me. We can stand here and pretend we’re having it out, then go back and tell Evelyn everything’s fine. But the next time you decide to take some cryptic jab at me? Think about whether or not you plan to follow through. And if the answer’s no?” I met his gaze. “Then shut the fuck up.”

He didn’t so much as blink. Just held my gaze for a moment, then looked away. So I guess that meant we were waiting it out, and that was fine with me. Anything to avoid a fight.

I gave it five minutes, then said, “Good enough. Let’s go back to the car.”

I made it two steps.

“Back there,” he said. “In that alley. When things went bad. What’d you do?”

“Do?”

“When it went off course. Could have run. Didn’t.”

I turned to look at him. “Run? And let him shoot me in the back?”

“Gun wasn’t out. You’d know that. Too risky. Cops everywhere. Even if it was? Could have made it.”

“Made it where? I was in the middle of an empty alley.”

He stepped closer. “Second alley. Ten feet away. You saw it.”

“It looked a lot farther than ten feet from where I was standing and maybe that’s my fault, but I sure as hell didn’t see an escape route and just ignore it, if that’s what you meant.”

“Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

He met my gaze and, in his look, I knew he’d seen through my lie-knew I’d seen a chance to escape and rejected it.

I broke away, and continued, “As for getting caught, I misjudged-and yes, I admit that I screwed up. I thought I could turn and get the jump on him, but he was right there.”

Jack nodded, gaze down, as if studying a mole hole at the bottom of a cornstalk. Without looking up, he spoke again, his voice quiet. “Let’s say…sake of argument. You saw the alley. Knew you’d make it. Would you?”

I considered lying, but from that look in his eyes, he already knew the answer.

I squared my shoulders. “Not while I saw a reasonable chance to catch him.”

“What’s reasonable? Greater than zero?”

I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut, and forced out a calm tone. “Reasonable is whatever I decide it is because, as Evelyn said, it’s my risk to take. Maybe you don’t like that, but I’d never endanger you or anyone else, so I don’t see the point of arguing about it.”

His eyes darkened. “No, you don’t, do you? You die? Who gives a shit? No one to care.”

“No one-?”Don’t let him bait you. Just ease back. “I guess that’s right. It’s not like I have a husband and kids at home to worry about.”

“Got no one. Few friends. Everyone else pissed off after Franco. Never came back.”

My nails dug into my palms. “Thank you so much for reminding me of that, Jack.”

“Didn’t mean it like that. Was just-”

“Pointing out that no one would notice I’d died today?”

“No. Just meant-What happened to you. Lost every-thing. Family. Friends. Career. Future. Whatever you thought your life was going to be? Gone. Won’t come back.”

“Well, when you put it that way, maybe I shouldn’t have stopped Wilkes. Just let him put me out of-”

“You want this bad. Knew that. But I fucked up. Didn’t realize how bad. How far you’ll go.”

“How far-?” I could barely get the words out, my heart hammering. “I want what so bad? To kill myself? I am not-”

“Suicidal? Nah. But it happens? It’s a risk? You’ll take it. Won’t let it get in the way.”

“Get in the way of-?” I swallowed the rest, swept aside the cornstalks and headed for the car.

“ Dee…”

I didn’t answer. “Nadia…”

I picked up my pace.

I climbed into the backseat. Evelyn turned to look at me, then sighed.

“He wouldn’t talk, would he?”

“Oh, he talked.”

Another keen-eyed study. Another sigh. “And it was one of those times when he does, and you’re left wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.” She shifted to face me. “Jack isn’t very good at expressing himself.”

“I think he expressed himself very well.”

I looked out the windshield. There was no sign of Jack. I glanced at my watch.

“He’s just walking it off,” she said. “He hates confrontations. I remember this time, years ago, a middleman was bad-mouthing Jack behind his back and…” She noticed my wandering gaze. “And you’re really not in the mood for ‘insight into Jack’ stories, are you? In that case, I’d suggest we discuss something that it takes very little insight to know he’s not going to want to discuss. Our next move.”

“It’ll need to involve me. Up close and personal with Wilkes again. I’m the eyewitness who got away.”

She nodded. “And this whole thing started because he wanted to shut up his last-and only-witness. Meaning if he can get a shot at you, preferably before you go to the Feds, there will be no luring involved-he’ll jump hurdles to get to you.”

“Question is: how to make sure he finds me?”

“I have an idea for that, but Jack will absolutely hate it.”

“At this point, not a concern.”

She looked at me, and her mouth opened, as if she wanted to say something, then she gave a sharp shake of her head.

“He’s a big boy,” she murmured. “Okay then, here’s what I’m thinking…”

By the time Jack returned to the car, fifteen minutes later, we’d hammered out the skeleton of a plan. When it was time to tell him, I let Evelyn do the honors. As he listened, his face darkened. He let Evelyn get into it, then interrupted.

“Involving the Feds is stupid.” He looked at me. “That your idea?”

I smiled. “But of course. If it’s stupid, it must be my idea.”

“I didn’t say-”

“We can’t just make Wilkes disappear. You saw the scene in that Vegas diner. People need to see a body, to know this is really over. They need resolution. We need resolution or every pro is still on the Feds’ hit list.”

“And no, it wasn’t Dee ’s idea,” Evelyn said. “It was mine. If this agent in charge is as ambitious as Quinn says, he’ll make the trade. He gets the glory of the arrest, and in return, plays down Wilkes’s past, doesn’t portray him as a psycho hitman. Things go back to normal. Sure, the cops still want us gone, but they won’t be seeing us all as potential serial killers. That’s what we’ve been trying to do all along, isn’t it? Get back to business as usual?”

“Pulling Feds in-”

“One Fed. Maybe two if he needs someone to hold his hand. As for exactly how he’ll manage it without involving his team and his superiors, that’s his problem.”

“This okay with you?” Jack said, twisting to look at me, eyes unreadable. “Taking Wilkes down by yourself?”

“Sure, Jack. Why not? A chance to catch a killer and redeem my sorry life, and if I fail, well, it’s not like anyone will give a damn if I turn up in a Dumpster somewhere.”

Evelyn looked at him. “What the hell did you say to her?” When neither of us answered, she leaned back into her seat. “Oh, boy. This will be fun.”

Next we had errands to run. Jack phoned Quinn to summon him and Felix to West Virginia. Then we drove out of town to dispose of my things and pick up supplies. By the time we got to our hotel, it was evening, and my mood had lifted. We had a plan, and I was an integral part of that plan, so there was no time for sulking.

As for Jack, well, he was quiet, maybe still simmering, or maybe just gone back to his normal self. Either way, I wasn’t dwelling on it.

I walked through the door joining the two hotel suites Evelyn had checked us into.

“Better digs than he puts you up in, I’ll bet,” Evelyn said, shooting a look at Jack.

“We had a nice place in Ohio,” I said. “Real flowers, Jacuzzi tub…”

Evelyn sniffed. “And a heart-shaped vibrating bed? Classy, Jacko.”

“Do you want this room?” I asked, moving into the bedroom doorway. “Or I guess if the other has two beds, you and I should take that-”

“This one’s yours. You took on Wilkes today, you deserve something special, and this hotel is my way of saying ‘good job.’” She glanced at Jack. “You can take the sofa.”

I shook my head. “We all need a good rest tonight. There are four beds-”

Evelyn cut me off with a sigh. “Fine, share my room with me. You don’t snore, do you?”

I thought about the nightmares, but Jack said, “She’s fine.” He paused. “Or she will be. Gotta get those hands fixed.”

I picked up the drugstore bag he’d laid on the table. “I’ll do that now.”

“Can’t bandage your own hands.” He took the bag from me. “Sit down.”

“I’ll be unpacking,” Evelyn said, and left.

Jack was still cleaning my wounds when Felix rapped at the door. Jack opened it. Quinn walked in and stopped dead, staring at my hands.

“Shit, are you okay?” he said.

I nodded.

“How did you-?”

“Garrote wire.”

Felix stepped up beside me and frowned down at my wounds. “A garrote wire can be tricky to use. The instinct is to wrap it around your own hands, but if it’s sharp enough, then you see the damage you can inflict.”

“This isn’t-I wasn’t using it on someone; he was using it on me.”

“And you managed to get your hands under it? Excellent reflexes. However, it does beg the question…”

“Who the hell tried to garrote you?” Quinn said as he crouched and took my hand.

Jack waved him aside and took his place, then unrolled the bandage.

“Wilkes,” he said when I was slow to answer.

“Wilkes attacked you?” Felix said as he sat in a chair. “So he knows we’re in pursuit? That could lead to some difficulty-”

“Doesn’t know,” Jack said. “Picked Dee as a victim. She-” A hard look my way. “Lured him in.”

Before anyone could comment, Evelyn walked from the other room. As Felix and Quinn greeted her, Jack inspected the cleaned wounds.

“So you decided to join the hunt,” Quinn said, flashed a smile at Evelyn. “Getting a little too exciting to ignore? I bet-Ah, wait. The anonymous ‘concerned party’ who’s paying our wages. Guess I should say thank you.”

Evelyn said nothing, but from the look that crossed her face, she had no idea what Quinn was talking about. I’d never suspected Evelyn was the person funding the job-she wouldn’t hire a group of hitmen for a nonprofit expedition. But if it wasn’t her…

“Stop squirming,” Jack said. “Gotta get this fastened.”

Quinn sat on the sofa. “So Dee lured Wilkes into a showdown?” He grinned my way. “Way to go.”

Jack shot him a look, but Quinn continued, “You went mano a mano with the infamous Helter Skelter killer. The first victim who fought back. Did he say anything? Too busy getting his heart out of his throat, I bet.”

Jack scooped up the bloodied cloths, wrapped them in the empty bag for later disposal and took them back to his room. I crouched to clean up the first-aid supplies. Quinn slid down beside me to help. As he leaned over for the scissors he whispered, “I’m jealous.” I laughed. We both reached for the spare tape roll. I got to it first, but he pretended not to notice and grabbed for it, ending up with my wrist instead. A quick grin and quicker squeeze, and he released me.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it later,” he said.

I smiled. “We’ll see.”

As I straightened, I caught Evelyn watching us.

“When Jack called us in, he said you have a plan,” Felix said. “Care to share?”

Felix liked the plan. Quinn wasn’t so sure. I understood his reticence. What he and I knew, and the others didn’t, was that we were expecting a federal agent to do something no agent should ever consider. However often one might see movie cops playing lone cowboys, it didn’t work that way in real life. You’re trained to be a team player, and there are plenty of checks and balances to make sure you stay that way-like Quinn having to provide a hotel name and phone number while on vacation.

But, as Quinn conceded, if there was a guy who might go for this, it was Martin Dubois. He amended the plan somewhat, building in protections that might sway Dubois, make him feel safer. Even then he warned that we were taking a chance-that Dubois wouldn’t agree, would double-cross us, would back out at the last moment. But we knew that. All we could do was guard against it.

Quinn left to set his part into motion. While he was gone, Evelyn, Jack and Felix compared notes on Wilkes, as they remembered him. Not a conversation I could join, so after twenty minutes I wandered off to the other side of the room to check out the room service menu. Last thing I’d eaten was a sub on the drive to the parade.

“Hungry?” asked a voice at my shoulder. Quinn. “I’ll bet you are. Confront the man the whole country is searching for, and no one even buys you dinner.”

“Did everything go okay?” I asked.

“It’s started. Now we have to wait for a response. Don’t worry. If what I hear about Dubois is right, he’ll at least hear us out.”

“Good.”

Quinn glanced over at Evelyn, Jack and Felix.

“They’re talking about Wilkes,” I said. “I can’t help them there.”

“Me neither.” He took the menu from me. “We can order from this if you’d like, but I saw a place down the road. What do you say I buy you dinner?”

“Sure,” I said.

I grabbed my wallet, shoes and jacket. As I got ready, I glanced Jack’s way, waiting for him to notice I was leaving, but he was engrossed in the conversation.

Quinn called out a “going to grab a bite,” and I thought I heard Evelyn respond, but he only closed the door and ushered me down the hall. If Evelyn or Jack had wanted to stop us, they could have made it to the door before the elevator arrived. No one did, so I took that as permission to leave.

FORTY-SIX

“You know you’re going to have to kill him,” Quinn said as he speared a chicken ball.

We were in Felix’s hotel room-a small one a few doors from ours. Jack might not have minded me going out to eat with Quinn, but I imagined he’d have something to say about our choice of dining area.

Our plans for the restaurant had gone south when we realized it closed at eleven, and we’d arrived at eleven-thirty. That left McDonald’s or a take-out Chinese place. I’d picked takeout, meaning we needed a place to eat. When Quinn suggested Felix’s room, with a hands-lifted “just to eat-no ulterior motives,” I’d agreed.

If Jack was right, the greatest danger I faced being alone with Quinn was that he’d rethink that “no ulterior motives” bit. That I could stop…if I wanted to. So far, he’d kept his word, lying on the opposite side of the bed, with boxes of food laid out between us, as we talked.

“You have to kill him,” Quinn said again when I didn’t answer. “If not you, then me or Jack, but someone has to. It has nothing to do with ‘the bastard deserves to die.’ Give me a choice, and I’d rather see him rot in jail than get a quick ticket out. Problem is, there’s no guarantee he’ll go to jail. You and I know that better than any of them.”

His eyes met mine and I knew he was searching for some look or reaction that would confirm a suspicion.

I wound up a forkful of noodles. “The justice system isn’t perfect. Everyone knows that.”

As I slurped noodles off my fork, Quinn caught my gaze and I let him have it, holding it for at least ten seconds. Finally, he let out a sigh, breath hissing through his teeth.

“Fine, so you’ve heard things can go wrong. Cops fuck up, lab fucks up, prosecutors fuck up, juries, judges…everyone’s human, and as hard as people try, sometimes they make mistakes. Wilkes’ll get himself a defense lawyer who’d put Manson himself back on the streets if it meant a new car for his mistress.”

I shrugged. “Everyone’s entitled to a fair trial and someone has to make sure they get it.”

“If the case even gets to trial. The way we’re stringing this thing together, even a pro bono suit could find grounds for dismissal.”

“Sure, but-”

“I’m not knocking the plan. I can’t think of an airtight way to do it, either. But it’s a problem, and the question is: what are you going to do about it?”

I put down my fork. “The question is: can I see a way around it? Do I have a problem with killing Wilkes? Of course not. But what’s more important to me is making sure everyone knows he’s been caught. If he just drops off the face of the earth, this won’t ever go away. The Feds will keep pouring money and man-hours into solving it. The newspapers will keep reminding people that it’s unsolved-in other words, that the Feds ‘fucked up.’ Every time a potential suspect turns up, you risk the public taking matters into their own hands. Sure, it’ll die down eventually, but you can bet that on every anniversary for the next decade, the media will bring it back up, reignite the fear. Then there’s the whole issue of copycats-nutcases thinking they can win instant infamy by pulling one hit and claiming the rest as their own.”

“I’m not saying we off him and dump the body. But what if we could toss Dubois a dead suspect instead of a live one?” When I didn’t respond, he added, “I know, it wouldn’t be as easy as it sounds, but take some time later and give it some thought. Run it by Evelyn and Jack. See what they think.”

“I will. And if we can’t come up with a way to kill him before we hand him over, we could arrange it afterward.” I looked over at Quinn. “I’m sure someone would be able to make sure Wilkes never sees the inside of a courtroom…someone who knows how to do such a thing.”

Quinn went still. “So Jack told you what I do?”

“Jack didn’t tell me a thing. He said it wasn’t his place. I had a hunch.”

“That obvious, huh?”

I took a forkful of rice before answering. “I’ve…heard of things like that. As a cop, you must see things go wrong. Maybe someone offers you money to make it go right.” I shrugged. “It might not seem like such a bad idea.”

He shifted on the bed before continuing. “If that did happen, you’d think it would need to be something really big that set him off, wouldn’t you? One of those awful cases you might see once in a lifetime, the kind most cops go their whole careers and never see.”

I thought of Wayne Franco and his victim, Dawn Collins, and concentrated on getting out the last grain of rice.

He continued. “But it wasn’t anything like that. It was the kind of situation you see so often you almost start forgetting what a tragedy it is, and you sure as hell stop expecting anything like justice to come of it. Woman leaves her husband, guy threatens her, she takes out a restraining order, calls the local cops a few times…sure, they try to help, but there are other priorities. And it seems like half the time when cops do respond, the couple is making up in the bedroom when they get there.”

“But this wasn’t one of those times, was it? He killed her.”

Quinn nodded. “It wasn’t my case-that’s not…it isn’t the kind of work I do. But I knew the woman’s father-a friend of my dad’s-and my dad asked me to be there, to explain stuff to the parents. The bastard walked. He leaves the courtroom, grinning and high-fiving his buddies, while her parents are crying, her oldest kid just staring into space, and I’m thinking how goddamn unfair it all is, but that’s really all I think because I’ve seen stuff like that so many times before. Afterward, we’re in the parking lot, and her father asks me to do him a favor.”

“Set things right.”

Quinn nodded.

“And you did.”

“Nope. Told him two wrongs don’t make a right, and I understood how badly he was hurting, but this wasn’t a road he wanted to go down. Two days later, the bastard’s dead, the old man’s in jail, his wife tries to kill herself, and the kids…well, you can bet those kids are fucked for life. And it could have been avoided if I’d taken that job instead of spouting some ‘turn the other cheek’ crap that I knew was bullshit.”

“So that’s what you do then,” I said. “Vigilante for hire.”

Quinn looked at me. His eyes were blue that night. Whenever I saw him, they were blue. I doubted that was his normal color, but he always wore the same contacts when he knew we’d be meeting-the same contacts, the same hair color, the same overall disguise-as if he wanted to show me something consistent.

With Jack, I could look him full in the face and still not have the faintest clue what was going on behind his eyes.

The doors were closed. With Quinn, there were no doors, probably never had been, and I could imagine that it had only taken one look around for the victim’s father to know the best person to approach with his offer.

Now, as Quinn watched me, his feelings were written over every feature-the creases around his mouth, the line between his brows, the anxiety in his eyes as he mentally replayed those words “vigilante for hire,” and tried to interpret my tone.

I moved the take-out boxes aside, folding each and laying it on the table.

“So, you, uh…” He rubbed his chin. “You think…”

“What do you want me to say, Quinn? That I’m impressed? That it puts you a cut above guys like Jack? Like me?”

He grabbed the last box. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t kid myself that it’s some noble cause. I get paid for it…well, not always, but, yeah, you’re right. Vigilante for hire. Maybe it’s a fucked-up way of looking at the world if I think that makes me any better than the guys I off. I just…That’s what I do, and I wanted you to know…” He let the sentence trail off.

“Because…?”

He scooped up the forks and shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted you to know because I wanted you to know.”

I watched him as he dropped the forks into the garbage, his hand hovering there a moment even after the forks had thumped into the bottom, as if reluctant to turn toward me, dragging the distraction out as he tried to think of what to say next. His jaw tightened and relaxed, as if practicing a line.

My gaze slid down to his arm, muscles so tense I could see the tendons against the fabric of his shirt, and I had to fight the urge to slide over there, put my hand on the dip between his shoulder blades, rub away the tension. I resisted, but not because I was afraid where that would lead, because I was pretty sure where it would lead and, at that moment, I was almost as sure I’d let it. I held back because I couldn’t tell him it was all right, when I wasn’t sure that it was. But there was one thing I could say, and honestly, so I did.

“Thanks,” I said. “For telling me.”

A half-smile and a nod, then he moved back onto the bed. As he did, his hand brushed my foot, stopped, and squeezed in a slow rub.

“You might not want to do that,” I said. “I spent half the day in boots.”

A burst of laughter, not-I’m sure-because it was terribly funny, but just because it gave him something to laugh about. He took a better hold on my foot and kept rubbing.

When I arched my brows, he laughed again.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t step one to seduction. I meant what I said earlier. I won’t push.”

“No, you said you didn’t have any ulterior motives.”

“And I don’t. There’s nothing at all secret about my motives. I think I’ve made them perfectly clear.”

“Ulterior motive doesn’t mean ‘hidden agenda.’ It means planning to do more than you let on. In other words, bringing me here for more than dinner.”

“Damn.”

I smiled and shook my head. When he let his hand wander up my calf, I gave another head shake, then another smile.

“Not that I’m averse to the idea in general…” I said.

“But this isn’t the time or the place. I know that, despite what Jack thinks.”

“He said something to you?”

“With Jack, it’s not what he says. It’s all about the body language, which has been screaming ‘don’t even think about it.’” He moved back. “This is probably a dumb thing to ask, because even by bringing it up…But I have to, because I know how it probably looks, me chasing you when I have a beef with Jack, and I wouldn’t blame you for thinking this is all part of that, another bit of the…you know, rivalry.”

“Well, if it is, then you’re wasting your time because there’s nothing going on between Jack and me. Like I said, to him, I’m a partner, maybe a student, but that’s it.”

“Yeah, I knew you two weren’t…well, I didn’t know, but I figured if there was, he’d be doing more than shooting me nasty looks. And I can’t imagine-You don’t seem the type who’d be here if there was someone else.”

“I thought I was just here for dinner.”

“And talking.” He slid over to me. “Talking’s good.”

“And dinner was good.”

“Wasn’t bad. Not exactly the victory meal I had in mind…”

“Better than McDonald’s.”

“That’s good.”

He leaned over and kissed me. The first touch was soft and light, his lips barely brushing mine, ready to move back fast at any sign of rejection. I hesitated and, for a moment, we seemed to hover there, lips touching, looking at each other. Then I closed my eyes. His arms went around my waist, mouth pressing against mine, lips parting.

He leaned into me, not squeezing, not pulling me closer, just…kissing. A very nice, sweet kiss. No pressure, no urgency. Like embers in a campfire, you can see the glow, feel the heat, but there’s no danger there, not unless you want it.

When that first spark ignited, Quinn’s tongue darting into my mouth, testing, hands sliding to my rear, a low, almost inaudible groan rumbling up from his chest, I knew if I wanted to stop it, this was the time. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to close my eyes and drop…and I couldn’t.

I didn’t break the kiss, but I must not have reciprocated the way he’d expected, because he pulled back his head, eyes glazed and hooded.

“No go, huh?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said, disentangling myself.

“Not your fault.” He sat up, concentrating on tucking in his shirt. “If you don’t feel it, nothing you can do about that.”

I gave a ragged laugh. “Oh, I feel it.”

His gaze shot to mine, lips curving slightly. “Yeah?”

I kissed him lightly. “Trust me, that’s not in question. But our timing really sucks.”

He laughed, put his hands around my waist and pulled me onto his lap. “The others wouldn’t appreciate it if we showed up tomorrow too tired to pull this thing off.” He nipped my earlobe. “And something tells me, if we start this, the night’s not going to be over anytime soon.”

I shivered and tried hard-really hard-not to think too much about that. He ran his teeth up my ear, and I ducked away.

“Enough.” I laughed. “I’m trying to be responsible here.”

“One of us needs to be.”

He slid his hands under the hem of my sweatshirt, tickling my sides, his grin threatening to take his hands farther north. I scrambled backward. He grabbed my hips, toppling me down on my back, then moved over me, on all fours above me, crouched there, grinning.

“Not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“That depends. Am I close to getting a yes?”

“That depends. Can I be upstairs in about thirty minutes? Before Jack comes looking for me?” I arched my head back and pointed at the suitcase on the floor. “And before Felix wants his room back?”

“Shit. Forgot about that.” He tickled his fingers across my belly, where my sweatshirt was riding up. “Hmmm. Part of me is screaming to take what I can get. But there’s that other part that’s saying if I do, that might be all I get. Thirty minutes isn’t really enough to make a lasting impression…” He met my gaze. “And I want to make a lasting impression.”

Something inside me flip-flopped and I’m sure I blushed.

His lips lowered to my ear. “We could just make out for a while. Hands-over-clothes rule?”

I sputtered a laugh. “I haven’t heard that since high school.”

“I have maturity issues, in case you haven’t you noticed. Is that a yes?”

“Hands over clothes it is.”

“Does it still count if I take mine off?”

I put my hands on the back of his neck and pulled him down.

Quinn did manage to get his shirt off, but I didn’t complain. Otherwise, he stuck to his rules-just kissing, a relaxed, sensual intimacy that, in some ways, I needed more than sex.

After about ten minutes, Felix unlocked the door, but the chain stopped him from opening it. He must have figured out what was going on and called that he’d be in the lounge, and for Quinn to come get him when he was “un-occupied.”

We lay there for another minute, Quinn’s hand resting on the curve between my waist and hip.

“When this is over…” he began. “I know I can’t exactly ask you out to dinner and a movie, but I would like to keep in touch. It doesn’t matter how. Cell phone, e-mail, whatever you’re comfortable with. I just want…I’d like to stay in touch, whether anything comes of it or not. It’d just be nice. To talk sometimes.”

I smiled. “It would be. Nice, I mean.”

“Good.” A light kiss, then he pulled back.

“I should go,” I said. “Jack’s probably pacing by now, figuring I’ve done something stupid again and wound up in a ditch somewhere.”

“More like figuring I’ve put you in a ditch somewhere. Go on then. Get a good night’s sleep.”

FORTY-SEVEN

By the time I got upstairs, it was past one. I opened the door. The sitting room was dark. As I slid inside, I realized this was Jack’s room, now that I’d moved in with Evelyn. I started to back out, but before the door closed, I remembered something else, namely that I didn’t have a key card for the other room.

I tiptoed to the door joining the other sitting area. As I drew near, I heard voices. Typical hotel-you can shell out for big suites and nice views, but don’t expect soundproofing. It was Evelyn talking, though I could only hear snatches of the conversation.

“…to do about it?…sit back and feel sorry…”

A low rumble. Male, probably Jack, but too low to hear clearly. I considered knocking, but didn’t want to interrupt. Maybe I could watch TV, turn it up loud enough so they’d know I was here, in case they were waiting for me. And the blare of a TV would be less intrusive than a polite knock?

Evelyn again. “Fine, brood, not sulk…”

Jack answered, still unintelligible. As I reached out to knock, Evelyn’s voice grew louder, her words coming clearer. I rapped anyway, but she continued. “…need to take what’s yours.”

Another rumble.

Evelyn sighed. “…not yours, then. So change that. Do something.”

I took the handle and turned it, slowly, checking whether the door was open. It was. One final knock.

Evelyn continued. “If you think he’s going to let this blow over, and just walk away afterward, you’ve got a hell of a shock coming-”

As she spoke, I eased open the door, then gave one last, loud knock, and she stopped in midsentence. I poked my head through the opening.

“Sorry,” I said. “I tried knocking, but I guess you couldn’t hear me. I just wanted to let you know I’m back. I’ll wait over here…”

Evelyn pulled the door open and I nearly fell in. Jack stood across the room, arms crossed.

“Everything…okay?” I asked.

Jack uncrossed his arms, but Evelyn beat him to an answer.

“No, everything is not okay,” she said, looking at him. “But, apparently, it won’t be fixed anytime soon. Not that it matters. Fuck up this chance and I’m sure one will come around again…in another twenty, thirty years.”

“The plan, you mean?” I said as I closed the door behind me. “Has something gone wrong? Quinn hasn’t heard from Dubois, so-”

“The plan is fine…or as fine as we can make it at this point.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “Quinn and I discussed something, a possible change.”

I told them our thoughts on the “final” solution.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Been thinking that. It’s a problem. Not just Wilkes getting off. He’s arrested? He’ll talk.”

“About you and Evelyn. Damn it, I didn’t think-”

“Doesn’t matter. We can handle that. Cops know we exist. You? Still an unknown. I want to keep it that way.”

“Fine, but I still say you guys are in more danger. He won’t hesitate to use whatever he knows as leverage and, if that fails, he’ll just give it away to make your lives difficult. That settles it, then. We can’t hand him over to Dubois while he’s in any condition to talk.”

“Easy enough,” Evelyn said. “We amend the plan so we hand over a corpse instead of a suspect. No big deal. You kill Wilkes, and Dubois will claim he did it in self-defense.”

And there it was. Easy as could be. “You kill him, Nadia.” I didn’t even have to suggest it.

I said, “With the ambition angle, we have some leeway. Dubois might see the danger of bringing in a dead man, but he’ll see the advantages, too. ‘Top federal agent takes on notorious serial killer in a fight to the death…and wins’ makes a lot better copy than ‘Top federal agent apprehends suspect.’”

“No need to decide anything until morning, so let’s take the night to think about it. In the meantime…” She glanced Jack’s way.

Jack hesitated, then looked at me. “You tired? Got a smoke or two left.” He took the pack from his pocket. “Should get them gone.”

My gut twisted. I knew what he really wanted-to finish our argument from earlier, the one I’d walked away from.

“When the hell did you start smoking again?” Evelyn asked Jack.

“Never stopped,” he said.

“I haven’t seen you light up in years.”

“Don’t do it in front of you.”

“But you’ll do it in front of Dee? You really do know how to treat a lady. Take her outside in the middle of the chilly night, so you can blow smoke in her face? At least find someplace warm. There’s a lounge downstairs. Order a drink, relax, have your smoke if you need it…”

I shook my head. “I don’t drink before a job. And I’m beat. I’m just going to go to bed, okay?”

I didn’t wait around to find out whether it was okay, just grabbed my bag and headed for the bathroom. When I came out, Jack was gone.

Evelyn started for the bathroom, but I stopped her.

“You know what Quinn does, don’t you?” I said. “His angle.”

A small smile. “The Boy Scout?”

“Is that his other pro name?”

She moved back into the room and sat on her bed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t suggest you use it unless you want to piss him off. Seems vigilante types have this odd aversion to having it thrown in their face.”

I ignored that and pressed on. “But if this is his angle, vigilantism as you call it, and he’s obviously far more into it than I am, why not take him?”

She grinned. “If I were thirty years younger, Dee, I’d take him in a second. But that’s just libido talking. As a student? He’d be…adequate. Nothing more.”

“But he is a vigilante. And a true believer, not just some guy taking advantage of an underserviced wedge of the market.”

“Still trying to wriggle out of this without making a decision, Nadia?”

“Of course not,” I snapped, a little harder than I meant, annoyed by her switch from Dee to Nadia. I covered it by continuing. “You said you want me because you’re interested in this ‘angle’ of mine. But Quinn has it, so I think I’m entitled to ask a question or two.”

“And make sure I’m not misleading you? Tricking you into something?”

“I’m being careful.”

“Good girl. So why you and not him? Fair question. For Quinn, it’s all up here-” She tapped her head. “Cerebral. He sees injustice and, as a cop, as a moral man, he’s outraged. But there’s no fire here-” She patted her stomach.

“But Quinn’s good. Even Jack admits it.”

“Technical skills, attention to detail, creativity, brains, all that can make you a damned fine hitman, and Quinn has it all. But to be better than fine, to be legendary, you need that drive. Me, I had some, but not on your scale. I’ve only ever seen that kind of fire once, a different sort-the worst case of ‘fuck the world’ rage you’ve ever seen. Without training? Suicide. You take too many chances, trying to dowse those flames. You burn yourself up.” She met my gaze. “Seen any symptoms of that lately, Nadia?”

I said nothing. She pushed to her feet, muttering about her knees, then wished me good night and headed to the bathroom.

I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. That never fails. If you have a big day coming, and you know you need your rest, then you won’t be able to find it, and the longer you lie there, the more anxious you get, which only keeps you awake.

What really kept me awake that night, though, was my conversation with Jack. I believe in honesty. Always have. But brutal honesty is, well, brutal. It rips the scabs off wounds you’ve tried so hard to heal.

He hadn’t said anything I didn’t already know. No matter how hard I’d worked to get my life back on track after Wayne Franco, that track was closed to me forever now. I’d never be a cop again. Marriage, kids, a house in the suburbs-none of it had ever ranked very high on my list of life goals, but there’s a difference between not wanting something and not being able to have it.

Sure, I could find a guy willing to overlook my past-I’d had plenty who’d offered-but I wasn’t as willing to let anyone try, not after Eric. And I was never bringing a child into this world to grow up under the shadow I’d cast. If I really wanted those things, I could move to another country and start over, under a new name, but that was something I’d never more than fleetingly considered.

There were people who would give a damn if I didn’t come back from this trip. Emma and Owen and a handful of friends, like Mitch and Lucy. A pitiably small group, none of the ties as close as those I’d once had. I no longer let people get close, not after everyone who should have stuck by me didn’t. My mother, my brother, my lover, my friends, my extended family-some tried to hang on after “the Incident,” but none tried very hard and when I’d finally packed up and left, I’d heard a collective sigh of relief.

If I died on this mission, I couldn’t help wondering whether my funeral would be like Kozlov’s, where news cameras outnumbered the mourners. That’s a shitty thing to realize…and a shittier thing to make someone realize.

Damn Jack.

After two hours of tossing and listening to the hitches in Evelyn’s breathing as my restlessness disturbed her sleep, I grabbed a pillow and blanket, crept from the room and set up on the sofa.

About thirty minutes later, I drifted off. But when sleep came, it didn’t come soundly, and the moment I lost consciousness I slid right into my nightmare.

I was out of that endless forest and running through a field. I could see the Millers’ house ahead. I’d stop there, call my dad-

Something flashed over my head. I looked up, and saw the wire. My hands shot up to block it, but it flew down, passing right through my outstretched palms and into my throat.

I couldn’t breathe. I kicked and flailed, but the wire only cut deeper. Then it changed. Not Wilkes’s wire, but a knife point, digging into my throat.

Aldrich laughed.

No! He couldn’t have followed. He’d finished with me and was busy with Amy now. I had to get help. To save her-

“Save her?” His voice whispered in my ear. “You aren’t saving her, Nadia. You’re running away. Abandoning her.”

“No!”

As the word ripped from my throat, the world dipped into black. Something whispered across my cheek. A touch, a hand, brushing back my sweaty hair. Cool skin against mine. The faint smell of soap.

“Nadia…?”

I opened my eyes. Jack sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands smoothing my hair.

I groaned. “I’m making a habit of this, aren’t I? How many partners have you had to comfort after nightmares?”

“Don’t work with partners.”

“And this is why, isn’t it?”

A small smile. He traced his fingertips down my cheek, then stopped, his gaze flicking to his hand as if surprised to see it there. He pulled back and shifted to adjust my blanket.

“Sorry,” I said. “Two nights in a row…that’s not normal for me.”

For a moment, he crouched beside the sofa, gaze averted, as if thinking. Then his eyes swung back to me. To my throat. To the ghost of a scar. I pulled the blanket higher. His face turned from mine. Then he pushed to his feet.

“Gotta get you to sleep.”

He walked toward the minibar.

“Uh-uh,” I said. “Booze isn’t-”

He took out a bottle of brown liquid and held it up. “Saw this earlier.”

“Yoo-hoo?” I said, squinting at the label. “What’s in it? Looks like chocolate milk, but…”

“Thought it was.” He looked at it and frowned. “Not sure. Huh. Ingredients…” His lips moved as he read the list. Then his frown deepened. “Still not sure.”

He put the bottle down. “Let me go downstairs. Find you some real stuff. Heat it up.”

“Ah, hot chocolate. Now I get it.” I sat up. “Here, we’ll use that. I’ll just stand back from the microwave, in case it’s explosive.”

He waved me down. “Stay.”

He poured the stuff into a coffee mug, and microwaved it for me. As he brought it over, I gestured at the cigarette pack on the table, where he’d tossed them down earlier.

“You didn’t finish them, I see. Go ahead if you want.”

“Nonsmoking room.”

“I think you’ve broken worse laws.”

“Yeah. But I’d feel bad about this one.”

He handed me my mug and sat beside me on the sofa.

“So, you talked to Quinn tonight,” he said. “He tell you? About himself?”

“That he’s a vigilante hitman? I’d already figured that.”

He studied my expression. Then he grunted, fingers tapping against the cigarette pack. A hungry look down at it, then he stood, crossed the room and tossed it on the counter.

“What did you think would happen, Jack? That I’d hear what Quinn does and say ‘hey, sign me up’?”

“Nah. Just…” He shrugged. Didn’t finish the sentence.

“I didn’t need to hear it from Quinn to know it was an option, that there’s a market for that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He sat down. I sipped my hot Yoo-hoo, and tried not to make a face.

“Tastes like shit?” he said.

I managed a small smile. “Yes, but it gets the job done.” I took another sip. “About tomorrow. I’d really like-I know you’re not the person to talk to about it, because you have problems with the whole plan, but, well, Evelyn, Quinn…I can talk to them but I just don’t feel…”

I looked at Jack. “Whatever happened today, however much we disagree about that, I trust you and I’d really like your input. I plan to pull this off, Jack. Without getting myself killed.”

“I know.” He leaned back into the cushions. “Talk to me.”

So I did.

FORTY-EIGHT

I woke up in the bedroom I was sharing with Evelyn. Last thing I remembered, Jack and I had finished discussing the plan and moved on to talking about…I had no idea what we’d moved on to, because I think that the moment I had the plan straight in my head, I fell asleep. Jack must have carried me in to the bedroom.

I rolled over and checked the other bed. It was empty. The clock read 8:12. I shot up with a curse. Of all the days to sleep in…

I could hear Evelyn in the main room, saying something about Dubois and the contact call. Was there a problem? I scrambled up and threw open the door.

“Have we heard back-?”

I stopped. Evelyn sat on the sofa, in conversation with a man. Only that man wasn’t Jack. It was Quinn. And I was standing in the doorway, half-naked, no wig, no contacts, no makeup. Quinn’s gaze didn’t go to my face first, though. It went to my chest. Or, more accurately, to my torso, emblazoned with the Ontario Police College logo. His eyes lifted to mine. He blinked, realizing I wasn’t wearing a disguise, then looked away. I backpedaled and slammed the door as Evelyn let out an oath.

Evelyn opened the door without knocking.

“Shit, that was a stupid move,” she muttered.

I glared over my shirt collar as I pulled it on. “Yes, I’ve been making a lot of stupid moves lately, but thanks for clarifying that.”

“By ‘stupid move,’ Dee, I meant mine. I should’ve warned you Quinn was here.”

I tugged on my jeans. “Well, I should have woken up enough to think about checking before throwing open the door.”

“I don’t think he got a good look at you. He did the right thing-turned away.”

“It’s not my face I’m worried about. It’s this.” I lifted the police college shirt for her to read before I refolded it into my bag. “That he did see.”

“Shit.”

A soft knock at the door.

“Dee?” Quinn.

I asked him to wait while I looked around for my wig and contacts. When I had them on, I called a welcome. He slid inside. Evelyn hesitated, then left. Quinn stood there as I pulled on my socks.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. You just glanced up when the door opened. And thanks-you know, for looking away when you realized I…”

I let the sentence fade, and picked up my toothpaste. Before I could slip into the bathroom, he grabbed my hand.

“Dee? Whatever I saw? There could be a few explanations, and I have no intention of trying to figure out which one is right.”

“Thanks.”

“How about a trade-off?” He smiled. “One question. Ask me anything.”

When I shook my head, his smile faltered.

“Sure. Okay. I mean, maybe there’s nothing you want-”

“Your eyes,” I said, managing a small smile. “What color are your eyes?”

His grin returned full wattage. “Sure. I can do that-better than that.” He dropped his head forward, reached up and took out his contacts. “There.”

He looked at me. His eyes were light green, the color of new grass.

Quinn moved closer, his head tilting, lips moving down toward mine-

The door banged open and we both jumped back.

“Evelyn told me,” Jack said, by way of introduction. He started crossing the room, then met Quinn’s eyes. A grunt, and his gaze dropped to Quinn’s hand, still cupping his contacts.

“Christ’s sake,” Jack muttered. “Show-and-tell? This isn’t kindergarten.”

“He was just-” I began.

“Leaving,” Jack said. “I need to talk to Dee.”

“It wasn’t Quinn’s-”

“Fault. Yeah. I heard.” He jerked his thumb at the door. “Go call your sources. Dubois doesn’t respond by noon? We call it off.”

Quinn put in his contacts, then squeezed my hand and left.

“There was no need to talk to him that way,” I said. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Besides taking out his contacts?”

“He felt bad, and he wanted to reciprocate-”

“Yeah. He wants to reciprocate. Middle of a fucking job. Starts playing ‘I’ll show you mine.’”

“Actually, I think I showed him mine first.”

“Not on purpose.” Jack moved closer, the edge leaving his voice. “You okay? Evelyn said he saw you. Saw your shirt.”

“Which I should have never brought with me. A dumb move, but it…helps me sleep, and sometimes that’s more important than being careful.”

“I’ve seen the shirt. Had a problem with it? Would have said so. Back to the question. You okay?”

“I’m shaken, but I guess it’s a good lesson for me to be careful all the time, and not relax my guard when I’m with just you and Evelyn.”

“Yeah. Gotta be careful with Evelyn.”

A small smile. “But not you?”

“Not unless I open my mouth. Then I’m dangerous.” He paused. “About yesterday-”

The door swung open.

“Jack? Dee?” Evelyn called. “Dubois bit. He’s in.”

“Now the fun begins,” I murmured.

We’d arranged for our point person to meet Dubois at eleven thirty. Just because he’d agreed to speak to us didn’t mean he’d agree to our plan, but we couldn’t wait to find out. We had too much prep work.

“I ordered the radios yesterday,” Felix said as we ate a late breakfast in our hotel room. “I called this morning and rerouted delivery to a plaza outside town. Quinn? Would you be able to pick those up later?”

“Will do.”

“Need a safe house,” Jack said. “Motel would work. Prefer a house.”

“Easily done,” Felix said. “We’ll locate several for rent, with immediate possession, scout locations, and select one.”

“Hole up in a place for rent?” I said. “Sounds good, but there’s a risk factor, isn’t there? If someone decides to show the place-”

“We’ll rent it,” Felix said. “Cash for a month.”

“Is that-?”

“Safe?” He smiled, and switched to an upper-class British accent. “Hello, I’m Dr. Patterson, and I have a rather…odd request to make. I’m visiting your university and, well, I must admit, I loathe public housing. I believe you have a lovely little place for rent on Main Street? If it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience, I’d like to let it for the week. I’ll pay you for the entire month, of course, in advance.”

“Works for me,” I said.

“And it has worked for me more times than I can count.”

“Let’s get moving on that,” Jack said. “Dubois comes through? I want keys within the hour. Need time for a thorough examination. No surprises.”