Exit Strategy Part 22

"I thought this might be a good time to redo my introduction," he said. "I came off like a jerk yesterday and I'm sorry."

"You didn't like the idea of Jack bringing a stranger on board. I don't blame you. I think that's why he didn't want us to meet. Protecting your privacy-yours and the others."

We turned a corner.

"So you must be Evelyn's new protegee," he said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, because you're a-" He colored slightly. "Because I can be a s.e.xist moron. Sorry. Again. I didn't mean to jump to conclusions. You're not Evelyn's, then?"

"No, I'm Jack's."

When he looked my way, brows raised, I sputtered a laugh. "I mean his protegee. Strictly business. Even 'protegee' is probably pus.h.i.+ng it."

Another light. We waited in silence, then crossed.

"How far do you go normally?" he asked.

"Te-" I stopped myself before saying kilometers. "Five miles. Give or take."

"Every day, I'm guessing."

He flashed an appreciative glance down my figure. A nice glance-not a leer or an ogle. The appreciative part was good, too. After that dream, I was certainly in the mood for it. I even returned it, though more discreetly. He was wearing jogging pants and an old T-s.h.i.+rt with the sleeves ripped off, showing his muscles. Good-looking in a wholesome, athletic way, nothing to stop traffic, but enough to invite the gaze to linger...and enjoy.

He plucked at the sweat-sodden front of his T-s.h.i.+rt and pulled a face. "I definitely need to start doing more cardio myself. Soon, or I'll be skipping ski season this year."

"Cross-country or-" I stopped. "Sorry. I guess that'd be prying."

Quinn whooped a breathless laugh. "That's what happens when you hang out with Jack. You start thinking 'What do you take in your coffee?' might be too personal."

We turned the corner, then Quinn continued, "Sure, you have to be careful, but there's still stuff you can talk about. What are you going to do, say, 'Hmmm, I know Jack likes James Dean movies, nachos with chicken, and Bob Dylan,' and plug it into some national database to figure out who he really is? Even if I knew his name and social security number, what the h.e.l.l would I with it?"

"If you were caught, you might find a use for it."

"Cut a deal, you mean? Considering what he knows about me, I'd be nuts to do that. Anyway, I don't think that telling you I like to ski is a major security violation. So, yes, I ski. Downhill, as you were about to ask. I keep meaning to try cross-country, but I never get around to it."

"Cross-country is a good winter subst.i.tute for jogging, though it can't beat downhill for the adrenaline rush. I always think of them as opposite ends of the spectrum. Downhill for getting the heart pumping, cross-country for relaxing."

We crossed at the lights, nearly getting knocked down by the draft of a car whizzing around the corner.

"Cross-country's more peaceful, I bet," Quinn said. "Without the crowds of hot-doggers racing around you."

"G.o.d, yes. Find a nice quiet trail through the woods, go out at night with the moonlight glistening off the snow-perfect."

"There's this club I go to, up in Vermont. They've got a trail along the river, and every year I tell myself I'm going to try it, but I can't get my buddies off the hills...or off the snow bunnies."

"Not many snow bunnies on the cross-country trails."

"Which is not necessarily a bad thing. Last year, we met this group of girls. They must have blown a grand each on their outfits, but they couldn't even lace up their boots right. We..."

"...ride the helicopter to the top of the mountain," Quinn said as he held open the hotel room door for me. "Then they drop you off and you ski down."

"Heli-skiing," I said. Felix and Jack were watching CNN. "I hear it's amazing."

Felix glanced over. He looked different today-his hair color the same, but his manner changed along with his clothes. A well-loved tweed blazer and slacks, hair slightly too long, gla.s.ses perched on the end of his nose, pale cheeks hollow-the college professor who doesn't spend much time away from his books.

"Jumping out of a helicopter and skiing down a mountain?" he said. "Sounds almost as much fun as swimming in a shark tank. But I suppose you two do that, too."

"Only if we have the right equipment," I said. "If you forget the blood-soaked bikini, there's just no challenge to it."

"Dee?" Jack cut in. "Breakfast."

"Oh, right. Should we order-"

"Pick up." He walked to the door. "Come on."

"I'll take the breakfast special," Quinn said. "Bacon, eggs, whatever. If I get toast, make it whole wheat."

"And what would you like in your coffee?" I asked.

He grinned. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Cream and double sugar," Jack said. "Let's go."

TWENTY-EIGHT.

We got as far as the elevator before Jack said, "You saw my note, right? It said 'wait.'"

"That was a note? I thought it was a haiku." I pressed the elevator b.u.t.ton. "I left you a note in return, and stuck to the main street, so it was no less safe than wherever you went."

"That's not-"

"If you mean Quinn, it wasn't as bad as it looked. Yes, I know, one minute I'm worried about meeting the guy, and the next I'm chatting and laughing with him. But that's my way of handling situations like this. Morose and monosyllabic may work for some people, but not for me."

"Morose?"

"The best way for me to behave with someone I don't trust is to act like I trust them completely. They may let their guard down, but I don't. Ever."

As the doors opened, I could feel him watching me. We stepped on.

"Tomorrow?" he said. "You want to jog? I'll follow."

"You run?"

"Only if someone's chasing. I'll drive."

Over breakfast, Jack told us what he'd been doing earlier-checking his messages. And he'd had one, from Shadow. It seemed Sid, his twin brother, had indeed been taken into custody. Now Shadow had decided to make like his namesake and gone to ground, wanting nothing more to do with the investigation. He was in such a hurry that Jack didn't get a chance to ask whether they'd uncovered any leads or even what angle they'd been investigating.

Then came Quinn's news: the FBI was investigating Benjamin Moreland but not considering him a viable suspect. What did interest them was the killer's possible link to Moreland-how he'd gotten that hair.

After we discussed that, we moved on to our own investigation. Jack had me tell Quinn and Felix our progress to date.

"Not great," I said. "So far, they all feel like dead-ends."

"s.h.i.+t," Quinn said. "At least you've got got something to look into. With the Moreland lead gone, so's our investigation. How about we take some of yours?" something to look into. With the Moreland lead gone, so's our investigation. How about we take some of yours?"

Jack shrugged. "Suppose so. Vigilantism. You want that?"

Quinn's lips tightened, but Jack only sipped his coffee.

"We'll take it," Felix said. "I'll also see what I can do to verify Baron's death. d.a.m.ned shame, that. He was a good man once."

Jack nodded.

Since we were back to wearing our biker-duo outfits, Jack must have thought we needed to get in the right mind-set. After only an hour on the road, he stopped at the kind of place that gives the word "dive" a bad name. It wasn't even noon, and there was already someone lying on the floor. Probably pa.s.sed out drunk, but in this place you could keel over dead and not be noticed until the flies started feasting.

There were a half-dozen men in the diner/bar, but only one even looked our way, and just to ogle me as we pa.s.sed. At a sharp look from Jack, the man returned to staring at the empty chair across the table, and lifted his coffee mug, taking so deep a swig I suspected it wasn't filled with java, which would explain why I couldn't smell fresh brewed coffee despite the mugs at every man's table. For that matter, I couldn't smell much of anything, just a faint whiff of mildew, as if the customers-even more disheveled and shabby than the tavern-were too well pickled to give off any odor.

Without so much as a glance around, Jack navigated to the darkened back hall.

"You've been here before, I take it," I whispered. "Please tell me it was on business."

"Yeah. Order a burger for a mark? Chef does your job for you."

The hall was nearly pitch-black. An exit sign at the end gave off the only light. After my eyes adjusted, I could see a chain on the rear door. The management must have been more worried about customers escaping without paying than escaping a fire. Although, from what I'd seen, I doubted they'd go anywhere even if the chairs under them were ablaze.

Jack led me to a phone booth, picked up the receiver and held it to my ear. Guess that meant I was doing the talking. I presumed he was holding it because he was wearing gloves and I wasn't, but I was glad of it for any reason. The receiver was so filthy I could barely bring my lips close enough to it to talk.

He dialed. Evelyn picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, Auntie E," I said, cranking my voice up a few octaves. "It's me!"

Not so much as a beat-pause. "Deedee, why h.e.l.lo, dear. So good of you to call. And how's Jackie? Taking good care of you, I hope."

I looked around at the grunge-streaked walls. "You bet. He takes me to all all the best places. So, auntie, remember how we were going to visit cousin Will? Before that thing came up? Well, Jackie and I thought we'd pay him a visit. But first, we wanted to see whether you wanted to join us, since it was your idea." the best places. So, auntie, remember how we were going to visit cousin Will? Before that thing came up? Well, Jackie and I thought we'd pay him a visit. But first, we wanted to see whether you wanted to join us, since it was your idea."

"Oh, that's very sweet of you, dear, but you kids don't want to travel all the way over here to pick me up. Go and see Will, and give him my love. Then you can stop here on the way back. I'd love to see you."

I glanced at Jack, who'd been listening in. "I'm not sure-"

"Really, I must insist." Her voice was still light, but her tone had taken on a steel core. "We have so much catching up to do."

Jack hesitated, then nodded. I told Evelyn we'd be there late this afternoon, then signed off.

"Jackie?" Jack said.

"She started it."

He shook his head and led me back into the bar.

At the jail, Jack didn't even bother with a cover story-just gave the guard his fake name and ID and said we wanted to speak to Nicky Volkv. Volkv agreed to see us. I guess after years in jail, he was just happy for a visitor.

From the moment we entered the jail, Jack became someone else, sliding into his aging-biker character as he hadn't bothered to until now. His head went higher, shoulders squared, stride taking on a hint of a swagger.

We sat on the visitors' side of the Plexiglas barrier for five silent minutes before the door opened and the guard ushered in a tall man with graying dark hair and a milky-white left eye. Volkv squinted his good eye at Jack.

"I know you?" he asked.

"You should."

The briefest hesitation, then Volkv sat down. He folded his hands on the counter, gaze darting from Jack to me. It lingered on me, hungry.

"Leon Kozlov," Jack said.

Volkv reluctantly pulled his gaze from me. "You know Leon? How is the old son of a b.i.t.c.h?"

We'd expected Volkv to know about Kozlov's death. Even in jail, he shouldn't be that cut off, but from his open smile as we mentioned his friend, he was obviously serious.

"He's dead," Jack said.

Volkv blinked, then leaned forward, resting his mouth against his open hand. It took a moment before he looked up again.

"How'd it happen?"

"Hit."

I expected Volkv to laugh, or at least ask Jack to repeat himself. Someone paying to off an old thug who'd been out of the business for twenty years? Waste of ammo.

But Volkv just gave a long slow shake of his head. "Dumb f.u.c.k. I warned him. Last time he was here, he sat right there-same chair you're in, as a matter of fact, and I said, 'Leon, you dumb f.u.c.k, that ain't a retirement package, it's a death sentence.' You don't screw with those guys, you know what I mean?"

Jack nodded.