"So you think IPP is a shell company for the Contrapasso Fellowship," I said when Jack and Evelyn finished sparring.
"One of my contacts had heard the rumor, and I followed it up with my Contrapasso contact, who confirmed it. IPP is Contrapasso. The man who killed Drew Aldrich was driving a car rented by them. The hit must have been theirs."
I thought about that. "Presumably, then, they'd been on Aldrich for a while. They set that guy on him, probably pretending he was interested in teenage girls, too. Then Aldrich sees me, calls his new buddy in a panic, and the Fellowship steps up their game. Pulls the hit. Leaves the suicide note to get justice for at least one victim."
"Only to turn around and order a hit on the other girl he kidnapped?" Quinn said. "That doesn't make sense. If you believe in justice, you don't kill victims."
"Depends on the victim," Jack said. "What they think she saw."
"You think they might have made me at the scene," I said. "That the killer had backup who spotted me coming or going. Or a cleanup crew that went in later and found something."
"We were careful. Covered our tracks. But didn't know the situation. Anything's possible. These guys? Better equipped. Better connected. Better organized."
"So Aldrich says he thinks he saw me, and they find a sign that someone else was at Aldrich's townhouse. They don't want to handle it themselves because that's not their mandate. They need to distance themselves from the hit. So they hire Roland to send a pro, confirm Aldrich saw me and if so, get rid of the problem."
Quinn shook his head. "I'm not buying it. These guys aren't going to put out a hit on a victim, no matter what she saw."
"No?" Jack said. "If it endangers them? Sure they are."
"Your faith in humanity is overwhelming."
Jack snorted. "Fuck faith. They get caught? Whole system goes down. Won't risk that."
"So if some innocent bystander sees a hit, it's okay to off them, too? Is that how it works in your world, Jack?"
"Not talking about me."
"Why not?"
"Irrelevant."
"I don't think it is. Have you ever done this? Killed an innocent bystander to protect yourself? Because that's not someone--"
"Not someone you want to work with? Bullshit. You already think I would. Think you know what I am. What I've done. What I'd do. Pretty fucking hard for me to sink lower. Not talking about a pro offing a bystander anyway. This is an organization. Risk is bigger. Stakes are higher."
"I don't know," I said. "The risk seems low. It might be worth it to kill one witness if she endangers the organization, but the fact they hired Roland could suggest it's not the Contrapasso Fellowship ordering the hit. It could be one member whose concern for himself outweighs his concern for victims and innocent bystanders."
"That I'll buy," Quinn said. "Someone orders the hit without group approval. So what's the next step? Evelyn has a contact, right? If she can still get Dee an interview--"
"Yes, that'd be the best plan," Evelyn said. "Let Dee gather information from the inside, while giving her a chance to see if she's interested in what the Fellowship has to offer. Two birds with one stone."
"Um, you're suggesting sending me into a group that might have a bounty on my head?"
"We'll use a disguise. A very good disguise. And, as you and Quinn have reasoned, it's unlikely the group itself--"
"No," Jack said.
Evelyn looked at him.
"Absolutely fucking not," he said.
"I believe Dee is quite capable of making her own decision."
"Yes, she is," I said. "And she says absolutely fucking not. The solution is obvious. You set up the interview for Quinn. He's perfect. He can go in as himself--well, his Quinn self. He's already got the professional reputation for doing exactly the kind of work the society undertakes. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they have a file on him as a potential recruit."
"They don't recruit."
"Then I bet they still have that file, in hopes he figures out how to contact them."
"Dee's right," Jack said. "Quinn's a lousy actor. But this isn't acting. He is interested. He likes it? He can sign up. He brings us what we need for Dee's problem. We handle it. No connection to him."
Evelyn grumbled, but it was the perfect solution and ultimately she had no choice but to make the call. The Boy Scout was about to apply for membership in the Contrapasso Fellowship.
Evelyn's contact at Contrapasso worked fast--I suspect Evelyn had carried on laying the groundwork for an eventual interview for me. Whatever she'd told them likely fit Quinn, too, since she wouldn't have mentioned my gender. Now that she'd given them the professional name of this potential recruit, she'd gotten a call back within the hour. They wanted to meet Quinn. The interview was set for first thing tomorrow morning in New York.
Quinn left the moment we suspected an interview was forthcoming. He was going to swing by the office in Virginia first, putting in an appearance, which would help if he needed more time off.
Evelyn left as soon as that interview was confirmed. She'd fly to New York, where she'd meet Quinn first thing in the morning and support him through the interview process. And me? Jack and I were going back to the lodge. The Shannon Broadhurst lead had been a dead end, and it looked as if Aldrich's killer came from a whole other direction, unconnected to our "like-minded friend" theory. There was nothing for us to do but wait.
CHAPTER 31
Jack and I weren't in any hurry to leave--we'd already paid for the night. As we were getting ready, I got a call on my regular cell. It was my cousin Neil.
He asked how I was doing, was I enjoying my time off, was I still with my "friend." Not being nosy. Just making conversation and, yes, teasing me a little because that's what cousins do, no matter how old you are.
"I called to see if you had any other questions," Neil said finally. "I wanted to remind you I'm here, if you need to ask something or you just want to talk . . ."
"Thanks. I'm okay right now. Keeping busy, which helps."
"It does." A pause. Then Neil cleared his throat. "I, uh, have . . . I mean, when you were here, we discussed the file. The case file. I know you haven't seen it and I thought you might want to so . . ."
My heart stuttered. "You have it?"
"I do."
"You didn't need to do that."
"It's your dad's copy. He . . . kept one at home. Locked away. When he got sick, he asked my dad to take it. He was worried that when he passed and your mom cleared his things, she might . . . Anyway, I was at my parents' yesterday for dinner and I asked for the file. I didn't tell them why. They just figured I was interested now that Aldrich is dead. But I have it here, if you want to see it."
"No." The word came out fast, sharp even. "I mean . . ." I sucked in breath. "I will. Someday. But right now . . ."
"It's too soon."
"Yes. I'm sorry. I know you got it--"
"Just picked it up while I was already there, like I said. No pressure, Nadia. You never have to see it if you don't want to. I just thought I should have it here, in case you do."
I told him I appreciated that, and we talked for a few more minutes on other subjects, before we hung up. Then I sat on the edge of the bed, thinking. It took a minute to remember that I wasn't alone. Jack stood in the open doorway, bag in hand.
"Right," I said. "Sorry."
I slid off the bed and took my folded jeans from the dresser top.
"Everything okay?" Jack asked as I put the jeans into my bag.
"Fine."
I grabbed my toiletry bag from the washroom. I came out, stuffed it into my duffel, and headed for the door, and nearly crashed into Jack, who hadn't moved. He reached to take my bag.
"Got it," I said.
He took it anyway, prying it from my fingers. Then he nudged me back into the room.
"Sit," he said.
I tried to protest, but he was right in front of me, moving forward, forcing me to step back until I hit the edge of the bed.
"Sit."
I sat. He set the bags aside and pulled a chair in front of me. When I started to rise, he moved his chair so close his legs were against mine.
"Talk," he said.
"I don't want to--"
"Too bad. Talk."
I glowered at him.
"Don't give me that. Really don't want to talk? Fine. But you do. Being polite. Fuck polite. That was your cousin. Don't know what he said. Wasn't eavesdropping. But you're upset. We're not on a schedule. No rush. So talk."
"Yes, it was Neil. He has the case file for Amy's murder. He asked if I wanted it. I said no. I'm not ready."
"Okay. But . . ."
"I feel guilty now."
"Because he got it for you?"
"Maybe guilty isn't the right word. I feel as if I should read it, like I read that journal. Suck it up and get it over with. But I'm not ready, and I feel . . . cowardly, I guess. Like I'm sticking my head in the sand. I'm just so . . ."
"What?" he said when I didn't continue.
"Nothing. We should go. I--"
"Nadia . . ."
"I feel confused," I blurted. "If I seem to be coping, I feel like I'm in denial. If I'm distracting myself with work, I feel like I'm hiding from the truth. If I don't want to read that report, I feel like I'm being a coward. What if I remember things I did wrong? Something I said that made Aldrich--"
"No," Jack's voice was harsh. "No, Nadia. You didn't say--"
"Or maybe I didn't fight hard enough. Maybe if I kicked or bit or--"
"No." Jack gripped my arms, fingers digging in. "You did nothing to make it happen. Nothing you could have done would have stopped it from happening."
I took a deep breath. "And I know that. But it doesn't stop the questions. So many goddamned questions, and I'm handling it all wrong."
"There's no right way to handle this," Jack said. "Just your way. If you aren't handling it? Acting out of character? Having nightmares? Losing sleep? I'll notice. I'll call you on it. You know that."
I nodded.
We lapsed into silence. I was still stressing, of course, and trying hard not to show it and failing miserably. So I started making a move to get up, but Jack motioned me back down.
"About what Quinn said . . ." he began.
I looked up.
"Yeah. Change of subject."
"Distraction technique, you mean."
"Yep. So. Let's talk. What Quinn said. What I'd do. What I've done."
It took a moment for me to understand what he was talking about.
"Right," I said. "The innocent bystander issue. I don't know why he was pulling that."
"Fucking obvious why. Doesn't want an answer for himself. Wants it for you. Push me into saying something you won't like."
I shifted. "Obviously Quinn and I still have issues. It's spilling out onto the job. I'm sorry about that."
"Not you. You can keep separate. He can't. He wants you back. You working with me? Rooming with me? Blocking him. He's trying to cause trouble. Between us."
"If so, then he's failing miserably. I don't need you to answer that question because the answer wouldn't change anything. I know you wouldn't kill an innocent bystander if you could avoid it. If you couldn't?" I shrugged. "I'm not going to presume to know how you'd react, but either way, I'm okay with it."
"Don't want an answer? Or you'd rather not know?"
I met his gaze. "No, Jack. Anything you want to tell me, I want to know. But I'm never going to push you for anything. I respect your boundaries and your privacy--"
"Fuck that."
I stared at him.
"Fuck my boundaries. Fuck my privacy. Doesn't apply to you. I don't want to answer? Won't. Won't be pissed at you for asking. Quinn? Hell, yeah. You? Never." He eased back in the chair, legs still against mine. "So I'm gonna answer. You want me to stop? Rather not hear it? Say so."
I nodded.
"Have I intentionally killed a bystander? No. Would I if they witnessed something? Fifteen years ago? Yeah. Today? If the only person at risk is me? No. I fuck up? That's what I get. If it was bigger? Other people at risk? Depends. Gotta weigh all factors. Not saying I would. Not saying I never would."
"Fair enough."
"Now the rest. Stuff you've never asked. Stuff you wouldn't ask. But Quinn's not going to drop this. Fact is? I'd rather you knew. Get it out in the open. This is the part where you might want to stop me. What have I done? How bad?"
He moved back in his seat, putting a little more distance between us, only our knees brushing now. "Killing children? Fuck, no. But that's the norm. You want a hit with kids? You gotta go deep to find someone who'll do it. Killing family members to send a message? Never, but that's not ethics. That's personal. I went through it. Won't do it to someone else. Other than that . . ."
He paused and reached for his jacket pocket. Then he patted it. "Fuck."
"You left your cigarettes in the car. And you really don't want to smoke in a hotel room. It'll set off the smoke detector."
"Yeah."
"If you don't want to do this . . ."
He looked at me. "You've heard of it? I've done it. Mob hits, yeah. Drug hits, yeah. Plenty of lowlife A wanting lowlife B dead. But there's more, too. Killed people who did nothing to deserve it. Spouse for insurance money. For custody. For screwing around. For freedom to screw around. Business partner. Business rival. Lots of business shit. Lots of bullshit. Innocent people. Couple of bystanders once. Not intentionally. Car bomb. Furious with myself. Fucked up. Only problem . . ."
His hand twitched as if he was ready to reach for a cigarette again. I tried to say something, but he continued before I could.
"The problem? That's all I thought. All I felt. That I'd fucked up. I was pissed off at the mistake. Those bystanders? Couple college guys. Never thought about them. Their parents, friends, girlfriends. Just a mistake. Like smashing up my car. That's when I realized how bad it'd gotten. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing penetrated. Like a fucking robot. So I got my shit together. Still? Not like you and Quinn. Some shit I do? You wouldn't touch. Lowlife A calling a hit on lowlife B. But different scale. Not always 'bastard deserved it.' More like: you wallow in mud, expect to get dirty."
"That might not be what I do, but I don't disagree with it in principle."
"You sure?" He'd shifted as he'd talked, moving his chair back, leaning forward in it, forearms on his legs now. His gaze lifted to mine. "You really okay with that?"
"I--"
"Don't need to do that. Got enough money. Could be pickier." His gaze locked with mine. "You want me to be pickier?"
My throat seized up and I could barely squeak out, "Wh-what?"
"I'm asking if you'd like me to be pickier, Nadia."
I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but it was a stupid question. Jack was asking if I wanted him to change the type of work he did. If I wanted him to switch to jobs I'd be more comfortable with. I could tell myself that maybe this was his way of saying he wanted to team up more often. That he was getting older, and he could use a partner. But he was nowhere near the stage where he needed backup.
He was asking if I wanted him to change what he did. To become something else. Something I might prefer. You don't ask that of a student. You don't even ask it of a friend. You only ask it if . . .
I was missing something. Going from friendship to "I'd change my life for you" required a few steps in between, and unless I was doing a lot more than walking in my sleep, we'd skipped all of them.
"I . . ." I steeled myself and looked right at him. "I don't want you to change anything, Jack. I am completely and absolutely fine with what you are and what you do. Nothing you've said, nothing you've done, nothing I could find out is going to change that."
He studied my expression. I kept my gaze on his, letting him look. There was nothing to hide. I meant it.
"I could," he said. "I would."
"And I'd never ask it or expect it. You're not me. I don't want you to be. I want you exactly the wa
y you are."
Was it possible to be any clearer? Short of grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him onto the bed? But he just sat there, his face expressionless. Then, finally, he eased closer, his legs rubbing against mine, leaning over and . . .
And nothing. He stopped there, legs pushed against mine, hands on his knees, leaning forward as if he was going to . . .
Hell, I have no idea what he was going to do. Or if he was going to do anything at all. He was just there, so close I could feel the whisper of his breath, the weight of his gaze, and I had no fucking idea what he was planning to do or what he wanted me to do.
He was waiting for a sign and what I'd said wasn't enough. He needed me to be absolutely clear.
I should do something. Lean forward. Reach out. Do something. Do anything.
That was the problem, wasn't it? He wouldn't make a move until he was sure. I couldn't make one until I was. One of us had to take a chance, risk personal humiliation and a very awkward extrication if we'd misinterpreted--
Jack's phone buzzed from his rear pocket.
"Probably Evelyn," he said.
"Probably."
"But maybe not. It's my . . ."
"Your work phone. I know." I paused. "You should check it."
"Right." He pulled the phone out and glanced at the screen. Then he looked at me. "Not Evelyn. Work."
"Okay."
"I should . . ." He glanced down but still made no attempt to answer.
Don't. Just forget it. Return the call later.
He looked at me. The words died in my throat. He glanced away.
"Should get this," he said and answered, rising and taking the call out of the room.
Well, if he'd wanted to distract me, he'd succeeded. I was no longer hopelessly confused over what happened twenty years ago. I was hopelessly confused over what was happening now.
I reached down and picked up my duffel. My laptop was inside. I got it out and started doing research on Aldrich's trial.
I was immersed in an article when I felt a faint draft on my shoulder and looked up to see Jack in the doorway.
"Hey," I said.
He only nodded and stayed there. I tried to read his face. Impossible, of course. If he didn't want to show me anything, I didn't see anything. Which was a big part of the problem, I guess.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. Just work."
"Do you need to take off?"