"I do."
"I will do everything in my power to avoid linking you to me. And by 'you,' I mean you, not Dee."
That was the problem. It was fine for Evelyn to go to the Contrapasso Fellowship and ask blunt questions to protect a student. Except the person with a price on her head wasn't Dee. It was Nadia Stafford.
She continued, "There is a chance that to get the answers we need and get this mark off your head, I might have to reveal who you are." Tell them that Dee was me. That their mark was a hitman. That Nadia Stafford was a hitman. "And if I do that . . ."
"I can't be me. Not anymore."
"I wouldn't go that far. This isn't an incompetent gang of thugs who would blackmail you for pocket change. However, if they did know, you would no longer be as secure in your normal life. You would need to be on alert and ready to leave at the first sign of trouble."
"Leave my home, you mean. Leave my life. Which, I know, you don't really understand the appeal of anyway . . ."
"I don't. You could make a very handsome living off your second career, and I completely fail to see the point of struggling at something else instead. But you want it. And, God help me, Jack wants it. He wants it for you, and he wants to share it with you."
I thought I heard a faint intake of breath, as if she'd spoken too quickly, too bluntly, which was never usually a problem for Evelyn.
After a moment, she said, "You understand that, don't you? What Jack wants?"
No, not really. It wasn't anything we'd discussed, but if he wanted what she said he did, I'd give it to him. Happily. So I said, "Yes, I understand."
A soft exhale, as if in relief. "Good. So you have your outside life, and I know you want to keep it, and if Jack knew I was even considering doing anything to ruin that, he'd kill me . . . possibly literally."
"Which is why we're having this conversation without him."
"Yes. You're probably wondering why he isn't back from changing the key card. I managed to persuade him that given the hour and the fact you two skipped lunch, you must be hungry. Normally, he'd see right through that, but he's a little distracted right now."
"Is he too distracted?" I said. "I mean, we both are, a little, but . . ."
"Jack's fine. Distracted is the wrong word. He doesn't lose his focus. But, even before this, the mere suggestion that you might need something would be enough to send him scrambling to get it for you. It's nauseating, actually. You may want to work on that."
I managed a faint smile. Then I sobered. "But you mean he left the building? I didn't want him going out, not when he's already been shot at--"
"He's been shot at many, many times, Dee, and there is no one more capable of looking after himself. Your concern is very sweet, though, also in a nauseating way. At least you two are equally infatuated, which I suppose helps, if you like that sort of thing."
"But Jack won't be out long, which means we need to settle this. You're asking permission to blow my cover, if necessary."
"Yes. It's not Jack's decision to make, and he shouldn't have to make it."
"You're right. I wouldn't put that on him."
"So your answer is . . . ?"
Was I willing to risk the lodge, risk my identity, risk the world I'd built, the world I loved? The gut answer was no. Absolutely not. But the stakes . . . that was the problem. What was at stake if I said no? My life. My actual life.
There was a time, not that long ago, when I'd have taken the risk. When the lodge was my life. It still was a huge part of it. But even if that identity--Nadia Stafford, lodge owner--was stripped away, I was still me, and that was worth holding on to.
I was also worried about Jack's involvement in this. But I had to put that aside and make the decision for myself. That wasn't an easy place for me to be in--it's so much easier for me to think of others. Yet I can't live like that. It's a bottomless morass of guilt and denial.
"Yes," I said finally. "If you have to, do it."
"I won't unless I have to." A pause. Then, "I know you don't believe that. You don't trust me. I've given you reason not to, and I won't apologize for that. But . . ." She trailed off and there was a long silence. Then she came back, her voice strong. "I'm going to say this once and only once, and if you ever remind me of it or--God help me, tell Jack--you will wish you hadn't. You have done something for someone I care about very much, Dee. You make Jack something I didn't ever think he could be. You make him happy. I want that for him, and as long as you're doing that, you can trust me. Jack wants you to keep that other life, so I will do everything in my power to make sure you keep it."
"Thank you. And I'm sorry about Duncan."
"He was old," she said, sounding more like herself. "Shitty way to go, though, and I hope that whoever did this will suffer just as much, but mostly, I just want the bastard dead. Get this whole goddamned mess solved, and let everyone get back to their regularly scheduled lives."
"I'm sorry about all this."
"Why? You're not the idiot who had to make the grand romantic gesture of finding Drew Aldrich." She snorted. "There's one you don't see in the movies. Nothing says 'I love you' like 'I tracked down this guy for you to kill.'"
A knock sounded, saving me from a reply.
"Jack's at the door," I said. "Or, at least, I hope it's Jack."
"If it's not, leave it locked."
"Oh, I plan to."
It was indeed Jack. With food.
"Don't worry," he said as he walked in. "Just went two doors down. Got ambushed. He missed. Had to hide the body, though. Took a while."
"I know you're joking, but given our recent history, I wouldn't be shocked if you weren't."
"Yeah." He brought the food to the table and, without even looking over, said, "Everything okay?"
"If I say yes, are you going to call bullshit?"
"Yep." He paused, his hand still on a sandwich wrapper. He looked over. "Quinn call?"
"No, Evelyn."
"Ev--" He looked at the food. "Ah, fuck. I fell for it."
"Don't feel bad. She tricked me, too . . . into admitting that we're together by pretending you'd already told her."
"She could have asked me."
"Oh, but that would be no fun at all." I pulled out a chair, sat, and punched a straw into my drink. "That's not what she was calling about. I'd like to think she wouldn't send you out into the street, following assassination attempts, just to find out the status of our relationship. There was something else she needed to speak to me about."
"Supposed to come through me."
"Yes, except that in this case, she was right to do an end run around you."
I told him what Evelyn had said. I wasn't starting a relationship with Jack by keeping secrets. But by the time I'd finished, he looked stunned and a little queasy.
"Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned--" I began.
"No." He shook it off. "Course not. Just . . . Didn't think . . . Fuck. I didn't think."
"Let's face it--this is a risk I accepted when I took Paul Tomassini's first job offer. There was always the chance that I'd be caught and I'd have two choices. Run or accept my punishment."
He looked over sharply. "Hope there's no question which you'd choose."
"In the beginning, honestly, I think I would have given myself up. Gone to jail, because that's what I would have felt I deserved. Now, though, there's no question. I'd run."
"Good." He paused. "You probably don't want to talk about it. The possibility."
"No, actually I do. I'll feel better knowing I have a plan. If Evelyn tells Contrapasso who I am, and, for whatever reason, they turn me in or threaten to, I'd give the lodge to the Waldens. Then I'd take Scout and leave. You have most of my money in safekeeping, so I'd be okay."
He nodded. "Got your money. Would get you out. Set you up. New identity. New lodge."
"A new lodge?" I shook my head. "I don't think I'd ever be able to do that again."
"Yeah, you could. Would. I'd make sure of it. Buy it for you."
&
nbsp; "Jack, I'd never let you--"
"Too bad. I would." He leaned over the table. "I'd do it because I want to and because I can. Got enough money to buy you ten lodges, Nadia, and not a fucking thing I want to spend it on." He straightened. "Not going to discuss this now. You'll just argue. Any luck? Never have to discuss it at all. But it happens? You'll be okay."
I smiled. "I know I will."
He squeezed my hand and then gathered the trash from our meal as he stood. "Was thinking while I was out. Few things we can follow up on. Leave Chicago. Head to New York. Couple stops on the way. Safer out of Chicago anyway."
"Agreed," I said. "I'll go pack my stuff."
CHAPTER 46
We left Chicago. I was driving, but it quickly became apparent that Jack wasn't going to take advantage of the chance to rest. I pulled over and let him take the wheel. He was stressed and anxious, and it gave him something to do.
Jack had contacted a private-investigator associate--the man he'd used to help him find Drew Aldrich. He was having him dig for any clues on the mystery partner, and we were going to meet up with him in Detroit. Our final destination was New York. Our best lead was there, with the Contrapasso Fellowship.
I napped after that. When I woke, it was after six, and I suggested Jack might want a coffee if he planned to keep the wheel all the way to Detroit.
"Wouldn't mind a walk," he said. "Stretch my legs."
"Absolutely."
"Saw a sign for a park. 'Bout five miles."
"We'll stop there."
A couple minutes of silence. "Want to talk, too. Some stuff. That okay?"
I smiled. "I am always up for talking."
"More like listening."
"I can do that, too."
We pulled in at the park. It was a small one, unmanned, with signs warning it was closed at night. Dusk was still a couple of hours away, but the tiny lot was already empty.
We parked and headed in.
"Don't really need the walk," Jack said as we reached the path. "Just wanted to talk. Not in the car."
"Okay."
He lapsed into silence. We walked about half a kilometer before he continued.
"Was thinking. About our talk earlier. Your lodge. Me having money. Got me thinking. I know about you. Where you live. How you live. You don't know that about me."
"Not for lack of interest, Jack. If you wanted to tell me, I figured you would, and if you didn't, I sure as hell wasn't going to pry."
"Ask then."
I hesitated, but I could tell he seriously wanted me to ask. "Okay, where do you live when you're not on the road? You've got a house somewhere, I presume. A condo or something."
"Nope. Got mailing addresses. Couple post boxes, here and there. Otherwise? Nothing. No house. No apartment. Not even a fucking car. Between jobs? Find a place to stay. Motel usually. Sublet sometimes."
"How long have you been doing that?"
"Always. Never saw the point of owning. Leaves a paper trail. I travel too much anyway. No reason to stay in one place."
"So you've never been married, I take it?"
He gave me a look.
"Hey, it's a perfectly valid question. I take it that's a no. Any kids?"
Another look. "I would have mentioned that."
I met his gaze. "There were times when, for all I knew, you had a wife, kids, a house in the suburbs and a day job in Connecticut. Yes, I was pretty sure you didn't, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility."
He nodded. "Should have said more."
"No, I understood the need for privacy. Now, though, I will ask, and if there's anything you don't want to share, just say so."
"There's nothing. You want to know? I'll tell you." A few more steps in silence. "So, don't have a house. Or car. Got a few storage lockers. Mostly equipment. Clothing? Buy it as I go. Don't really have things. Just money. No bad habits to spend it on. Don't gamble. Don't use drugs. Don't drink much. Worst habit? Damn cigarettes. Maybe a pack a week. Doesn't exactly make a dent in my savings."
"No, I imagine it doesn't. And I don't think I've seen you smoke one in a few days."
"Yeah. Might be wishing for one in a minute." He cleared his throat. "Asked if I've ever been married. Fuck no. Said before about relationships. Don't do 'em. Should explain better. Don't really want to."
"Then don't."
"No. Get it out. Make sure you understand. However awkward this is."
We rounded the next curve in the path before he continued, "Don't do relationships. Don't date. One night? Yeah." He paused. "Even that? Been a while. Getting older. Too much hassle."
He steered me around a patch of mud. "Probably more than you want to know. More than I should say. Just proof that I don't know shit about doing this right. Point is, I'm going to fuck up." He paused. "Don't mean screw around. Wouldn't do that. Mean in general. Last time I dated? High school. And, as I've said, I dropped out after two years. So . . ." A sigh. "Fuck. That's embarrassing."
I laughed. "I didn't expect you'd have a string of girlfriends across the country. Too much work and too much risk. I'm not exactly an expert in the field myself, as my disaster with Quinn might suggest. I've been engaged, as you know. When that ended and the Wayne Franco thing blew up--at the same time--I backed out of the dating scene. So I have no expectations, Jack. I wouldn't anyway. That's not how I am."
"I know. Just wanted you to understand. Don't have to worry you'll find out. Which brings up something else. About Quinn."
I must have stiffened, because he looked over quickly. "Not that. Not even Quinn really. About you two." He paused. "No, not you two. Like that. Just . . . Fuck."
"Tell me what you want to say, Jack."
"You mentioned expectations. Want to talk about that. Different expectations. Awkward conversation, though. We just get together and I say, here's what I expect? Like I've got a right to expect anything."
"You do," I said, looking over at him. "It's not as if we just met, and you're right--even if it seems early to be laying out expectations, it doesn't take long before it's too late, and both parties are headed down very different paths."
"Yeah."
We reached a fork in the trail. I thought that's what stopped Jack from continuing, but even after we started down one, he said nothing.
"Do you want me to go first?" I asked.
"No. Got this. What do I expect? No, not expect. Want. Anything you don't--"
"Jack, stop qualifying. You're only going to make the conversation longer and I'm sure you've had enough of it already."
A short laugh. "Yeah. All right. I want a relationship. A committed relationship. Marriage? Can't offer that. Legally? The guy I was? John Daly? Long gone. Presumed dead. Can't come back. Ever. Otherwise? Got three surnames. Don't consider any of them mine. None are legal. It's just Jack. Can't marry like that. Kids? Never considered it. No real opinion on it. You wanted one? We could figure something out. Wouldn't be easy, though. My past. My identity. Makes everything tough."
"I don't want children, Jack. And I don't need a wedding band to be in a committed relationship."
"All right. Good. Not that I expect . . . Fuck. Been two days. I'm already talking about that."
"You're talking about long-term possibilities and laying out the issues, which I'm absolutely fine with." I glanced at him. "Just as I'm fine with a scenario where someday those would be questions we had to consider."
"Good. All right. So that's what I can't do. What I want to do?" Three more steps. Then he turned, his hands going to my hips, stopping me and holding me there as he looked me in the eye. "You know I'm tired of the job, Nadia. Not ready to get out. But ready to start moving that way. I want something else. Something more. Something with you."
I pressed my lips to his and murmured, "Good."
He exhaled and kissed me back, and I could taste the relief in his kiss. He was right. This was difficult, putting ourselves out there for rejection, admitting what we wanted. Hell, after three years of not even daring
to say that I expected to see him again, there was a part of me that was terrified of even admitting I wanted more than a fling. But he did. And that was, as I said, good.
"So you're fine with that?" Jack said as he pulled back. "Me spending more time at the lodge? Maybe staying? Between jobs?"
"I am absolutely fine with it. I'll just need to strike the right balance between taking advantage of having an extra pair of hands around the place and not giving you so much work that you're scouring the papers, looking for someone to kill, so you can get a break."
He laughed. "Wouldn't happen. I like keeping busy. I just . . . I want to be sure it's all right. That's your place. Your personal place. And I know you never brought . . ."
He trailed off before saying Quinn's name.
I nodded. "I kept telling myself that I was just waiting for the right time to introduce him, but I don't think that was it. It was . . . it was different. You've been honest, so I'm going to take the same chance, even if it doesn't exactly reflect well on me." I looked up at him. "I was with Quinn because there was no reason not to be. We got along. I liked him as a friend. The guy I really wanted to be with wasn't showing any signs that he felt the same. So I settled for what I could get."
"I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be sor--"
"Yeah, I do. You know how long I've been wanting this? Since the third time I came to see you. Hell, maybe from the first time. I just didn't realize it until the third. I was driving to see you. Had no reason to. Made an excuse. So I'm driving there. Got stuck at the border. Customs backup. Impatient as hell. Worried I'd get there too late. You'd be tired. Wouldn't want to talk. That's when I realized it. How I felt. Turned around. Pulled into the nearest pay phone. Called and said I couldn't make it."
"I remember that."
"Yeah. Turned tail and ran. Month later? Talked myself down. You needed help. I could give it. Shouldn't turn my back on you. Keep it what it was. Good enough. So I went back. Three fucking years of that. Run away. Come back. Try to be what you needed. What I thought you wanted. Even if I'd thought you wanted more? Not sure it would have changed anything. Getting involved with me? Fucking stupid. No point. Got nothing to offer. You deserve better."
I tried to cut in, but he wouldn't let me.
"If I cared about you?" he continued. "I'd want what's best for you. Which is not me. Quinn comes along? Start thinking maybe that's it. Much as it hurt. Seemed good for you. Tried to rise above it. Couldn't fucking do it. Ran again. Left you hanging."