Exit Strategy (43 page)

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