Made to Be Broken (19 page)

Chapter Thirty-five

We had a great dinner. Jack once told me that growing up he'd dreamed of being rich enough someday to have steak every night. He'd tried it, following his first job, and gave up after a few weeks, but a steak house is still his restaurant of choice.

So finding one was a way to put him into a good mood, relaxed, even voluble... or what passed for voluble with Jack. After a quick rundown of the security – couched in terms appropriate for a public setting – conversation turned to the more personal... or what passed for personal with Jack. He told me a story about an old job – also modified for the setting and containing no information to identify the target, location, or even time period, but entertaining nonetheless.

We had dessert at a patisserie three doors from the coffee shop where we'd staked out the Byrony Agency. We went in at 10:30 p.m., which seemed late for dessert, but I'd noticed earlier that the place was open until midnight, presumably to catch the postshow crowd from the theater down the road. Before the show got out, the place was nearly empty, and we easily got a window seat.

I ordered a chocolate torte. Jack got apple pie. I teased him about that – faced with a display of elaborate desserts, he picked something he could have any night at the lodge. When it arrived, he seemed a little annoyed by the attempts to fancy it up with caramel crackles, whipped cream, and chocolate drizzles. After a few bites, he pronounced it decent enough, but not as good as Emma's... and he left the broken crackles and blob of cream on the side.

As the shop started to fill with the theater crowd, two women entered the Byrony Agency. Cleaning staff. By 11:45, as we were settling the bill, they were already leaving, being either superefficient or figuring, with the empty office, no one would know how long they'd stayed.

We took our time. The staff, unlike the cleaners, seemed in no rush to get home, and when we left at 12:10, they'd done no more than dim the lights as a subtle hint to the remaining diners.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk, my gaze scanned the opposite side of the street. Dark and quiet.

"Fuck."

I followed Jack's glare to a homeless guy on the coffee shop steps.

"He's just catching the stragglers from the show," I murmured. "When the shop clears and closes, he'll leave. We can't move until then anyway."

We tucked ourselves into an alley. Twenty minutes later, the last of the dessert shop staff locked the door, the click echoing. Through the reflection in a store window, I watched the homeless man stand, stretch... then retreat farther into the alcove and curl up in its shadows.

"Fuck," I said.

Jack grunted his agreement.

We waited, hoping he was just resting or that a passing cop would roust him. But the man stayed in his corner, the sidewalk stayed empty, and the street saw a car only every few minutes.

"If he's asleep, maybe we can..." I shook my head. We couldn't risk it.

We waited until a distant church bell rang twice, and my nose and toes had gone numb. Then Jack shook his head and motioned me toward the car. We weren't getting into the Byrony Agency tonight.

"Three hours to Evelyn's," Jack said as we climbed in. "This time of night? Probably less."

"You don't need to come up with distractions for me, Jack. Yes, I'm disappointed, but we knew this wouldn't be an easy break-in. We'll try again tomorrow night, with backup plans for dealing with the guy, if that's his regular spot. If we're lucky, we'll have Quinn. I'm sure he can play cop and send him on his way."

"Wasn't a distraction. Just saving time. Getting it over with. Unless you're tired..."

"Even if I was, I don't think I'd sleep."

"Good." He opened the door and got out. "Take first shift. Head to 94 west."

There was no rush so we stopped for washroom breaks, leg stretches, and coffee runs, taking turns at the wheel. I'll admit I'd hoped one of those stops would be a cigarette break, so I could hear Jack's story. I wasn't as interested in knowing how he'd broken his foot as in the simple fact of his telling me, trusting me enough to share a story that was, as he said, embarrassing. But he didn't suggest it, and I started to feel a little silly about our deal, maybe even rude, asking for a personal story before I gave him the cigarettes. So at the last driver switch, thirty minutes from Fort Wayne, I opened the hatch and slid the pack from my bag to his.

We arrived at Evelyn's just before six. Jack parked at the usual strip mall around the corner. If it seemed like we'd stay longer than a couple of hours, he'd move the car to her garage.

As we climbed her steps, I asked what time she expected us.

"Doesn't."

"She doesn't know we're coming? We're showing up, unannounced, on her doorstep at six in the morning? That's not very nice."

"Yeah."

I laughed. He knocked, then waited ten seconds and knocked again.

After another minute came the faint sound of footsteps on the stairs. Now she needed to check who it was. There wasn't a peephole. In this neighborhood, populated with upper-middle-class retirees, I'm sure there were lots of peepholes. But Evelyn would never get one installed for fear she'd be mistaken for something a lot worse than a cautious retired criminal: a nervous little old lady. And, besides, peepholes? This was the twenty-first century. For Evelyn, nothing short of a wireless, motion-detecting, autotracking closed-circuit camera would do.

Locks sounded. I counted off all three, then waited for a sharp command to the dogs. It came, followed by the scrabble of their claws on the stairs as they headed back up to bed.

The door opened. Evelyn stood there, wearing a pale yellow linen shirt and gray slacks, the shirt slightly cockeyed, the only sign the outfit had been hastily pulled on. She raked her hand through her white bob and fixed Jack with a killer glare.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Visit," he said. "Owed you one, right?"

"Not at five o'clock in the goddamned morning."

"Six."

"Get the hell in here, before I catch pneumonia."

Her sharp eyes followed Jack as he entered, sliding down to his feet. "I thought you had another two weeks in that cast."

"Changed my mind."

"And yes, I tried to stop him," I said. "But it was help or let him do it himself and risk hacking off more than the cast. Apparently, it was hampering his ability to help me with the case.
My
case, may I point out, which I was perfectly happy to investigate alone while he rested."

She snorted and took my jacket. "Rest and Jack are two words that don't belong in the same sentence. Hol ing up in a backwoods shack isn't for him – as lovely as it may be." Her look said she doubted
lovely
was the word. Evelyn had made it clear from the start that her opinion of my primary occupation wavered between "how quaint" and "my God, why would someone actually choose to live like that?"

She continued. "He was probably climbing the walls... though not as frantically as he was in that motel room. Much longer in
there
and he'd have chewed off his cast." A glance my way. "How bad was it?"

I remembered the state of Jack's motel room. "Let's just say a mild case of cabin fever had set in."

"Mild, my ass."

She led me into the living room, where Jack had already claimed his usual end of the love seat. He jerked his chin, telling me to take the other, which I would have done anyway – my only other options being the two hard-backed postmodern pieces or Evelyn's armchair.

"I told you he'd follow you home," she continued as I crossed to the love seat. "I'm sure he put up a token struggle, of course. Probably went something like this: 'I'm fine. Nah. Fuck, yeah. I'm fine. Go on.' Then he let you get... oh, about as far the parking lot before he limped out after you, deciding maybe, since you'd come all that way, and since you were offering, he might as well go with you. He offered to pay, too, didn't he?"

Jack tensed, preparing for Evelyn's inevitable crowing about how well she knew him.

"Pay?" I lowered myself onto the love seat. "Damn, I gave in too fast, didn't I?"

"I'll pay," Jack said. "Just didn't want to mention it."

"Oh, I'm kidding. You know I wouldn't take your money."

The briefest flicker of consternation glimmered in Evelyn's eyes. If I felt any guilt at lying just to prick her ego, it was wiped out by the equally quick flash of gratitude in Jack's.

"Coffee?" he asked, pushing to his feet.

"Yes, please."

"You might as well round up breakfast while you're in there," Evelyn said.

A grunt. As he disappeared through the kitchen door, his voice rolled back to us. "Update her, Dee."

In other words, don't give her a chance to make her offer until he was in the room. I told her about our appointment and thwarted break-in.

"So we'll try again tonight," I said. "If Quinn's here, he can roust the guy and stand guard."

"Quinn? What's Quinn got to do with this?"

When I fell into silence, she twisted to look toward the kitchen.

"Did you forget to mention something, Jacko? Or someone?"

He appeared with two coffees. I mouthed "I'm sorry" while Evelyn still had her back to me. He shrugged, crossed the room and handed me my mug.

"Go on," he said. "Tell her."

"Tell her...?"

"Everything."

Meaning I should go all the way back to how Quinn first became involved – his unexpected arrival at the lodge and the reason for it. Jack gave Evelyn her coffee, then returned to the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ," Evelyn said when I said Quinn knew who I was. "And you didn't skin that boy alive, Jack? You're getting soft."

"Honest mistake," Jack called from the kitchen.

"You don't think it is?" I asked.

She sipped her coffee, considering. "Quinn's too much the Boy Scout to do anything that underhanded. And he's smart enough to know that if he did, Jack
would
skin him alive."

I told her the rest, how Quinn was now helping and due to join us soon.

"And Jack's fine with that?" she said, brows lifting. "Quinn sniffing around? Wriggling into your case?"

"He's not thrilled about it, but we could use Quinn's law-enforcement know-how and if he's offering – "

"Oh, I bet he's offering. Since day one, that boy's been panting after you like a junkyard mutt smelling his first bitch in heat."

"Colorful..."

"But true."

I eased back into the seat, cupping my mug. "Whatever Quinn's motivation, we gave Jack the final say, and he agreed."

"Making Jack now, officially, the first professional killer ever to aspire to sainthood via martyrdom."

"I know hanging out with Quinn isn't Jack's idea of fun, but all he has to do is say no – "

"Hear that, Jack?" Evelyn swiveled, leaning over the side of her chair to yell toward the kitchen. "All you have to do is say no."

Silence returned.

"So, back to the break-in – " I said.

"Dee? Would you be a sweetie and feed the girls for me?"

"Uh, sure..."

"Their food is on the basement landing and their bowls are outside. You'll need to take them out and watch them. Make sure Scotch gets her share. Ginger's been bullying her again."

"Okay..."

"I'll help Jack with breakfast."

Chapter Thirty-six

When I fed the dogs, I noticed their water bowl had a pair of flies doing the backstroke. So I dumped it and looked around for an outside tap, but couldn't find one. I glanced at the back door. Evelyn had obviously kicked me out so she could talk to Jack, presumably give him shit for letting Quinn onto our case.

Ginger stopped eating, looked at where her water bowl had been, then up at me. When I didn't return her bowl, she lapped rainwater from a groove in the deck.

"Okay, okay," I said. "But if she gives me shit for interrupting, I'm blaming you."

I opened the screen door and lifted my hand to knock. Then I glimpsed Jack's shoulder and arm through the dining room doorway. He was shrugging, talking to Evelyn in the living room again.

I decided knocking would be more of an interruption. Just slip in and get the water. They'd hear me filling the bowl, so I clearly wasn't eavesdropping. It wasn't as if I'd been ordered to stay outside.

I stepped in, prodding Ginger back out as I quietly closed the door.

Evelyn was talking. "Bad enough you don't give that boy a smack upside the head."

"Boy?" Jack snorted.

"I don't care how old he is, he sure as hell doesn't act it. He's like a teenager, chasing after Nadia, barging in on your investigation."

Yep, arguing about Quinn. I headed for the sink.

"Didn't barge in. I invited him."

"That's my point, you dumb fucking Mick. You're not just letting him poach on your turf – you're opening the gate and inviting him in."

Evelyn had a point. Me working alone with Quinn was one thing. Bringing him in on this meant I was exposing Jack to an unnecessary risk.

I reached for the tap.

Evelyn went on. "Why don't you just hand him a bouquet of roses and a box of fucking condoms while you're at it, Jacko?"

"It's not like that," Jack said.

"No? Nadia is yours, and it's about time you had the balls to do something about it."

Did Evelyn think Quinn was trying to shoulder Jack aside as my professional contact? Had Jack mentioned the Toronto job, leading her to think Quinn and I were partnering?

"Don't start," he said.

"Why not? You obviously won't. You were taking your time. Fine, I understand that. God forbid you should commit yourself to anything before you've checked out every angle, made absolutely sure the water is warm and safe. Then Quinn leaps in with a splash that sends you flying out of the fucking pool. But still, you're not worried. Big splash, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. By the time you blink, it'll be gone. She'll go home, forget him, and there won't be so much as a ripple to show where he'd been. So now – " A pause. "Where are you going?"

"Glass of water. Making me thirsty."

His footsteps sounded on the dining room floor. I glanced at the door. I couldn't make it and I wasn't about to be caught eavesdropping. I reached for the faucet again.

The fast clicking of Evelyn's pumps on the hardwood, then Jack's footsteps stopped.

"Not so fast, Jacko. We
are
having this conversation, and this time, you aren't running."

"Not running. Walking."

"As fast as you can."

He snorted. "Nothing to discuss. You get these ideas. These fancies – "

"Fancies? Oh, yes, I would
love
to see you shack up in some backwater hovel, go Grizzly Adams, and raise a pas-sel of brats. Nothing would make me happier. Maybe I can even visit now and then, play Grandma Evie – "

A wheeze that took me a minute to recognize as stifled laughter. Jack's laughter.

"You think that's what I want?" he asked.

"I don't know what the hell you want, Jack, and I don't think you do, either. The only thing you do know is you want
her"'

My heart thudded so hard I couldn't breathe. I'd misheard. Misunderstood. Misinterpreted –

"It's not like that," Jack said.

"No?"

"No."

I relaxed my grip on the faucet and exhaled. Okay, that's what I wanted to hear, wasn't it? Wasn't it?

"So last year, when you set up that Helter Skelter killer hunt for Nadia, it was just because you like her as a friend?"

"Didn't set it up for her. Needed to shut him down. Bad for business."

"True. And, while you were acknowledging that and thinking something should probably be done about him, you couldn't help thinking how much she'd like to be the one to do it, how it might be good for her, exercise those vigilante yearnings, while showcasing you in a better light, and giving you two time together..."

"It wasn't like that."

And it
hadn't
been like that. In all those days together, he hadn't given any sign of treating me differently than he would a male partner. We'd shared the same motel rooms, for God's sake. He'd seen me in my nightshirt. Not so much as a lingering glance.

"Nadia tells me you two have been out of touch all year," Evelyn said.

"Been busy – "

"The hell you have been. You don't think I know your schedule, Jack? Even when you don't tell me what you're up to, I know. You've been no busier than usual."

Okay, that stung...

"Do you want me to tell you what happened, Jack?"

"Not particularly."

"You found out this thing with Quinn hadn't fizzled, as you expected. He was still in contact with her. They were trying to make something of this. And why the hell not? They're about the same age, cop backgrounds, part-time hitmen, vigilante leanings, plus all that sports crap they're into. You couldn't have found Nadia a better match if you tried. And you knew, whatever you said or did, you didn't have a hope in hell of competing. So you backed off to lick your wounds."

"Do you really think I'd do that? If I can't have her, I don't want to have anything to do with her?"

"Whoo-hoo. Full sentences. I must have touched a nerve there."

"Fuck off. It's not like that. Her and me. I'm just saying – "

"That you hadn't left her for good. I never said you had. You just wanted to withdraw long enough to get used to the idea that you'd lost your chance. Lick your wounds, suck it in, and bounce back to being her friend and mentor, and be happy with just that."

"I am happy with
just
that. It's all I want."

"Is it? Or is that what you're telling yourself because you think you never had a shot in the first place? You'd better wake up fast, Jack, or she's going to settle for Quinn, and let me tell you, it's settling, because it's not Quinn she – "

I wrenched the tap on full blast, heart pounding.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Evelyn storm into the kitchen. I kept my gaze on the bowl. As good an actor as I was, a blush is something you can't hide, so I waited until the bowl was full, shut off the tap, then turned –

"Oh!" I jumped as if just noticing her, water cascading over the edge. "Sorry. The dogs needed water and I couldn't find an outside tap."

She eyed me. After a moment, she harrumphed and stalked to the coffee machine, clearly unable to tell whether I'd overheard.

"There's one beside the deck," Jack said.

My jump that time was genuine. I wheeled to see Jack.

"The faucet. By the deck. I'll show you."

He took me outside and showed me the tap, around the far side of the deck. I wasn't likely to need it again, but it made a good excuse to get out of the house while Evelyn had her coffee and cooled her heels.

I filled a second bowl of water for the dogs. Then I tossed a ball for them, Jack leaning against the deck, taking a turn if the ball happened to roll past his feet but otherwise just watching.

"See? You do like dogs," he said as I took a break to scratch behind Ginger's ears.

"Guilty. But you already knew that. And I still don't need one."

"Good breed." His chin jerked toward the German shepherds. "Guard dog. Smart. Even-tempered. Sticks around property. Run with one? Wouldn't even need a lead."

I shook my head, picked up the slobbery ball, and threw it again. We stayed outside for ten minutes, saying little, the silence comfortable. He seemed to assume I hadn't heard what Evelyn said. And as for what Evelyn had been about to say when I turned on the tap...?

I tried to tell myself I had no idea what she'd been going to say. I turned it on because I was worried about being caught eavesdropping. And because I wanted to rescue Jack from her pokes and jibes.

But I knew what she'd been going to say. That I'd be settling for Quinn because I wanted someone else. I wanted Jack.

The very thought should make me laugh. At the very least, I should brush it off, the way he'd done when she said he was interested in me.
Zero for two, Evelyn. Your romantic radar is a million miles off course.

Instead, the very thought made my heart pound so hard I could barely breathe. And what filled me wasn't outrage. It was fear – stark, heart-stopping, mind-emptying fear.

Fear that she was right. And, as those first numbing blows of terror subsided... the ice-cold knowledge that she was right. Absolutely right.

I said I wanted more from Jack. I wanted him to care more. I wanted to interpret his attention and his gestures as meaning more. More
what?
I'd tried not to think too much about that, just stick a vague label on it – more depth to our relationship, more emotion, more... something.

When Evelyn accused him of having more than a friendly interest in me, it felt like when I was twelve, and Amy told Colin Forbes I liked him. I'd been horrified and hopeful at the same time. But when Colin said he liked me, too, and I realized he'd meant "as a friend," it was the same as hearing Jack's denial, a small squeeze of disappointment, but mostly relief. My first thought had been that I was disappointed because of simple ego, and relieved because I didn't want to deal with an unwanted attraction. Now I understood the truth.

I cared about Jack more than I should. I needed him more than I should. I thought about him way more than I wanted to, in ways I definitely didn't want to. Even to consider a romantic relationship with Jack terrified me. But, apparently, I didn't need to, because the point was moot. Whatever I felt for him, he didn't reciprocate. And my overwhelming reaction to that was relief.

Breakfast was typical fare at Evelyn's – more gathered than prepared, with bagels, fruit, cheeses, and store-bought muffins. We moved on to discussing angle two of our plan. As Jack had put it, with Fenniger dead, the agency was in the market for a hitman.

"I finally got hold of Honcho yesterday and spun my story, setting up Dee to replace Fenniger," Evelyn said. "I told him I've got a new protégé. Damned good, but with limited work experience. I said I'm getting too old for hand holding and baby steps, but this one doesn't need it. Doesn't need to be coddled, either. Whatever the hit is, however messy, this protégé can take it and sleep through the night."

I cast a small glance at Jack, but he was kind enough not to snort in derision.

"I said this protégé is charming and sociable, which, believe me – " She looked at Jack. " – can be hard to come by in this business. This one's not only a people person, but can play it so sweet and sincere you'd hand over your baby while you used the restroom. Easy on the eyes, too, which is always a plus. The only issue I skirted was gender."

She peeled and sliced a banana. "Now I'd say a woman would be perfect for the job. Some guy wants to snap pictures of a pretty girl? Instant perv alert. But no one's going to consider that with a woman. The problem is that Honcho, being a man, isn't going to think that way. He'll think no woman would agree to murder a girl and steal her baby. As if our ovaries would leap through our guts and stay our trigger fingers. Sexist morons."

One banana slice, skewered on a knife end, slowly chewed and swallowed before she continued. "So he'll presume male, which is fine for now. The 'charming and good-looking' part would be a plus for any guy trying to lure in a teenage girl."

"And all of this matters... how exactly? It would be a great setup,
if
Honcho knew the details of the job."

"Of course he knows the details. With Honcho, it's ass-covering deluxe, Dee. If he understands the job, he can find the right guy, please the client, and minimize the chance of the pro backing out. The pro thinks he's covered by the middleman not knowing details, which is great, but also means he can't complain or negotiate. Hell, even the client probably doesn't realize how much Honcho knows. He's a sneaky bastard. He'll weasel out just enough to piece it together for himself."

I glanced at Jack.

He shrugged. "He might. Couldn't say."

"Well, I can," Evelyn said. "Absolutely and definitely. As I told him all about my protégé's credentials, he tried being cagey, but I could hear drool hitting the receiver. Fenniger has gone AWOL, fucking up a job and pissing off a client. Honcho is desperate – he just can't let on he is. He told me he might have something and he'll call back tomorrow. Now he's trying to flush out Fenniger, figuring he's just gone on a bender. When he can't find him, he'll call before he loses the contract completely."

We were finishing breakfast when Quinn phoned to say he was on his way. We'd meet him in Detroit at four and launch the third wave of attack. Three ideas, three paths, one of which we hoped would lead to the information we needed. It was more complicated than I liked, but all of us were under time constraints and couldn't afford to follow one avenue to a dead end before starting the next.

We took our coffees and moved into the living room as I mentally prepared to deal with the reason I'd been summoned – Evelyn's offer.

Evelyn and I had started our courtship dance last fall. Actually, she'd taken the first step almost three years ago, sending Jack to check out this intriguing new possibility she'd heard about from her former employer and good friend, Frank Tomassini. The invitation was never delivered. Jack met me and decided I'd make a better project for him. So he'd returned to Evelyn, told her it didn't work out, and kept seeing me on the sly. Then, last fall, she'd met me, decided I hadn't been irredeemably spoiled by Jack's tutelage, and begun her campaign of seduction.