Exit Strategy

by Kelley Armstrong

  "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 h
er?

  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

  Downstairs, Jack sat with his gun on his lap, a polite reminder.

  "You said this wasn't what you thought," I began. "And that would be...?"

  "I hadn't made up my mind," Evelyn said.

  I waited for an explanation, but she only eased back in her chair and slanted a look at Jack, who grunted, as if her meaning was perfectly clear.

  "So what the hell is this about?" Evelyn said. "I can't even imagine what I could have done to deserve both of you pulling guns on me."

  "Gallagher talked," Jack said. "Gave Dee a name."

  "Dee? But she said...Okay, so this must be connected to that name. What could--?" She paused. "Gallagher didn't finger me, did he? Now, that would explain this reaction, but it's obviously impossible. I was with Dee for one murder and couldn't have done the others then gotten back here in time to meet you two."

  "Wilkes."

  "The killer is Wilkes--Bullshit. Gallagher is pulling your--" She studied our faces. "And if I continue like that, I'll only convince you I'm involved. You honestly think I'd cover for that loser, Jack? Partner with him on a job this big?"

  "Had to know."

  "The only person I'd trust on something like this would be you. Wilkes ranks at the bottom of my former partners and proteges. I still say he could not be responsible. He doesn't have the ingenuity--"

  "Forget ingenuity. Technical skill?"

  "Well, yes, but--"

  "Could have quietly killed Kozlov. Not easy. Not impossible, either. Didn't need this...exit strategy. Wanted more. Had something to prove."

  "Well, yes, theoretically that would fit Wilkes--"

  "Gets a taste for power. Control. Gets drunk on it. Full of himself. Challenging the Feds. Making impossible demands. Playing head games. Thinking he's winning. Now he's somebody. Finally somebody."

  Evelyn sighed, then shook her head. "Son of a bitch. So now we need to find him. That's not going to be easy."

  "Jack says you know his name," I said. "His real name. Is that going to help?"

  "I trained him well," Evelyn said. "If he's using a name, it's probably not his own. If it is his own, any information you'd find with it would lead to a dead end. Even at the absolutely best scenario--he's forgotten everything I've taught him and has a house registered under his real name--we aren't going to show up there and find him. I'll do the search and give you what I find, but right now, he's out there--" She waved at the window. "Setting up his next attack. We need to figure out what that is."

  "We might already know," I said, and told her about the missed train tip and the next one, in West Virginia.

  "He fucked up with the train," Evelyn said. "Personally, I like your idea, Dee, fulfill a promise, break a promise, get the Feds running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Brilliant--and exactly what I'd do. You, Jack or I could pull that stunt without giving a shit who thought we'd 'failed' the train hit. But Wilkes? Not a chance." She lifted three fingers. "One: he's single-minded. Two: he lacks creativity. Three: he's got a balloon ego."

  "Balloon ego?" I said.

  Jack grunted. "One prick, it deflates."

  "Something did go wrong with that train hit," Evelyn said. "As for what, it's moot. What matters is that he'll be mad as hell right about now. He's going to be at that parade, and he's going to make a hit, and if the Feds are standing this one down, then I'd sure as hell recommend we be there."

  "To do what?" Jack said. "Needle in a haystack."

  "True," I said. "But do you know the best way to find a needle in a haystack? With a magnet."

  Evelyn chuckled. Jack went still for a minute, then his gaze shot to mine, eyes hardening.

  "Better not be suggesting--"

  "That we draw out the needle ourselves? That's exactly what I'm suggesting."

  "You are not setting yourself up to become the next victim," Jack said.

  I considered commenting on the length and completeness of that sentence, but the look in his eyes said this wasn't the time.

  "Jack's right," Evelyn said. "Wilkes has established a plan and he's already 'done' any type you could play. We need to bait the trap with something he doesn't have yet, something he won't be able to resist."

  She looked at Jack.

  "Because he knows Jack?" I shook my head. "Sure, he might go for it, off a fellow hitman, but--"

  "It's been over twenty years. A bit of work and he'd never recognize Jack. What he will recognize is a prize missing from his collection. A tough guy."

  Jack snorted.

  "You know what I mean. A biker, a hood, muscle, all roles you've done many times before. There are a million guys out there right now, bragging in bars about how they'd take down the Helter Skelter killer if he ever came near them. Give him one of those, in a setting that'll make an easy kill, and he'll pounce on it, to prove that nobody is safe...and reinflate his ego after the train fiasco."

  * * *

  FORTY-THREE

  It was a five-hour trip and we didn't have time to stop for lunch, so we grabbed sandwiches on the way. We were almost to West Virginia when we had to pull into a gas station to fill up, and for Jack to use the washroom. I eyed the attached convenience store, considered getting some candy for the stakeout. But I had a more important use for the time alone with Evelyn.

  I waited until Jack headed into the store to prepay for gas, then shifted into the middle of the seat, so I could lean forward and talk to her on the front passenger side.

  "So, I suppose after what happened today you'll be rescinding that 'offer' you made?"

  "Because you held me at gunpoint?" She smiled. "I consider it a
logical and important step in a developing relationship with any good student. I'm sure I'll give you cause to do it again and, if I don't, then you're not the sort of hit-woman I'd care to mentor."

  "Ah."

  As I eased back into my seat, she peered under the headrest at me. "Is that disappointment I hear? Don't tell me you're hoping I'll retract the offer, save you from having to make the decision. I expected better of you, Dee." Her gaze studied mine, then she smiled. "Or, I suppose, this was just a good excuse for bringing up the matter, since I haven't done so myself."

  "Just checking. Seeing whether it still stood."

  "It does and, as you haven't said no, I presumed you're still considering it, which is good enough for me. If that offer doesn't suit your tastes, I can get others. Someone with your talent is wasted on Mafia punks."

  When I said nothing, she tilted her head, gaze boring into mine. "I'm giving you a chance to really quench that thirst, Nadia. Take out people who even I'll agree have lost the right to walk on this planet."

  I didn't miss the switch from Dee to Nadia. A calculated reminder of how much she knew about me. If I called her on it, though, she'd only claim a slip of the tongue, so I said, as evenly as possible, "I'm not a vigilante."

  "So you've said."

  I turned my gaze to the window, watching Jack start pumping the gas, then looked back at Evelyn. "What would you get from it?"

  "A cut, of course. Money is always good." She eased back in her seat, gaze returning to the windshield. "When I got into this life, I only wanted three things. Money, power and respect. A girl like you, comes from a nice middle-class background, born after the so-called sexual revolution, gets a good education, takes on a man's job. I'm sure it wasn't as easy as we might hope, but it was possible. These days, girls don't know what it is to want those things and know you've got a snowball's chance in hell of getting them. I fought like you couldn't imagine and got everything I wanted. But it wasn't enough."

  A long pause as she watched Jack fill the tank.

  She continued. "They say that man gains immortality through his children. I don't have any. Never wanted them. What I do have are students. I take raw clay and I fashion something remarkable."

  "That's what you want to do with me. Make me better."