"Question is: how to make sure he finds me?"
"I have an idea for that, but Jack will absolutely hate it."
"At this point, not a concern."
She looked at me, and her mouth opened, as if she wanted to say something, then she gave a sharp shake of her head.
"He's a big boy," she murmured. "Okay then, here's what I'm thinking...."
By the time Jack returned to the car, fifteen minutes later, we'd hammered out the skeleton of a plan. When it was time to tell him, I let Evelyn do the honors. As he listened, his face darkened. He let Evelyn get into it, then interrupted.
"Involving the Feds is stupid." He looked at me. "That your idea?"
I smiled. "But of course. If it's stupid, it must be my idea."
"I didn't say--"
"We can't just make Wilkes disappear. You saw the scene in that Vegas diner. People need to see a body, to know this is really over. They need resolution. We need resolution or every pro is still on the Feds' hit list."
"And no, it wasn't Dee's idea," Evelyn said. "It was mine. If this agent in charge is as ambitious as Quinn says, he'll make the trade. He gets the glory of the arrest, and in return, plays down Wilkes's past, doesn't portray him as a psycho hitman. Things go back to normal. Sure, the cops still want us gone, but they won't be seeing us all as potential serial killers. That's what we've been trying to do all along, isn't it? Get back to business as usual?"
"Pulling Feds in--"
"One Fed. Maybe two if he needs someone to hold his hand. As for exactly how he'll manage it without involving his team and his superiors, that's his problem."
"This okay with you?" Jack said, twisting to look at me, eyes unreadable. "Taking Wilkes down by yourself?"
"Sure, Jack. Why not? A chance to catch a killer and redeem my sorry life, and if I fail, well, it's not like anyone will give a damn if I turn up in a Dumpster somewhere."
Evelyn looked at him. "What the hell did you say to her?" When neither of us answered, she leaned back into her seat. "Oh, boy. This will be fun."
Next we had errands to run. Jack phoned Quinn to summon him and Felix to West Virginia. Then we drove out of town to dispose of my things and pick up supplies. By the time we got to our hotel, it was evening, and my mood had lifted. We had a plan, and I was an integral part of that plan, so there was no time for sulking.
As for Jack, well, he was quiet, maybe still simmering, or maybe just gone back to his normal self. Either way, I wasn't dwelling on it.
I walked through the door joining the two hotel suites Evelyn had checked us into.
"Better digs than he puts you up in, I'll bet," Evelyn said, shooting a look at Jack.
"We had a nice place in Ohio," I said. "Real flowers, Jacuzzi tub..."
Evelyn sniffed. "And a heart-shaped vibrating bed? Classy, Jacko."
"Do you want this room?" I asked, moving into the bedroom doorway. "Or I guess if the other has two beds, you and I should take that--"
"This one's yours. You took on Wilkes today, you deserve something special, and this hotel is my way of saying 'good job.'" She glanced at Jack. "You can take the sofa."
I shook my head. "We all need a good rest tonight. There are four beds--"
Evelyn cut me off with a sigh. "Fine, share my room with me. You don't snore, do you?"
I thought about the nightmares, but Jack said, "She's fine." He paused. "Or she will be. Gotta get those hands fixed."
I picked up the drugstore bag he'd laid on the table. "I'll do that now."
"Can't bandage your own hands." He took the bag from me. "Sit down."
"I'll be unpacking," Evelyn said, and left.
Jack was still cleaning my wounds when Felix rapped at the door. Jack opened it. Quinn walked in and stopped dead, staring at my hands.
"Shit, are you okay?" he said.
I nodded.
"How did you--?"
"Garrote wire."
Felix stepped up beside me and frowned down at my wounds. "A garrote wire can be tricky to use. The instinct is to wrap it around your own hands, but if it's sharp enough, then you see the damage you can inflict."
"This isn't--I wasn't using it on someone; he was using it on me."
"And you managed to get your hands under it? Excellent reflexes. However, it does beg the question..."
"Who the hell tried to garrote you?" Quinn said as he crouched and took my hand.
Jack waved him aside and took his place, then unrolled the bandage.
"Wilkes," he said when I was slow to answer.
"Wilkes attacked you?" Felix said as he sat in a chair. "So he knows we're in pursuit? That could lead to some difficulty--"
"Doesn't know," Jack said. "Picked Dee as a victim. She--" A hard look my way. "Lured him in."
Before anyone could comment, Evelyn walked from the other room. As Felix and Quinn greeted her, Jack inspected the cleaned wounds.
"So you decided to join the hunt," Quinn said, flashed a smile at Evelyn. "Getting a little too exciting to ignore? I bet--Ah, wait. The anonymous 'concerned party' who's paying our wages. Guess I should say thank you."
Evelyn said nothing, but from the look that crossed her face, she had no idea what Quinn was talking about. I'd never suspected Evelyn was the person funding the job--she wouldn't hire a group of hitmen for a nonprofit expedition. But if it wasn't her...
"Stop squirming," Jack said. "Gotta get this fastened."
Quinn sat on the sofa. "So Dee lured Wilkes into a showdown?" He grinned my way. "Way to go."
Jack shot him a look, but Quinn continued, "You went mano a mano with the infamous Helter Skelter killer. The first victim who fought back. Did he say anything? Too busy getting his heart out of his throat, I bet."
Jack scooped up the bloodied cloths, wrapped them in the empty bag for later disposal and took them back to his room. I crouched to clean up the first-aid supplies. Quinn slid down beside me to help. As he leaned over for the scissors he whispered, "I'm jealous." I laughed. We both reached for the spare tape roll. I got to it first, but he pretended not to notice and grabbed for it, ending up with my wrist instead. A quick grin and quicker squeeze, and he released me.
"You'll have to tell me all about it later," he said.
I smiled. "We'll see."
As I straightened, I caught Evelyn watching us.
"When Jack called us in, he said you have a plan," Felix said. "Care to share?"
Felix liked the plan. Quinn wasn't so sure. I understood his reticence. What he and I knew, and the others didn't, was that we were expecting a federal agent to do something no agent should ever consider. However often one might see movie cops playing lone cowboys, it didn't work that way in real life. You're trained to be a team player, and there are plenty of checks and balances to make sure you stay that way--like Quinn having to provide a hotel name and phone number while on vacation.
But, as Quinn conceded, if there was a guy who might go for this, it was Martin Dubois. He amended the plan somewhat, building in protections that might sway Dubois, make him feel safer. Even then he warned that we were taking a chance--that Dubois wouldn't agree, would double-cross us, would back out at the last moment. But we knew that. All we could do was guard against it.
Quinn left to set his part into motion. While he was gone, Evelyn, Jack and Felix compared notes on Wilkes, as they remembered him. Not a conversation I could join, so after twenty minutes I wandered off to the other side of the room to check out the room service menu. Last thing I'd eaten was a sub on the drive to the parade.
"Hungry?" asked a voice at my shoulder. Quinn. "I'll bet you are. Confront the man the whole country is searching for, and no one even buys you dinner."
"Did everything go okay?" I asked.
"It's started. Now we have to wait for a response. Don't worry. If what I hear about Dubois is right, he'll at least hear us out."
"Good."
Quinn glanced over at Evelyn, Jack and Felix.
"They're talking about Wil
kes," I said. "I can't help them there."
"Me neither." He took the menu from me. "We can order from this if you'd like, but I saw a place down the road. What do you say I buy you dinner?"
"Sure," I said.
I grabbed my wallet, shoes and jacket. As I got ready, I glanced Jack's way, waiting for him to notice I was leaving, but he was engrossed in the conversation.
Quinn called out a "going to grab a bite," and I thought I heard Evelyn respond, but he only closed the door and ushered me down the hall. If Evelyn or Jack had wanted to stop us, they could have made it to the door before the elevator arrived. No one did, so I took that as permission to leave.
* * *
FORTY-SIX
"You know you're going to have to kill him," Quinn said as he speared a chicken ball.
We were in Felix's hotel room--a small one a few doors from ours. Jack might not have minded me going out to eat with Quinn, but I imagined he'd have something to say about our choice of dining area.
Our plans for the restaurant had gone south when we realized it closed at eleven, and we'd arrived at eleven-thirty. That left McDonald's or a takeout Chinese place. I'd picked takeout, meaning we needed a place to eat. When Quinn suggested Felix's room, with a hands-lifted "just to eat--no ulterior motives," I'd agreed.
If Jack was right, the greatest danger I faced being alone with Quinn was that he'd rethink that "no ulterior motives" bit. That I could stop...if I wanted to. So far, he'd kept his word, lying on the opposite side of the bed, with boxes of food laid out between us, as we talked.
"You have to kill him," Quinn said again when I didn't answer. "If not you, then me or Jack, but someone has to. It has nothing to do with 'the bastard deserves to die.' Give me a choice, and I'd rather see him rot in jail than get a quick ticket out. Problem is, there's no guarantee he'll go to jail. You and I know that better than any of them."
His eyes met mine and I knew he was searching for some look or reaction that would confirm a suspicion.
I wound up a forkful of noodles. "The justice system isn't perfect. Everyone knows that."
As I slurped noodles off my fork, Quinn caught my gaze and I let him have it, holding it for at least ten seconds. Finally, he let out a sigh, breath hissing through his teeth.
"Fine, so you've heard things can go wrong. Cops fuck up, lab fucks up, prosecutors fuck up, juries, judges...everyone's human, and as hard as people try, sometimes they make mistakes. Wilkes'll get himself a defense lawyer who'd put Manson himself back on the streets if it meant a new car for his mistress."
I shrugged. "Everyone's entitled to a fair trial and someone has to make sure they get it."
"If the case even gets to trial. The way we're stringing this thing together, even a pro bono suit could find grounds for dismissal."
"Sure, but--"
"I'm not knocking the plan. I can't think of an airtight way to do it, either. But it's a problem, and the question is: what are you going to do about it?"
I put down my fork. "The question is: can I see a way around it? Do I have a problem with killing Wilkes? Of course not. But what's more important to me is making sure everyone knows he's been caught. If he just drops off the face of the earth, this won't ever go away. The Feds will keep pouring money and man-hours into solving it. The newspapers will keep reminding people that it's unsolved--in other words, that the Feds 'fucked up.' Every time a potential suspect turns up, you risk the public taking matters into their own hands. Sure, it'll die down eventually, but you can bet that on every anniversary for the next decade, the media will bring it back up, reignite the fear. Then there's the whole issue of copycats--nutcases thinking they can win instant infamy by pulling one hit and claiming the rest as their own."
"I'm not saying we off him and dump the body. But what if we could toss Dubois a dead suspect instead of a live one?" When I didn't respond, he added, "I know, it wouldn't be as easy as it sounds, but take some time later and give it some thought. Run it by Evelyn and Jack. See what they think."
"I will. And if we can't come up with a way to kill him before we hand him over, we could arrange it afterward." I looked over at Quinn. "I'm sure someone would be able to make sure Wilkes never sees the inside of a courtroom...someone who knows how to do such a thing."
Quinn went still. "So Jack told you what I do?"
"Jack didn't tell me a thing. He said it wasn't his place. I had a hunch."
"That obvious, huh?"
I took a forkful of rice before answering. "I've...heard of things like that. As a cop, you must see things go wrong. Maybe someone offers you money to make it go right." I shrugged. "It might not seem like such a bad idea."
He shifted on the bed before continuing. "If that did happen, you'd think it would need to be something really big that set him off, wouldn't you? One of those awful cases you might see once in a lifetime, the kind most cops go their whole careers and never see."
I thought of Wayne Franco and his victim, Dawn Collins, and concentrated on getting out the last grain of rice.
He continued. "But it wasn't anything like that. It was the kind of situation you see so often you almost start forgetting what a tragedy it is, and you sure as hell stop expecting anything like justice to come of it. Woman leaves her husband, guy threatens her, she takes out a restraining order, calls the local cops a few times...sure, they try to help, but there are other priorities. And it seems like half the time when cops do respond, the couple is making up in the bedroom when they get there."
"But this wasn't one of those times, was it? He killed her."
Quinn nodded. "It wasn't my case--that's not...it isn't the kind of work I do. But I knew the woman's father--a friend of my dad's--and my dad asked me to be there, to explain stuff to the parents. The bastard walked. He leaves the courtroom, grinning and high-fiving his buddies, while her parents are crying, her oldest kid just staring into space, and I'm thinking how goddamn unfair it all is, but that's really all I think because I've seen stuff like that so many times before. Afterward, we're in the parking lot, and her father asks me to do him a favor."
"Set things right."
Quinn nodded.
"And you did."
"Nope. Told him two wrongs don't make a right, and I understood how badly he was hurting, but this wasn't a road he wanted to go down. Two days later, the bastard's dead, the old man's in jail, his wife tries to kill herself, and the kids...well, you can bet those kids are fucked for life. And it could have been avoided if I'd taken that job instead of spouting some 'turn the other cheek' crap that I knew was bullshit."
"So that's what you do then," I said. "Vigilante for hire."
Quinn looked at me. His eyes were blue that night. Whenever I saw him, they were blue. I doubted that was his normal color, but he always wore the same contacts when he knew we'd be meeting--the same contacts, the same hair color, the same overall disguise--as if he wanted to show me something consistent.
With Jack, I could look him full in the face and still not have the faintest clue what was going on behind his eyes.
The doors were closed. With Quinn, there were no doors, probably never had been, and I could imagine that it had only taken one look around for the victim's father to know the best person to approach with his offer.
Now, as Quinn watched me, his feelings were written over every feature--the creases around his mouth, the line between his brows, the anxiety in his eyes as he mentally replayed those words "vigilante for hire," and tried to interpret my tone.
I moved the takeout boxes aside, folding each and laying it on the table.
"So, you, uh..." He rubbed his chin. "You think..."
"What do you want me to say, Quinn? That I'm impressed? That it puts you a cut above guys like Jack? Like me?"
He grabbed the last box. "No. Absolutely not. I don't kid myself that it's some noble cause. I get paid for it...well, not always, but, yeah, you're right. Vigilante for hire. Maybe it's a fucked-up way of looking at the world if I think that make
s me any better than the guys I off. I just...That's what I do, and I wanted you to know..." He let the sentence trail off.
"Because...?"
He scooped up the forks and shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted you to know because I wanted you to know."
I watched him as he dropped the forks into the garbage, his hand hovering there a moment even after the forks had thumped into the bottom, as if reluctant to turn toward me, dragging the distraction out as he tried to think of what to say next. His jaw tightened and relaxed, as if practicing a line.
My gaze slid down to his arm, muscles so tense I could see the tendons against the fabric of his shirt, and I had to fight the urge to slide over there, put my hand on the dip between his shoulder blades, rub away the tension. I resisted, but not because I was afraid where that would lead, because I was pretty sure where it would lead and, at that moment, I was almost as sure I'd let it. I held back because I couldn't tell him it was all right, when I wasn't sure that it was. But there was one thing I could say, and honestly, so I did.
"Thanks," I said. "For telling me."
A half-smile and a nod, then he moved back onto the bed. As he did, his hand brushed my foot, stopped, and squeezed in a slow rub.
"You might not want to do that," I said. "I spent half the day in boots."
A burst of laughter, not--I'm sure--because it was terribly funny, but just because it gave him something to laugh about. He took a better hold on my foot and kept rubbing.
When I arched my brows, he laughed again.
"Don't worry. This isn't step one to seduction. I meant what I said earlier. I won't push."
"No, you said you didn't have any ulterior motives."
"And I don't. There's nothing at all secret about my motives. I think I've made them perfectly clear."
"Ulterior motive doesn't mean 'hidden agenda.' It means planning to do more than you let on. In other words, bringing me here for more than dinner."
"Damn."
I smiled and shook my head. When he let his hand wander up my calf, I gave another head shake, then another smile.
"Not that I'm averse to the idea in general..." I said.
Exit Strategy Page 33