I locked the door, started the shower, and called Jack.
"Quinn's here," I said when he answered.
Silence.
"Not a joke," I whispered. "I wouldn't do that."
Another moment of silence. "Fuck."
"Exactly. I have no idea what's going on. I'm holed up in the bathroom pretending to shower to explain why I answered the door in a robe."
"Fuck."
"Right. So just . . ."
"On my way."
"Thanks."
CHAPTER 39
I stuck my head into the shower and towel-dried my hair. Then I prepared to dress and . . . realized I had nothing to wear except, well, the dress. Which had a rip down the seam. Even my undergarments were in the next room. So I put on the dress and then I put the robe over it.
I walked out of the bathroom just as Jack was coming in. We made eye contact. I mouthed, "Fuck," and his lips twitched in a smile. He fired a look across the room, one that suggested he was wondering how much I'd complain if he accidentally shot Quinn.
I walked out and cleared my throat. Quinn was on the sofa--having thankfully not chosen the armchair, a possibility I hadn't considered. He glanced up and said a quick hello to Jack, who emptied his expression and grunted a return greeting.
"I, uh, I'm a little short of clothing," I said to Quinn, waving at the robe as I walked to take a coffee from Jack. "We had some trouble last night, as you heard, and we had to switch hotel rooms. So all I have is what I was wearing, uh, on the job last night."
Quinn looked at my bare legs and grinned. "Which appears to be a dress."
"Yeah."
"It looks like a short dress." His grin grew. "Can I see?"
Jack's look said he was no longer contemplating murder; he was now trying to figure out where to hide the body.
"Um, actually," I said, "I know you just got here, but could you do me a huge favor? I saw a gift shop downstairs. Could you see if they have something--anything--I can wear? My dress got ripped while we were running around last night."
"Sure, I can do that."
I headed for my wallet, but he held up a hand. "I've got it. Jack? I'll get you a shirt. Looks like you're missing a button or two." Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of candy. "Dee? I grabbed this for you, too. In case the muffin wasn't enough." He tossed the candy onto the table and headed out.
When he was gone, I latched the door and turned to Jack. "I have absolutely no idea how he got here or how he found out where we were staying."
"That was me."
"What?"
Jack set his coffee down. "Right after I left. Quinn calls. Says he needs our hotel address. Room number. Sending something over. Didn't expect it to be him."
"Well, I still don't know what he's doing here."
"Saving you. Because I obviously can't."
"I don't think--"
"He is. I called Evelyn about the cell phone." He took a coffee and waved me to the sofa. We sat down. "Last night? She notified Quinn. About the botched hit. Didn't want him complaining about being out of the loop. He was pissed. He thinks I'm not handling this. Don't have what it takes. Obviously you need him."
"So she let him come without warning us?"
"Nah. Thought she'd talked him down. Never knew he took off."
I swore under my breath. "Okay, but if he seriously thinks you're to blame for that near miss, then we're going to have a talk, because I'm not exactly sitting around waiting to be rescued. You and I are both working this, as hard as we can, and he was doing a lot more good in New York."
"He can't impress you in New York. Can't buy you fucking candy in New York. He got his second wind. Bouncing back. Flirting. Now he's gonna fix this. Because I can't."
"I'll convince him that he's more help to us in New York."
Jack exhaled. "No. I'm being an idiot. Just pissed off. In a way? He's right. Evelyn says New York is stalled while Contrapasso considers him. We could use him. His skills. Crack that cell phone. Investigate Koss. Get his phone records. Track the dead guy's aliases from his fake ID."
"Evelyn can do all of that, too."
"But she's in New York. Stepping in with Contrapasso. Talked about that last night. Infiltrating Quinn? Too slow. She can move faster. Quinn's better off here."
"Um, that's kind of . . . awkward. Once I tell him, I'm not sure he'll stay."
"Not telling him. No reason to."
"But I can't--"
"We'll put it on hold. You're not sure he'd stay? I'm sure he wouldn't. To fix this? Use every resource I've got. Even Quinn."
"So I'm supposed to let him help us, thinking it means we have a chance of getting back together? I can't do that, Jack. I won't."
"Don't have to. Just keep telling him it's over."
"Jack, I can't--"
"You think he'd want to know? Now? No. Tell him later. Like it took time for us. Make it easier on him."
While Jack was right, I knew he didn't give a rat's ass about Quinn's feelings. He'd use whatever he could to convince me to keep quiet about us, if it might cost us Quinn's help.
I sat there, looking toward the window. A half hour ago, I'd been lying on this sofa, happy, so damned happy.
"Nadia . . ." Jack's voice softened and I could see him leaning over, trying to get my attention, but I just kept staring at the window.
"Nadia . . ." He reached for me.
I stood up. "You're right. I hate it. I absolutely hate it, but . . ."
I trailed off and just stood there, frozen again, ensnared in my thoughts, feeling . . . Feeling like shit. Like I was a shitty person doing a shitty thing to someone who really didn't deserve it.
"No," Jack said, pushing up. "You're right. We'll send him back to New York. He can work from there."
"That doesn't solve the problem, Jack. He still thinks we can work things out, when I'm already with someone else--"
"His problem. You told him it's over. Didn't do anything wrong."
"I feel--"
Jack stepped in front of me, hands on my arms. "I know you feel guilty. But you've got no reason to. It was over. Completely over. I wasn't making a move until you were sure of it and I was sure of it."
I inhaled. "I know. I just . . ."
"Still feel guilty."
I forced a smile. "I'm good at it."
"I know."
His hands slid around my waist. He leaned in and kissed me.
Quinn rapped at the door. I pulled away and answered while Jack headed back to the sofa.
"You know what would make this much easier?" Quinn said as I opened the door. "If you got me my own key card."
I sidestepped to block the look Jack shot him. Then I took the gift shop bag. "Let me get dressed and we'll talk."
I brought Quinn up to date on the night's attack.
As Jack expected, there was a lot Quinn could do. He took the cell phone first and tried it out.
"Yep, that's a password. A lot of times these are simpler to crack than you'd think. Once this is cracked, I'll run Koss's home number and cell against this phone's call list. I'll also run Koss's number separately and see if he placed a call during or after your meeting. And I'll see if that fake ID pops anything."
"Thank you." I glanced at Jack. "Do we want--?"
My cell phone rang. My personal one. I glanced down at the number.
"It's Koss," I said.
Quinn motioned for me to answer but hold it away from my ear. I was sitting on the chair. He moved over, perching on the arm. Jack stayed where he was.
I answered.
"Nadia?" Koss said.
I said it was me, and we exchanged pleasantries. It seemed civil enough, but after having spent some time with the man, I could pick up strain in his voice. Maybe it was getting harder, pretending to be nice to someone you were trying to kill. Or maybe finding those sunglasses had him stressed.
Finally, Koss said, "There's a reason I'm calling." He paused. "Are you in any kind of trouble?"
It was hard to answer that straight. It really was. I managed a surprised, "No. Why?"
"Because someone called about you. Last night and again this morning."
"What?"
"Well, I'm presuming it's the same person, though the number came up blocked. He called my home office last night. I wasn't here, and he didn't leave a message. Another call came this morning, and I answered. It was a man asking how I was acquainted with you. The question threw me. I could only presume it was someone who knew you and perhaps got my number from you. I said simply that you had an interest in an old case of mine and why was he asking. He hung up."
Was this some trick? Koss lying about a call as an excuse to contact me? It was a very odd excuse.
Quinn mouthed, "Play along."
"I . . . don't understand," I said. "I didn't give your number to anyone. I didn't even tell anyone I was going to see you."
"Then it makes even less sense. I'll ask again. Are you in any kind of trouble, Nadia?"
"Not that I know of. But I guess . . . I guess I should be careful."
He agreed that I should. He promised to notify me if he heard from the mysterious caller again, and we signed off.
"That was . . ." I began.
"Weird?" Quinn said. "Oh, yeah."
"No," Jack said. "Not weird at all. Guy's covering his ass. Diverting attention. Setting up a story."
Quinn looked doubtful, but I had to agree it was the only thing that made sense, though it still seemed strange.
"All right then," I said. "Back to what I was saying before Koss called. Where are we otherwise? ID'ing the hitman and tracking his middleman?"
"Not sure they're using one," Jack said. "Probably going direct. Got lots of contacts."
"You mean Contrapasso," Quinn said. "You still think they're behind this."
I cut in. "I know you're impressed by them, Quinn, and you don't want to think they'd do this. I don't, either, but it seems clear that I was targeted last night because I met with Sebastian Koss."
"I completely agree. I'm just not as sure that the logical connections fall where you're putting them. Would Contrapasso kill a bystander to protect themselves? I have no idea. Would they hire an outside hitman to do it when they have their own? That's even less clear. If you or I felt we absolutely had to kill a bystander, would we hire someone else to do it? Or would we see that as moral cowardice?" Quinn eased back. "Hell, even you, Jack. Would you hire another pro to clean up your mess?"
I bristled at Quinn's tone, but Jack only shrugged. "Wouldn't hire anyone. I wouldn't trust it'd be done right."
"I'm not saying it's impossible," Quinn said. "I'm going by impressions after a few meetings, which could be wrong. But I think it's more likely that Koss hired these guys himself. Aldrich was his hit and something made him think you were on to him. He screwed up; he's protecting his own ass. There's also a third possibility. That someone else followed you from that meeting with Koss. Someone who was tailing him because both of you are targets after Aldrich's death."
"You mean whoever is targeting me is also targeting him? I meet with Koss. The killer switches his focus to me."
"Right."
"But if Koss is a target, why's he still walking around? There would have been plenty of opportunities to kill him since Aldrich. He's right where he should be--at home. Unlike me."
"But he's a public figure who's particularly popular with law enforcement. And his tough-on-crime rep means he's bound to have enemies. If he dies, it stirs up a shitload of attention. The hit has to be done with extreme caution."
I glanced at Jack.
He shrugged. "Possible. Would explain the phone call."
"Exactly," Quinn said. "I'm not ruling out Contrapasso or Koss, but let's start by seeing if this mystery call actually came to Koss. Between Evelyn and me, we should be able to get Koss's phone records."
Getting those records wasn't easy, but it wasn't as hard as it probably should be. Evelyn said she'd handle it and called back an hour later. She spoke to Jack, as she usually did.
The problem with Jack taking the call? It was nearly impossible to eavesdrop. I couldn't hear Evelyn's side and from Jack all I got were grunts and single-word answers. He did, however, make notes, which would have been a lot more helpful if his note-taking was any more loquacious than his speech. There were numbers. That's it.
When he got off the phone, though, he was quick to explain. Koss hadn't been lying about receiving two calls to his home office, one last night and one this morning, both from the same number. The one at 7:30 last evening had connected just long enough to suggest the answering machine picked up and the caller listened to the message but didn't leave one. The second call, at 11:45 this morning, lasted nearly two minutes, which confirmed Koss's story that they had spoken briefly.
Evelyn had also pulled Koss's cell record. He hadn't made any calls or texted anyone from the time his lecture started until after he left the restaurant with his wife. Which gave some serious weight to the theory that someone else hired last night's hitman.
Evelyn had even gone one step further, running the number that called Koss. It had placed a call around five, then received two from the same number later in the evening--one at nine, one just before midnight.
I took out my phone.
"Whoa," Quinn said. "Hold on. You don't want to call that number just yet."
"Not the one that called Koss," I said. "The one that caller phoned and received two calls from."
Quinn looked confused. "Okay, but still, you don't want to use your phone for that. Even a burner."
"It can scramble the outgoing calls. The number won't match anything I've used before."
"Shit. I've heard of that but where--? Ah. Felix."
I nodded.
"I partnered with the guy for a week last year and you get the toys."
"Not me." I hooked a finger at Jack.
"You want one?" Jack said. "Just ask. It'll cost, though. Not cheap."
I dialed the number while they talked. It took a moment to connect. Then it started to ring . . . from the end table beside Quinn. He picked up the locked phone.
"Shit," he said. "You saw that coming, didn't you?"
"Playing a hunch," I said. "So whoever phoned Koss also called our hitman. Presumably, he's the client."
"We really need to learn who's at the other end of that phone," Quinn said.
"Yep."
There was no pressing need now to crack the hitman's phone. We still would, but having his number meant we could track his calls. Evelyn would do that. She'd also tried phoning the number that called Koss. It had gone straight to "customer not available." We tried and got the same, suggesting it was either off or he'd replaced the SIM card.
"The question is," Quinn said as we settled in again, "who would put out a hit on both you and Koss? I could guess Contrapasso covering a bad hit, but the Aldrich hit wasn't bad. I've been monitoring the case through law-enforcement contacts. Nobody suspects this was anything except a remorseful killer who offed himself. To them, it's a good-news story. They have no interest in looking closer."
"Agreed," I said. "So there's no reason for Contrapasso to panic and take out one of their own, especially someone as valuable as Koss. Which means we're back to our original theory that Aldrich had friends. Nasty friends."
"Right," Quinn said. "We know a fellow scumbag didn't kill him, but that could be who's after you."
I nodded. "Koss might not have been the only person Aldrich called after he saw me." I looked at Quinn. "Can we get Aldrich's phone records?"
He nodded. "So the theory would be that this guy is worried either Koss or you know something--or will find something--that will bring him down. Which suggests not just some scumbag friend but . . ."
I glanced at Jack.
"Partner," he said. "Aldrich had a partner."
CHAPTER 40
Aldrich did not have a partner when he raped me and then raped and murdered Amy. My memories of that night mig
ht have shattered, but I'd retained enough pieces to be sure I hadn't seen or heard anyone else at that cabin. What I suspected, instead, was that we were reverting back to an older theory, one supported by what Shannon Broadhurst had said about Aldrich having met "like-minded friends" later in life. Except, it seemed, more than just friends. A true partner-in-crime, who was worried that Koss or I had found something.
Found what? The journal, of course.
"Is it in the car?" I asked. "Shit. Our stuff. We left our bags at the other hotel."
"Called," Jack said. "Paid an extra night. Get it later. Journal's in the car. With my tools."
"I could go and grab your things," Quinn said. "That might be better, so no one sees you guys showing up again."
I remembered the fancy hotel . . . with the single bed. We could explain it away, of course, but it wouldn't be easy.
"Nah," Jack was already saying. "You show up? Ties you to us. Better not. I'll grab it later."
"Thanks for offering, though," I said.
Jack was gracious enough to second that, if only with a grunt. Then he headed out for the journal. Quinn called Evelyn to get her working on the hitman's cell phone records. There was something I could do, too. Something I should do, as much as I'd been avoiding it. I was still thinking of that when Jack slipped back in, journal in hand.
Quinn was on the phone. I was sitting in the corner of the sofa, deep in thought, and barely noticed Jack until he said he'd be reading in the bedroom. I led him to the other end of the room to not interrupt Quinn's call.
"I was thinking that I should really get that case file from Neil. I should read it."
"I can."
Another smile, a little more genuine. "You finish the journal. I'll handle the file. Since Neil said there's nothing on my rape in it, Quinn can read it, too, and help me look at it objectively."
Neil was at work, which proved that on a case I lose all sense of time. I said I'd call back but he was doing paperwork and happy for the interruption.
"I can e-mail it to you," Neil said. "I scanned it all a couple of days ago. And, yes, I expect you to be very proud of me for knowing how to use a scanner. I actually have one on my new printer but hadn't gotten around to figuring it out. This gave me the perfect excuse. I've now officially entered the twenty-first century."
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