"And th
is is why, isn't it?"
A small smile. He traced his fingertips down my cheek, then stopped, his gaze flicking to his hand as if surprised to see it there. He pulled back and shifted to adjust my blanket.
"Sorry," I said. "Two nights in a row...that's not normal for me."
For a moment, he crouched beside the sofa, gaze averted, as if thinking. Then his eyes swung back to me. To my throat. To the ghost of a scar. I pulled the blanket higher. His face turned from mine. Then he pushed to his feet.
"Gotta get you to sleep."
He walked toward the minibar.
"Uh-uh," I said. "Booze isn't--"
He took out a bottle of brown liquid and held it up. "Saw this earlier."
"Yoo-hoo?" I said, squinting at the label. "What's in it? Looks like chocolate milk, but..."
"Thought it was." He looked at it and frowned. "Not sure. Huh. Ingredients..." His lips moved as he read the list. Then his frown deepened. "Still not sure."
He put the bottle down. "Let me go downstairs. Find you some real stuff. Heat it up."
"Ah, hot chocolate. Now I get it." I sat up. "Here, we'll use that. I'll just stand back from the microwave, in case it's explosive."
He waved me down. "Stay."
He poured the stuff into a coffee mug, and microwaved it for me. As he brought it over, I gestured at the cigarette pack on the table, where he'd tossed them down earlier.
"You didn't finish them, I see. Go ahead if you want."
"Nonsmoking room."
"I think you've broken worse laws."
"Yeah. But I'd feel bad about this one."
He handed me my mug and sat beside me on the sofa.
"So, you talked to Quinn tonight," he said. "He tell you? About himself ?"
"That he's a vigilante hitman? I'd already figured that."
He studied my expression. Then he grunted, fingers tapping against the cigarette pack. A hungry look down at it, then he stood, crossed the room and tossed it on the counter.
"What did you think would happen, Jack? That I'd hear what Quinn does and say 'hey, sign me up'?"
"Nah. Just..." He shrugged. Didn't finish the sentence.
"I didn't need to hear it from Quinn to know it was an option, that there's a market for that kind of thing."
"Yeah, I know."
He sat down. I sipped my hot Yoo-hoo, and tried not to make a face.
"Tastes like shit?" he said.
I managed a small smile. "Yes, but it gets the job done." I took another sip. "About tomorrow. I'd really like--I know you're not the person to talk to about it, because you have problems with the whole plan, but, well, Evelyn, Quinn...I can talk to them but I just don't feel..."