He shrugged, taking no offense. "It's what you gotta do. You don't kid yourself and call them good deeds. But you know they aren't bad ones, either. Ask the girl in the walk-up. See if she'd rather you'd turned this over to the cops. Maybe, Fenniger dead, you can say 'good enough.' For now. Pretty soon? You'll be looking for the next Fenniger. He doesn't come? You'll take Evelyn up on her offer. Let her find you jobs. Maybe you're right. It's all about Amy. One day, you'll be done. Or maybe it's not about Amy. Not anymore. It's not what you gotta do. It's what you are."
"I - "
"Give this to the cops? Chance it'll go the way you hope? Ten percent. Chance you'll blame yourself when it doesn't? One hundred." He met my gaze. "Your choice."
"I hate you."
The corners of his lips twitched. "That's okay."
As I looked up at him, I knew I didn't mean "I hate you" at all. What I felt for Jack... I couldn't put a name to it. It was a swirl of emotions that smacked too much of need.
Jack was there for me as no one had been since my father died. He was there to watch over me and listen to me and challenge me, and pick me up and dust me off. That meant more to me than I could ever express, than I ever dared express.
I wanted this relationship to mean just as much to him. But as hard as I tried to read more into his caring, his protection, his gifts, I had only to look into his eyes, blank mirrors that reflected nothing but my own feelings, and I knew it just wasn't the same for him.
In me, he'd found someone to look after, someone to teach, someone who'd care for him in return when he needed it. Mentor and protegee. Teacher and student. That's all I was going to get, so I'd damned well better accept it.
I stepped back. "I suppose I should... take it a little further, at least build a case, since I already have the leads from Fenniger. As for what to do with them..."
"Got some ideas." He motioned to the table. "Sit. Finish your chocolate."
Chapter Thirty-one
No one had signed up for morning jog. Considering I'd been up until four, I decided I could let myself slide for a day. Our four guests had asked for breakfast at nine, so I was showered and downstairs at eight to help Emma. When I entered the kitchen, she sent me right back out, with coffee and cinnamon rolls for "John."
"He's up?"
"For the past - " A glance at the microwave clock. " - hour. He's out working on those ATV things again."
"What?"
She waved, showering me with flour. "Four-wheelers, minitrucks, whatever you call them."
"I know what you meant. I just... John?"
"He's been tinkering on them with Owen. Or he was before his trip to Toronto. Now he's back at it. He went out about an hour ago, and asked me to send you around when you got up."
I took the tray, with steaming mugs and warm buns for two, then headed to the shop around back. I was glad Jack had found something to keep him occupied while I was busy, though I suspected his involvement was limited to handing tools to Owen.
When I stepped into the shop, though, there was no sign of Emma's husband. Jack sat awkwardly on the cement floor, cast stretched out, parts scattered in front of him.
"Emma wasn't kidding. You are fixing the ATVs."
"Hope so. Not so sure." He lifted two parts, turning them over as if trying to figure out how they fit together. His scowl was so unlike him that I had to laugh.
"Yeah? Won't be laughing when I fuck up. Make them run in reverse." He pushed to his feet and tossed the parts on the workbench. "Who am I kidding? Been too long."
"You know this stuff?" I said as I set the tray on the bench.
"Used to. Thirty years ago. Gonna be a mechanic."
"Seriously?"
He shrugged. "Was just a kid. But yeah. That's what I wanted to do." He picked up the part, as if drawn back in spite of himself. "Dropped out of school. Got an apprenticeship. Lasted a year. Then... things changed. Only mechanical work in my future? Rigging a mark's car so it won't start." He started to reach for the coffee, gaze still fixed on the parts, then murmured. "Fuck, yes." He scooped them up. "Should have seen that."
Coffee forgotten, he lowered himself to the floor and reassembled the pieces as I searched about for an old cushion. I started to sit, tray in hand, but he waved me to the door.
"Done here. Nicer outside."