"Did I wake you?" Quinn's muffled voice asked as Jack crawled into his bed. "I didn't mean--"
"Open the damned door," Jack said. "Don't talk through it. Seven in the fucking morning."
Quinn opened the door. Jack was braced
on one arm. I was sitting, rubbing my face.
"Sorry," Quinn said. "I was just trying to see if Dee was up yet and if she wanted to go for a run. If you're still sleeping . . ."
"Up now," Jack grunted. He looked at me. "You want a run? Gonna drive you. Keep an eye on you."
He made it sound like a warning, but I knew it was a reassurance, telling me I could have my morning run without being alone with Quinn.
"I don't think I have anything to wear . . ." I began.
My gaze snagged on my bag, across the room on a chair.
"Grabbed it last night," Jack said.
"You should have taken someone with you," I said.
He shrugged. I gave him a look. He nodded, acknowledging the point. While I'm sure he could take care of himself, he had been shot at and I didn't want him walking around without backup, either--especially not going to a place we'd been spotted.
"Was everything okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. No sign of anyone in our room. Watched my back leaving. Wasn't followed."
"So are we going?" Quinn said.
I nodded and he backed out of the room to let us get ready.
CHAPTER 43
We ran. We ate. In between the two, Jack got a call that confirmed the identity of our dead hitman and his regular middleman. Jack knew the guy--the middleman, not the pro. He was convinced our guy hadn't bypassed his middleman for this job. It was a big name, not a rookie who'd forgive his pro for stepping out.
We discussed it over breakfast. The diner was busy and noisy, both of which meant that no one was going to overhear our conversation and call the cops.
"So you know this guy, Duncan," Quinn said after we placed our order.
"Yeah. Been around a long time. Knows Evelyn." He paused. "Knows Evelyn well."
"Doesn't everyone?" I said. "I swear every pro and middleman over a certain age 'knows Evelyn well,' or did at some point, at least for a night."
Quinn chuckled and Jack gave a short laugh.
"Yeah," Jack said. "Pretty much. She blames it on the times. Sixties. Seventies. I think it's just her."
"Oh, I don't doubt it. So is this one of those guys that looks back fondly on the affair? Or one of the others? Because they seem about evenly split."
"This was a serial thing. They were tight." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Don't even think she ever double-crossed him."
"Sounds like love," I said. "Or at least a strong case of like."
"Yeah. All good last I heard. Did some work for him years back. Went fine. Haven't seen him in . . ." Another pause. "Five years? Six? Point is, I can talk to him. Friendly chat. Maybe meet him at a bar. Have a drink."
Quinn laughed. Then he realized Jack wasn't kidding.
"Um, I get that this guy is a colleague," Quinn said, "but Dee's in serious trouble here. It's no time for silk gloves."