"You mean he's someone the Contrapasso Fellowship would find uniquely beneficial to their organization. Which may explain his move to the States. So then . . ." I paused and considered. "Maybe Koss brought Aldrich to them. Aldrich was living under an assumed name, so Koss couldn't just call him up. He probably had to arrange to bump into him, recognize him, and then convince him he's not a threat. He says he's on Aldrich's side. Doesn't blame him for needing to change his name, given the notoriety."
"Possible. Somehow he made contact with Aldrich. We know that. Aldrich thinks he spots you? Calls Koss for advice."
"Thus providing Koss with exactly the opportunity he's been waiting for. The chance to end Drew Aldrich's life. In the meantime, though, he has to tell the Contrapasso Fellowship, including the fact that Aldrich may have spotted me. Someone at Contrapasso decides I need to go. The question is whether Koss knew. I'd like to think he didn't but . . . Roland said whoever took out that hit had an accent like mine, only less noticeable. That fits a guy who lived in the same region and moved to the States five years ago. Sending the package from Philly doesn't fit, if he's in Chicago, but that's a tenuous bit of proof to hold out on."
"Needs investigating." Jack checked his watch. "Quinn's meeting is this morning. Wait for his call. See what he can add. Then we go check out Koss."
When Quinn called, he was hyper-chatty, excited, and flying high. The meeting had been everything he'd hoped for, and I was happy for him.
Did I miss him a little when I heard him that way? I won't deny it. But there was no niggling voice that said I'd made a mistake. I was just happy he was happy, and glad we were able to carry on a normal conversation again. Right now, he was working on gaining their trust. With the information we had on Koss, he could nudge things in that direction. He'd say he did a lot of business in Chicago, and he'd express a particular interest in sexual abuse cases. He'd also ask about recent work they'd done, barring any details, of course, but he'd like to get an idea of the type of cases they handled. Take that and add his professed interests, and he might get us enough to confirm Koss's membership and the Aldrich hit.
It was going to take a while to pan out and longer still to determine who'd put the hit on me . . . and whether the threat had ended. That's why, when Quinn called, Jack and I were already in the car, heading for Chicago to see Sebastian Koss.
CHAPTER 33
Jack hated my plan. I knew this, not because he said, "I hate your plan," but because after I told him what I intended, we spent the next half hour driving in silence. That wasn't unusual. It was the quality of the silence that told me he was pissed.
"I don't like it," he said finally.
"I know."
His mouth tightened as his gaze stayed on the highway. "So that doesn't matter? You're doing it anyway?"
"Did I say that?"
"I fucked up with Aldrich," he said.
When I said nothing, his gaze swung my way. "You hear me?"
"It would be kind of hard not to. We're in the same car."
Another tightening of his lips. "But you're not arguing. Why? Because it doesn't fucking matter. Whatever I say. You'll do what you want. Just like with Wilkes. During the parade."
He was referring to our first "case" together, when I'd intentionally put myself in the killer's path. It had not gone as well as I'd hoped.
"You don't get to bring that up here, Jack," I said, straightening now. "If you want to hash it out again, we can, because I still think I made the right decision, however much it pissed you off--"
"You nearly got killed."
"But I didn't."
Suddenly, Jack veered onto an off-ramp. He drove to the first parking lot he saw and turned in, hitting the speed bump hard enough to make my teeth rattle. He pulled into a spot at the far side, got out, slammed the door, and stalked off.
I watched him go. As I did, I remembered the first time I'd seen Jack lose his temper, after the parade incident. I could hear Evelyn telling me to go after him, to talk to him.
"I know, I know," I murmured.
I waited a minute, in hopes it might give Jack time to cool off. There was a time when I wouldn't have thought Jack even had a temper. Nothing seemed to faze him. But there was a rage there, tamped down so tight that when it exploded, it was like a flash fire, impossible to predict, burning out of control and out of proportion.
I eased the door open and headed in the direction I'd last seen him. I walked across a scrubby field, littered with trash. I found him on the other side of a broken armchair. He had his back to me. I knew he could hear me scrabbling over the rough and rocky land, but he didn't turn.
"Are we going to talk about this?" I called as I approached.
He turned then, his dark eyes blazing. "Why? You've made up your mind."
"Did I say that? No. I believe I told you a potential plan, and you lost your temper."
"I did not--"