"What epiphany? That you like killing bad guys? That it makes you feel good? Tell me something I don't know. Something you don't know."
"I've always known – "
"Of course you have. You never pretended otherwise. Now you think you went too far. Not by killing Fenniger, but by wanting it too much. So you think that by wanting it, you got that girl killed? That's not an epiphany, Nadia. It's idiocy."
Teeth gritted against a retort, I scooped up the spoon and dropped it into my mug. Instead of a satisfying clang, I got a soft splash, and cocoa spray on my white sweatshirt. I grabbed the mug, turned to go, and smacked into Jack, standing right there, blocking me.
"You wanna quit? I don't mean this job. The life. You wanna stop taking hits?"
"I can't. The lodge is never going to turn a profit – "
"You want money? I've got money. Make me an investor and you'll never have to pull another job. But I won't offer because you wouldn't want me to. Money's just the excuse."
I stiffened. "It's not – "
"At first? Sure, it was about the money. With the Tomassinis, part of it still is. You wouldn't kill Mafia thugs for free. You don't get enough out of it. For that, you need the real sons of bitches. Franco. Wilkes. Fenniger. That does the trick. If you didn't find out about the girl, you'd be enjoying the best sleep you've had in months."
"And what does that say about me, Jack?"
"That you like killing losers. So?"
"Forgive me if I don't think you're the best person to judge the moral and ethical rights and wrongs of killing people."
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 protégée. 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."
We headed out.
"Called Quinn this morning," he said, squinting into the morning sun.
"Already? Thanks."
He motioned me to the dock, where we could talk and see anyone approaching.
"He'll work on it. Wants to come by. Talk."
"Talk?"
"About the case. Thinks it'd be easier. Safer. In person." A roll of his eyes as he sipped his coffee. "I mention he's crap at excuses?"
"So he doesn't really think it'd be better to chat here, he just wants to come over because…"
A look that said the answer should be obvious. "The company."
"Ah. Okay, so he wants an excuse to pop around before he heads home, and you told him no – "
"Nah."
"Fine, you told him 'nah.' "
Another look, this time accompanied by a soft sigh as he leaned back in the Muskoka chair. "I mean no. I didn't tell him no."
A sharp shake of my head. "Is it just me or is this conversation degenerating?"
"Just you. Told him fine. Come by. Might be easier. Cop shit? He's the pro. Could use him."
"So you told him it was okay to come by so the three of us could discuss the best way to build a case that can be handed over to the police."
"Said that, didn't I? He's stuck in Montreal for the weekend. Said that's fine. No rush. You've got guests, responsibilities. He'll be here Sunday night. Meantime, this – " He tapped his cast against the deck. " – is going."
"I thought you had another two weeks."
"It's fixed."
"So now you're a doctor as well as a mechanic?"
He pushed the last chunk of cinnamon bun into his mouth, talking around it. "They say ten weeks? Probably half that. Covering their asses. Afraid of getting sued."