And I saw Amy, on the floor, being held down by Aldrich as another man climbed on top of her. The other man turned, but his face was blank, no eyes, no mouth, just a horrible, blank face and—
Hands caught my arms. I tried to wrench away, my heart pounding in panic, but the hands held me fast. I heard a voice—one that scattered the nightmare.
“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay, Nadia. Wake up. It’s okay.”
My eyelids fluttered, and I saw Jack’s face bent over mine. I felt the bed under me, the sheets wound around me.
He gingerly laid a hand on my arm. “Okay?”
I nodded, and I could feel my cheeks now, hot and wet with tears. I swiped at them. “Sorry, I—”
“Shhh.”
He squeezed my arm and then disentangled the sheets and crawled in. I was moving back to give him room when I remembered Quinn and glanced at the door.
“Locked,” he whispered.
I still pushed up. “Did he hear . . . ?”
“Nothing to hear.”
Jack stretched out beside me and put his arms around me, and I curled up to him, head on his chest, his arms tight around me, and it felt so good, so damned good, the warmth of him, the reassuring beat of his heart. He smelled faintly of sweat, more strongly of soap, comforting smells that chased away the last bits of the dream. He rubbed my back and whispered, nothing that needed a response, just words, quieting the ones in my head until, finally, I drifted back to sleep.
I woke up a few more times. No nightmares. Just waking, perhaps roused by the unfamiliar feeling of someone in my bed. Jack woke, too, enough to tighten his arms around me or whisper something I couldn’t quite catch. I thought of saying I was all right and he could go back to the other bed, but I didn’t want to disturb him. No, I didn’t want him to leave. So I relaxed against him and slept.
Quinn was pounding on the door. Okay, in retrospect, it was just a rap, but it seemed like pounding, Jack and I both jumping up so fast—and looking so guilty—that you’d think Quinn had walked in on us having sex. Jack motioned for me to be still and mouthed a reminder that the door was locked.
Quinn rapped again as Jack slid from the bed. Then he whispered, “Dee?”
Jack gestured for me to hold off answering. He crept to the door. Then he nodded and I said, “Yes?” loudly, in hopes of covering the click as Jack unlocked the door.
“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.”
“Not just a colleague. Respected colleague. Important friend of Evelyn’s.”
“Okay,” Quinn said. “I see the problem. So I’ll handle this. Yes, I know it’s not my thing, but I can manage it. The guy’s got to be at least, what, sixty? It won’t require working him over. Just a little intimidation.”
Jack shook his head. “No intimidation. Straight-up talk.”
“Not good enough,” Quinn said. “We have to—”
“Damn,” I said. “I need more coffee. I must be drifting off, because I could swear Quinn’s arguing to interrogate a guy, while Jack wants to just talk to him. Did I miss the Freaky Friday switch? Oh, no, wait. Jack’s sentences aren’t getting any longer.”
He gave me a look. I made a face in return.
“I’m going with Jack on this,” I said. “I have no problem with stronger persuasion, but I’m not feeling threatened enough right now to beat answers out of an old man who might be perfectly willing to part with them. If it fails . . .”
“I’ll go harder,” Jack said. “No question.” He looked at Quinn. “I want answers as much as you do.”
Quinn’s gaze dipped. “I know.”
“I’ll do what it takes to get them. But Duncan? He’s reasonable. He finds out I’m friends with his mark? Evelyn is, too? And we’re both pissed? He’ll turn on his client in a heartbeat. We’re more valuable.”
“All right then,” I said. “Let’s set this up.”
Getting in touch with Duncan proved even more complicated than deciding how to handle him. Jack had Evelyn call first. She couldn’t get an answer at Duncan’s and was heading off to breakfast with someone from Contrapasso. So Jack tried and had no better luck. Neither was worried. Apparently, Duncan didn’t have a cell phone or an e-mail address. He didn’t even have an answering machine. Jack and Evelyn had his home number. Clients had to use an answering service. Jack and Evelyn had tried both and left a message with the service, which only promised he’d respond in the next forty-eight hours.
Jack decided a personal visit was in order. While I wasn’t going to meet Duncan face-to-face—too risky—I didn’t want Jack going alone. We decided I’d accompany him while staying in the background, as Quinn returned to the hotel to work.