“Uh-huh.”
“But that’s not what I called about. Quinn’s gone, and he’s not coming back.”
“I think so.”
“That’s a statement, not a question. He’s gone until this investigation is over. That’s how he’ll punish you.” She paused. “And I sincerely hope you don’t think you deserve that punishment.”
“No. I feel bad, but it was over. I’d made that clear.”
“I’m sure you did. I’ve never slept with a man and didn’t make it damned clear he was renting, and there could be other tenants. He’d say he was fine with that. Then he’d find out someone else was sharing my bed, and you’d think I’d screwed around on our honeymoon. When I said we weren’t exclusive, what he heard was me giving him permission to sleep with others. God forbid I should. I suppose not all men are like that, but the ones we hang around with, Dee? Alpha dogs who won’t stand for trespass—real or imagined. Quinn’s not coming back until you don’t need his help anymore. Which means we have a problem.”
“I know.”
“I may be able to circumvent it, but I need your permission.”
I sat up. “My permission?”
“We have little hope of finding Aldrich’s partner without Quinn, and I’m not sure we would have found him anyway. The other route is through Contrapasso. I’ve been laying the groundwork to the point where I can ask about Aldrich. That’s too slow now. I need to talk straight with them. Ask about Cleveland and Drew Aldrich and Sebastian Koss.”
When I didn’t reply, she said, “Dee?”
“I’m here.”
“And being quiet because you know what that means, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“I will do everything in my power to avoid linking you to me. And by ‘you,’ I mean you, not Dee.”
That was the problem. It was fine for Evelyn to go to the Contrapasso Fellowship and ask blunt questions to protect a student. Except the person with a price on her head wasn’t Dee. It was Nadia Stafford.
She continued, “There is a chance that to get the answers we need and get this mark off your head, I might have to reveal who you are.” Tell them that Dee was me. That their mark was a hitman. That Nadia Stafford was a hitman. “And if I do that . . .”
“I can’t be me. Not anymore.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. This isn’t an incompetent gang of thugs who would blackmail you for pocket change. However, if they did know, you would no longer be as secure in your normal life. You would need to be on alert and ready to leave at the first sign of trouble.”
“Leave my home, you mean. Leave my life. Which, I know, you don’t really understand the appeal of anyway . . .”
“I don’t. You could make a very handsome living off your second career, and I completely fail to see the point of struggling at something else instead. But you want it. And, God help me, Jack wants it. He wants it for you, and he wants to share it with you.”
I thought I heard a faint intake of breath, as if she’d spoken too quickly, too bluntly, which was never usually a problem for Evelyn.
After a moment, she said, “You understand that, don’t you? What Jack wants?”
No, not really. It wasn’t anything we’d discussed, but if he wanted what she said he did, I’d give it to him. Happily. So I said, “Yes, I understand.”
A soft exhale, as if in relief. “Good. So you have your outside life, and I know you want to keep it, and if Jack knew I was even considering doing anything to ruin that, he’d kill me . . . possibly literally.”
“Which is why we’re having this conversation without him.”
“Yes. You’re probably wondering why he isn’t back from changing the key card. I managed to persuade him that given the hour and the fact you two skipped lunch, you must be hungry. Normally, he’d see right through that, but he’s a little distracted right now.”
“Is he too distracted?” I said. “I mean, we both are, a little, but . . .”
“Jack’s fine. Distracted is the wrong word. He doesn’t lose his focus. But, even before this, the mere suggestion that you might need something would be enough to send him scrambling to get it for you. It’s nauseating, actually. You may want to work on that.”
I managed a faint smile. Then I sobered. “But you mean he left the building? I didn’t want him going out, not when he’s already been shot at—”
“He’s been shot at many, many times, Dee, and there is no one more capable of looking after himself. Your concern is very sweet, though, also in a nauseating way. At least you two are equally infatuated, which I suppose helps, if you like that sort of thing.”
“But Jack won’t be out long, which means we need to settle this. You’re asking permission to blow my cover, if necessary.”
“Yes. It’s not Jack’s decision to make, and he shouldn’t have to make it.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t put that on him.”
“So your answer is . . . ?”
Was I willing to risk the lodge, risk my identity, risk the world I’d built, the world I loved? The gut answer was no. Absolutely not. But the stakes . . . that was the problem. What was at stake if I said no? My life. My actual life.
There was a time, not that long ago, when I’d have taken the risk. When the lodge was my life. It still was a huge part of it. But even if that identity—Nadia Stafford, lodge owner—was stripped away, I was still me, and that was worth holding on to.
I was also worried about Jack’s involvement in this. But I had to put that aside and make the decision for myself. That wasn’t an easy place for me to be in—it’s so much easier for me to think of others. Yet I can’t live like that. It’s a bottomless morass of guilt and denial.
“Yes,” I said finally. “If you have to, do it.”
“I won’t unless I have to.” A pause. Then, “I know you don’t believe that. You don’t trust me. I’ve given you reason not to, and I won’t apologize for that. But . . .” She trailed off and there was a long silence. Then she came back, her voice strong. “I’m going to say this once and only once, and if you ever remind me of it or—God help me, tell Jack—you will wish you hadn’t. You have done something for someone I care about very much, Dee. You make Jack something I didn’t ever think he could be. You make him happy. I want that for him, and as long as you’re doing that, you can trust me. Jack wants you to keep that other life, so I will do everything in my power to make sure you keep it.”
“Thank you. And I’m sorry about Duncan.”
“He was old,” she said, sounding more like herself. “Shitty way to go, though, and I hope that whoever did this will suffer just as much, but mostly, I just want the bastard dead. Get this whole goddamned mess solved, and let everyone get back to their regularly scheduled lives.”
“I’m sorry about all this.”
“Why? You’re not the idiot who had to make the grand romantic gesture of finding Drew Aldrich.” She snorted. “There’s one you don’t see in the movies. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like ‘I tracked down this guy for you to kill.’”
A knock sounded, saving me from a reply.
“Jack’s at the door,” I said. “Or, at least, I hope it’s Jack.”
“If it’s not, leave it locked.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
It was indeed Jack. With food.
“Don’t worry,” he said as he walked in. “Just went two doors down. Got ambushed. He missed. Had to hide the body, though. Took a while.”
“I know you’re joking, but given our recent history, I wouldn’t be shocked if you weren’t.”
“Yeah.” He brought the food to the table and, without even looking over, said, “Everything okay?”