They even offered medical care for Jack. He refused. He had someone in the area so that’s where we took him. The bullet hadn’t done any serious damage. One nicked rib and torn tissue. He wouldn’t be work-ready for weeks, but he’d be fine.
As for Koss, we let Contrapasso handle that—both the immediate cleanup and the long-term repercussions. They’d make sure the families of his victims got closure and that their daughters’ remains would be found wherever possible. Investigations would be reopened. Koss would be fingered as the culprit, apparently having left his confession and fled for parts unknown.
Would those investigations find him guilty? Or would people say his enemies framed and murdered him? Impossible to predict. He was dead. The families would know their daughters’ fates. That was all that mattered to me.
We left Chicago Saturday morning. Though Emma and Owen didn’t expect me back for the weekend, Jack knew it was best if I missed as little of it as possible. I’d drive us while he rested. Or that was my plan, though I knew sedation might be required to actually get him to rest.
Quinn was still with us, dealing with Contrapasso. What happened hadn’t soured him on them—or vice versa. If anything, his loyalty to his comrades seemed to solidify their initial interest and they’d moved from flirting to making plans for a first date.
Contrapasso was also interested in Jack and me. While I knew Jack was a “hell no,” he wasn’t actually saying that. They knew more about us than we liked. It behooved us to play coy, rather than reject their overtures outright.
When Quinn came to see me before we left, it was the first time we’d talked since Koss’s death. He helped me carry the bags to the rental car while Jack rested in the hotel room.
“I want to thank you again,” I said. “For coming back.”
“I shouldn’t have left,” he said as we got on the elevator. “Jack was right. I lost my temper. I said things I didn’t mean. I stormed out when you needed me.”
“You shouldn’t have found out like that. I should have told you.”
He leaned against the elevator wall. “Nah. I only would have stormed off sooner.” He shifted my duffel, looking uncomfortable. “It was over. You’d made that clear. You had a right to move on. I just . . .” He exhaled. “If it was anyone else, I’d still have been hurt, but Jack . . . I don’t get it, Nadia. I really don’t.”
The elevator stopped in the parking garage. We got off and headed for the car.
He continued, “I think he made his move when you were vulnerable.”
“Quinn . . .”
“I’m not blaming him. I’ve known he was interested in you since the day we met. But you weren’t interested back, so he kept his distance. He didn’t interfere with you and me. I respect that. We broke up, though, and he brought you Aldrich, and you were grateful and he misread that. You care about him. So when he made a move and you were in a bad place—with our breakup and this Aldrich business—you gave in.”
“It wasn’t—”
“It was.” His voice was firm. “You just don’t see it. You will. You’re making a mistake, and you’re going to realize that, and I just hope he doesn’t hurt you too much in the meantime.”
Quinn unlocked the trunk. I looked over at him, and I knew there was nothing I could say. He’d come up with an explanation he could live with, an explanation he needed. I had to let him have that.
When he bent to put the duffel bag in, I kissed his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”
He put one arm around me, a quick squeeze. “I know you will.”
CHAPTER 54
I stood on the edge of a small bluff overlooking my lake. Ice crept in along the edges, the shore blanketed with a foot of pristine early December snow. I turned at the soft crunch of snow underfoot.
“This one?” Jack said.
“I think so.” I hunkered down for a look through the thin line of trees. “We’d need to build back from the bluff, though, for stability. It might be too far to see the lake from the porch.”
“Second story.”
I glanced over at him.
“Add another story. Bedroom loft. Balcony.”
When I hesitated, he walked over beside me and looked out as I straightened. “Nice view. Wouldn’t want to lose it.”
I smiled and shook my head. When I’d first considered building a separate cabin for myself, I’d envisioned a tiny cottage, little more than a bedroom and bath. The plan kept growing, though, at Jack’s prodding. We hadn’t even decided on a site yet, and we were already up to a full-blown cottage, complete with small kitchen, sitting area, and office. Now this.
Jack squinted into the rising sun. “Yeah. Don’t want to lose the view. Full-length balcony. Bedroom loft. Fireplace.”
“We’re already putting a fireplace on the first floor.”
“Have two.” When I opened my mouth to protest, he said, “I’m paying.”
“Part. A small part. I’m not going to let you—” I stopped. “No, I’m not falling for that again. Every time you add something and I argue, you bring up who’s paying because you know it’ll distract me and the next thing I know, there’s two fireplaces on the plan.”
“’Cause I’m paying.”
I made a face at him. He pulled me over for distraction technique number two, one that invariably worked. Thirty seconds later, I was up against a tree kissing him, cabin construction forgotten, my hands in his hair, his under my jacket and under my shirt, fingers deliciously cool against my skin. His hands moved up my back, unhooking my bra, then sliding around to cup my breasts—
“Stop!” a voice shouted.
I jumped about a foot. Jack only shook his head as the voice came again. “Don’t go near the ice!”
I nudged Jack away and glanced down the bluff to see a family of guests out by the lake. They caught sight of me. I waved and called down to second the warning against the kids getting too close to the ice. Jack sighed.
“I swear,” I said. “We could be in the high Arctic and still get interrupted. In this case, though, it’s probably for the best. You have a flight to catch. You wanted to leave at noon and it’s . . .” I checked my watch. “Ten past.”
“Yeah.”
He looked out over the lake, and I could see the wistfulness in his eyes. He didn’t want to go. It would pass, though, once he got out and in the field again. Then he’d return and he’d be glad to be back, and we’d have our time together.
It’d been almost two months since Chicago. I will admit, in the beginning, I’d been worried Jack might realize this life wasn’t for him. That I’d wake one morning and he’d have left a note. Emergency job, it’d say, but I’d know the truth—that he was restless and there wasn’t enough here to hold him.
That didn’t happen. Once he’d recuperated, he’d taken off a couple of times. Not on jobs, but managing his business. Easing out of it, too. He wouldn’t retire. Not for years. But he was cutting ties, telling lesser clients that he wouldn’t be working for them much longer. Each time he left, it was with reluctance. And each time he returned . . . I smiled to myself. Returning was good.
As for the rest, the Contrapasso Fellowship was still trying to woo us, through both Evelyn and Quinn. While I wasn’t interested now, could I foresee a day when I might be? Maybe. If I ever was, Jack said he’d come along. Not because he’d developed a sudden interest in justice, but for me.
I wasn’t giving up the life. Finding Amy’s killer hadn’t “fixed” me. There was, I’d realized, nothing to fix. This was who I was. It wouldn’t change. It didn’t need to.