At least he acknowledged me, glancing over and nodding, then rolling his shoulders and smoothing his tone as he said to Jack, "It would be nice if you could look at our history and agree that I've never been anything but honest and fair. But that's obviously out of the question, so at least give me credit for having a healthy sense of self-preservation. You don't like me. You don't like what I am. It makes you nervous. And seeing me getting close to your protégée really makes you nervous. But whatever ethical code you play by, it says you need an excuse to kill me. So do you honestly think I'd give you one?"

Jack snorted, but said nothing. Quinn fished the keys from his pocket.

"I'll take off now, and give you guys time to think it over and decide… whatever you're going to decide." He opened the door. "I'll e-mail you in a week or so, Nadia, and – " He stopped, fingers drumming against the window frame. "Or, I guess, I should wait for you to get in touch with me."

"I will."

He nodded, trying for a smile, but not finding it. He pulled the door wider. Jack's hand shot out and slapped it shut.

Quinn wheeled. "Oh, for God's sake, Jack. You won't even let me make a graceful exit, will you?"

"You owe her."

"Owe -?" He ripped a wallet from his pocket, yanked out his driver's license, and waved it. "You mean this? Tit for tat? Do you think I wasn't going to tell her who I am? Maybe I just wanted to do it in private, but if that's too much to ask for…" He held the license out, the edge falling from his voice. "Here, Nadia."

I shook my head. "I don't need that. Jack, please, just let him – "

"He owes you. Not information." He plucked the license from Quinn's hand and tossed it through the open window. "She needs help. Working on something. Needs to dig up old cases. Compare – "

"No. He doesn't need to – "

"I will. I'd be glad to," Quinn said. "Anytime you need my contacts or my research, you only have to ask, like I've said. Why don't we find someplace to grab a coffee – "

"Can't," Jack said. "She's got guests coming. Re spon si bil i ties." He glanced at me. "After dinner?"

I nodded and we arranged the meeting.

I had trouble getting away. One couple who'd booked a twilight canoe ride decided over dinner that they'd love to tour the range first. They weren't pushy or demanding, but it's hard to say no without a good excuse.

Jack came to my rescue, saying he knew I wanted to check out a downed fence section, so he'd give the range tour. After dinner, I gathered my fence-mending tools and headed out.

I'd told Quinn to meet me at the service lane near the back of the property. I could have driven there, but it was a warm evening and I needed the walk. When I got to the spot almost ten minutes early, he was already there.

He sat on a log with his back to me. He'd changed into a T-shirt and jeans, the shirt tight over broad shoulders, muscles tense. He stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles, then pulled them in. One hand drummed the log. The other peeled bark from an old birch. His legs went out again. Back in. As nervous as a twelve-year-old waiting in the woods, not sure his "date" will show.

"Trying to kill my trees?" I asked.

He turned so fast he slid backward, awkwardly catching himself before tumbling to the dirt. A sheepish laugh as he stood, brushing the earth from his hands.

"I thought you'd be coming that way," he said, pointing at the path he'd been watching. "Which is probably the opposite direction to your place, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Lousy sense of direction."

Silence fell, then hung there, awkward. He made a show of looking behind me.

"No chaperone?"

"Not tonight."

"I'm not sure if that's a good sign or bad." He peered into the woods. "If you see a little red dot of light on my forehead…?"

"I'll let you know."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Man, Jack was pissed. Not that he didn't have a right to be, if I'd done what he thought I did, hunting you down."

I leaned against the tree he'd been picking at. "Re mem ber when we first met? Accidentally bumping into you and Felix when Jack had been deliberately keeping me away from you guys? Well, he wasn't just being his usual… overcautious – "

"Paranoid."

I smiled. "Paranoid self. He hadn't wanted us meeting because of my background and your job. He was afraid…"

"Of exactly what happened. That somehow I'd figure out who you were."

"After that run-in, Jack decided keeping me hidden would only raise more questions. There wasn't much chance you'd heard about my case, much less would remember me even if you had. But, now, he feels respon sible."

"I can see that."

I sat on the log. As Quinn lowered himself beside me, he pulled his ID card from his pocket, upside-down.

"If you really don't want to see this, I understand. But I'd like you to."

I took the license and read it: home address, date of birth, and his real name.

" Quincy?"

"Don't laugh."

"I'm not."

"If you try any harder not to, you'll give yourself an aneurysm."

I sputtered. "Okay, sorry, it's just… you don't look like a Quincy."

"I haven't been one since kindergarten, when my teacher misread the list, called me by my middle name, and I decided to stick with it."

I looked at the card. "Robert."

"Rob, usually, but yes."

"So Quincy… Quinn."

"Not the most original nom de guerre. Jack grumbled about the stupidity of picking it, but it was kind of a personal thing. First action flick I saw as a kid had a hero named Quinn, and then I heard the song 'The Mighty Quinn,' and so…"

"You went through a phase of wanting to be called Quinn?"

"It was more of an alter ego. Like when you play games, and you need to call yourself something? I was always Quinn, who, let me tell you, was way cooler than Robbie."

"I'll bet."

"Of course, I grew up and I'm totally over that now."

"I suppose you'll want me to keep calling you Quinn."

"Up to you." A sly look my way. "But I won't complain if you do."

I laughed, my gaze on the card still in my hands. When I looked up again, his face was right there, above mine. I blinked, and he pulled back.

"So this job you're working," he began.

"Job? Ah, right. The reason we're out here. It's not a job. More of a… private investigation."

I told him the story. In his face, I saw everything I'd felt: concern, dread, grief, rage, then disgust and fury at Sammi's fate. Sometimes, reading a newspaper article and feeling grief or outrage for a victim I've never met, I think there's something wrong with me. Seeing that in Quinn's face was a vindication.

"I'm sorry," he said when I finished.

"I didn't know her that well. Can't even say I liked her very much."

"But you helped."

"I don't think I – "

"You did."

Even without knowing about Amy, Quinn understood what consumed me – fear that I'd failed Sammi.

"I want to help," he said. "I can research similar disappearances."

"Which could risk your job."

"Nah, I'm an old pro at covering my tracks. I'll get whatever you need. I just wish I could do more, that I could stay and help."

He put away his license. Then we sat there, the silence turning awkward again.

"I guess you have a long drive to Montreal," I said finally. "And I should be getting back. Jack was taking my guests on a tour of the range."

Quinn choked on a laugh. "I hope they're behaving themselves. And if not, I hope they paid you in advance."

"It probably didn't last long enough for anyone to give him trouble. Locker. Guns. Ammo. Targets. Seen enough? Good. Done."