Earlier this evening I’d envisioned two possible scenarios. One, the killer would see he had no chance at success, and cut his losses. Two, he’d try, fail and be caught. Even when I’d considered the possibility that he’d kill someone, I’d been certain he’d be caught before he could escape. To succeed, and so easily, without a single apparent slip…I’m an optimist, but there’s a point at which realism and optimism collide, and we’d reached it. Tonight only proved that we were in over our heads and it was starting to seem that nothing short of handing over two hundred million would stop the killings.

I didn’t remember the trip to the motel or the walk to the room. The next thing I knew I was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at myself in the mirror. I’d run my hands through my hair so many times I must have looked like Medusa-all snaky curls and jutting bobby pins. I’d caught my dress in the car door and dragged the hem over ten miles of wet road. I looked like bedraggled alley cat. And I didn’t care.

Fixing my wig and my dress wasn’t going to change what had happened tonight and would happen tomorrow and every day after that because all our running around solving the puzzle was for nothing if we couldn’t stop this bastard. I’d been right there, less than a hundred feet away when he’d killed that man, and there hadn’t been a damn thing I could do about it.

Failure. Complete, abject failure.

A rustle across the room. Then a cigarette package appeared, hovering over my lap. I shook my head and it vanished.

“You want a drink?” Jack asked.

I wanted to say no, but I knew he was trying to be considerate, so I nodded. I thought he’d meant he’d grab something from the minibar-assuming there was one. When the door clicked and I turned to see him leaving, my mouth opened to say “Please don’t go.” But before I could get the first word out, he’d left. And the room got very, very quiet.

Just me. Alone with my thoughts when I so desperately didn’t want to be.

Someone rapped at the door. I didn’t even check the peephole, just yanked it open, thinking Jack had forgotten something. Heart tripping with relief that he’d returned.

Quinn stood there, deep lines etched between his brows.

“I thought you’d left,” I said.

“I have a bit of a drive and I’m…not ready to make it. I circled back, and I saw Jack leaving as I was pulling in. I thought maybe you could-we could-use some company.”

“Yes.” The word flew out before I could think about it. When I did, I considered my options, and the risks of each. “Let’s head out, but I’ll need to leave a note for Jack and stay close.”

He stepped in, but left the door cracked open.

“Is Felix in the car?” I asked as I found paper.

He shook his head. “I dropped him off at a motel. We don’t…I stay somewhere else.”

“Makes sense. Safer, I suppose.”

“Nah, that’s not it. Well, I suspect Felix is happier splitting up, but I-with my job-I can’t just take off for parts unknown even when I’m on vacation. I need a base. Any one checks up on me, I need an alibi, even if it’s just a hotel clerk saying he saw me that morning.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

A small smile. “You didn’t. I explained of my own free will. Not exactly top secret.” He leaned back against the wall. “I don’t usually have this problem. My jobs, I keep them closer to home, work around my schedule. This?” He shook his head as I finished the note. “Major finagling. When Jack called, I’d finished a big case, hadn’t really started anything new, and had vacation time banked so I was able to take off on short notice.”

He went quiet then, gaze moving away, fingers tapping the dresser.

“I’m going to guess it’s not an open-ended vacation,” I said. “How much time do you have left?”

“Not enough.” He exhaled softly. “That’s one reason I was really counting on…”

“Finishing this tonight.”

He nodded. “A few more days and I’m out of here. And once I’m gone, I don’t know how much help I can be, even with information.”

Without Quinn’s FBI sources-and Quinn himself-our investigation would be in trouble. I put the note where Jack would see it, then followed Quinn out.

Beside the parking lot was a pool. The sign said Closed for the Season, but judging by the moss-lined cracks in the concrete walls, it had been closed for a lot of seasons. Of the surrounding security lights, three were dead and two were flickering with their last breaths, but the last still held on. I walked under that one. Close enough for Jack to find me easily, and the angle let us keep an eye on the parking lot and anyone approaching.

I lowered myself to the cement, legs dangling over the pool’s edge. Quinn sat beside me.

For a minute, we just gazed at the pool and the layer of trash that blanketed the bottom. Pizza boxes, pop bottles, beer cans, a running shoe…whatever people or the wind had dumped inside.

Quinn pointed at the sneaker. “Whenever I see that, I always wonder how the shoe got there. A pair, I can see. Maybe you take them off to swim or go barefoot and forget where you left them. But how do you lose one shoe? Wouldn’t you notice?”

Using my toes, I worked the strap off the back of my opposite heel, and let my left shoe fall into the darkness below. Quinn gave a soft laugh, and tugged his off. It hit the bottom with a squishy thump.

“One high heel and two unmatched sneakers,” he said. “Now that’s a mystery.”

I managed a smile and glanced over at him. His gaze met mine, and I saw something in it that sent a slow burn through me. I was suddenly aware of how close he was sitting, almost brushing me, close enough to feel the heat from his body, and I remembered sitting in that opera house, Jack beside me, my body telling me the perfect substitute for a thwarted hunt. A way to chase the shadows from tonight and still the thoughts pinging through my brain. Something I could cling to, a warm body and a dip into the mindlessly physical.

I could use this. In every way, I could use this.

The attraction was there, and I didn’t need to worry about either of us expecting anything. One night. No strings. I looked at him, and felt the hunger burn through me. Then I looked away.

Too risky. I told myself Jack would worry if I disappeared for a few hours with Quinn, but that wasn’t the risk I was thinking of. I couldn’t trust Quinn. Didn’t want to trust him. Even for a night.

When I looked away, I expected Quinn to find an excuse to go inside. Instead, his hand slid into mine. I glanced over at him, but he was staring into the depths of the pool.

“They should have closed the handicapped washroom,” he murmured, not looking up.

“They couldn’t. Not both of them-not without causing an uproar. In some places you could, and no one would complain, might not even notice. But that place was 50 percent retirees.” I gazed out into the night. “They should have posted a guard. Maybe closed one and watched the other. There were guards at the end of the hall and in the main bathrooms, but it would have been easy for him to slip into a handicapped one, unlock the door after a minute and have no one notice he didn’t leave.”

I glanced over at him. “Do you think he did that on purpose? Targeting someone who was handicapped? Or was it just the easiest way?”

“Maybe one of the easiest, but I’m sure he thought about it. Probably has a whole goddamned list drawn up-little tick boxes to make sure he doesn’t overlook any target group.”

There was an anger and bitterness in his voice that made me squeeze his hand.

“You get it, don’t you?” he said softly. “They don’t. Jack and Felix-” He shook his head. “Jack, cutting out on you the second he can get away. And Felix, calm as can be. To them, this is just business. Got a hitman causing trouble, that’s bad for business, so you take him out. Doesn’t matter how many people get killed in the meantime.”