“I think they care,” I said. “In their way. Maybe Jack doesn’t show it but-”

“You know what kind of work Jack does, don’t you? What kind of hitman he is?”

“Sure, I’ve-”

“You pay him, he whacks someone. No questions asked.”

“Isn’t that what most hitmen do? I mean, that’s the job description, right? Hired killer.”

“And is that what you do? Take money to kill anyone, anytime, any way? Like hell. Now, I have no idea how you operate, but that’s not it, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that. Someone handed you fifty grand to off some random guy in a handicapped washroom, you’d tell him to go fuck himself. Hell, if someone offered me fifty grand to do it, I’d be tempted to put the gun in his-” He stopped. “You know what I mean.”

I gave a half-shrug, knowing he was heading into territory where I didn’t dare follow.

He leaned down to catch my eye. “You do know what I do, don’t you?” A small laugh. “No, I guess that’s a stupid question. The only way you’d know is if Jack told you and he sure isn’t about to tell you, because he doesn’t approve.”

“Approve of what?”

“You know I’m a cop. Not exactly a state secret. And you probably wonder how I justify playing both sides. Maybe I’m just a corrupt son-of-a-bitch who gets off on doing exactly what I’m supposed to be fighting. The truth is, being a cop is what got me into this business, seeing the crap that-”

He stopped. A figure had rounded the front corner of the pool, emerging from between two minivans. It was Jack, his white dress shirt bright against the darkness, his jacket open, tie off, bottle dangling from one hand.

“ Dee?” He stopped in the gateway and lifted the bottle.

“She’ll be right there,” Quinn said. “Just give us a-”

“What’re you back for?” Jack said as he approached. “Forgot something?” He looked down at our hands, face unreadable. As I pulled my hand back, his gaze lifted to Quinn’s. “Forgot to say good-bye? Think Dee ’s a bit old for a good-night kiss.”

Quinn pushed to his feet. “Maybe, but I figured one thing she could use, after tonight, was someone to talk to. Someone who might even talk back.”

“Playing Boy Scout again?”

Quinn’s mouth tightened. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then don’t act the part.” Jack turned to me, bottle raised. “Coming?”

Quinn met my gaze. “You don’t have to.”

“I should,” I murmured as I stood. “I’ll see you later.”

He hesitated, then nodded. When Jack turned back to the motel, I reached for Quinn’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze before hurrying after Jack.

Back in the motel room, I waited for the door to close, then turned to Jack, hands raised in defense.

“Before you say anything, let me point out that I was on the grounds, in a public place, under a spotlight, where you could see me and I could see anyone approaching. Plus I left you a note. If that’s not safe, I don’t know what is.”

“Staying in your room? Alone?”

“He was upset about tonight and he wanted someone to talk to. Is that a crime?”

He answered by pouring shots of whiskey into plastic glasses.

“What about Felix?” he said as he handed me one.

“What about Felix?”

“Quinn wanted to talk? Could talk to Felix.” He paused. “Couldn’t hold his hand, though. Felix might complain. But maybe not. You never know.”

“He wasn’t-” I shook my head. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Looked like that.”

“He was upset, Jack. When people are upset, sometimes they just need someone around, some human contact.”

“So that’s what he wanted. Contact.”

I felt myself blush and covered it by gulping my whiskey. Big mistake. The second it scorched my throat, I coughed, sputtering whiskey everywhere.

Jack shook his head and handed me a tissue. “Not much of a drinker, huh?”

“It went down wrong.”

“Huh.”

“Not like this dress wasn’t a write-off to begin with. If it’s okay with you, I’m getting out of this thing and taking a shower-”

I got halfway to the bathroom before his fingers closed lightly around my wrist.

“Maybe Quinn was upset. Maybe he was lonely. But give him the chance? He’d do the same tomorrow night. And the next night. He’s interested. He’s going to make sure you know it. Staring at you. Complimenting you. Holding your hand. It’s inappropriate.” He paused. “Quinn can be careless. Not with work. He’s good at that. But other stuff? Personal stuff? Shows too much. Lets his guard down. Careless.”

Don’t you ever want to be careless, Jack? I wanted to ask.

He continued, “You’re here on a job, Nadia. Both of you. He should respect that. Hitting on a colleague-”

“-is inappropriate. I get it. Don’t worry. I’m not giving him my phone number until all this is over.”

From the look on Jack’s face, you’d think I’d suggested taking up a third career as a street whore.

“I’m kidding,” I said. “Please. You think I’m here to widen my dating pool? A hitman boyfriend-exactly what my life needs.”

He grunted “good”-or something like that-then downed his drink and gestured at the bathroom. “Shower’s yours.”

I laid my drink down and walked into the bathroom.

After we both showered and retired, I lay there, eyes open in the dark, afraid to close them, knowing those dark dreams waited.

I could hear Jack across the room, his breathing slowing, hitting the rhythm of sleep. Or so I thought until a half hour passed and, without a hitch in that steady breathing, his polyester comforter whispered, pushed back. A crackle of joints. A soft sigh. The muffled thump of his feet hitting the carpet. I feigned sleep and listened to his footfalls as they rounded his bed, then paused at the end of mine.

I peeked just enough to see his faint silhouette in the near-dark room. It hovered there, at the foot of the bed, then moved on to the bathroom. The creak of the door shutting. The click of the light-turned on only after the door was closed, always considerate. I lay on my side, watching that glowing rectangle under the bathroom door. The toilet flushed. His feet passed through the rectangle. The gurgle of water finding its way up the pipes. Then the light went out, door opened.

He started past my bed, hesitated and came back, walking up to the side. As I lay there, eyes shut, I could hear him breathing, only feet away. Watching me. I knew this should concern me-a man standing by my bedside when I’m supposed to be asleep-but I didn’t feel concern. Couldn’t. Just lay there and listened to him breathing.

A catch in the rhythm, then the muffled sound of footsteps as he moved closer. I cracked open my eyes to see him bending over, still keeping a respectable distance, but getting a closer look.

“I’m not asleep,” I said.

The sound of my voice didn’t seem to startle him. He just grunted, “Yeah. Thought so. Wasn’t sure.”

I opened my eyes to see the outline of his face, one strip-from eye to chin-illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the crack between the curtains.

“Can’t sleep, either?” I said.

“Nah. Too…busy.”

He went quiet again, just standing there, so still that even that strip of moonlight over his face didn’t budge. After a moment, he said, “You wanna go out?”

“You need a cigarette?”

He shook his head. “Just…out. Somewhere.”

I rose on my elbows and yawned. “Probably not a bad plan. As for where, at this hour, that could be a problem.”

“Got an idea.”

He left it at that. When I nodded, he grabbed his bag and headed for the washroom, telling me to call when I was dressed.

We drove in silence, the lights of the city soon fading behind us. I recognized the route as the one we’d taken into Chicago, but knew we couldn’t be leaving, not with our bags still at the motel.