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We turned the corner, then Quinn continued, "Sure, you have to be careful, but there's still stuff you can talk about. What are you going to do, say, 'Hmmm, I know Jack likes James Dean movies, nachos with chicken, and Bob Dylan,' and plug it into some national database to figure out who he really is? Even if I knew his name and social security number, what the hell would I with it?"
"If you were caught, you might find a use for it."
"Cut a deal, you mean? Considering what he knows about me, I'd be nuts to do that. Anyway, I don't think that telling you I like to ski is a major security violation. So, yes, I ski. Downhill, as you were about to ask. I keep meaning to try cross-country, but I never get around to it."
"Cross-country is a good winter substitute for jogging, though it can't beat downhill for the adrenaline rush. I always think of them as opposite ends of the spectrum. Downhill for getting the heart pumping, cross-country for relaxing."
We crossed at the lights, nearly getting knocked down by the draft of a car whizzing around the corner.
"Cross-country's more peaceful, I bet," Quinn said. "Without the crowds of hot-doggers racing around you."
"God, yes. Find a nice quiet trail through the woods, go out at night with the moonlight glistening off the snow--perfect."
"There's this club I go to, up in Vermont. They've got a trail along the river, and every year I tell myself I'm going to try it, but I can't get my buddies off the hills...or off the snow bunnies."
"Not many snow bunnies on the cross-country trails."
"Which is not necessarily a bad thing. Last year, we met this group of girls. They must have blown a grand each on their outfits, but they couldn't even lace up their boots right. We..."
"...ride the helicopter to the top of the mountain," Quinn said as he held open the hotel room door for me. "Then they drop you off and you ski down."
"Heli-skiing," I said. Felix and Jack were watching CNN. "I hear it's amazing."
Felix glanced over. He looked different today--his hair color the same, but his manner changed along with his clothes. A well-loved tweed blazer and slacks, hair slightly too long, glasses perched on the end of his nose, pale cheeks hollow--the college professor who doesn't spend much time away from his books.
"Jumping out of a helicopter and skiing down a mountain?" he said. "Sounds almost as much fun as swimming in a shark tank. But I suppose you two do that, too."
"Only if we have the right equipment," I said. "If you forget the blood-soaked bikini, there's just no challenge to it."
"Dee?" Jack cut in. "Breakfast."
"Oh, right. Should we order--"
"Pick up." He walked to the door. "Come on."
"I'll take the breakfast special," Quinn said. "Bacon, eggs, whatever. If I get toast, make it whole wheat."
"And what would you like in your coffee?" I asked.
He grinned. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
"Cream and double sugar," Jack said. "Let's go."
* * *
TWENTY-EIGHT
We got as far as the elevator before Jack said, "You saw my note, right? It said 'wait.'"
"That was a note? I thought it was a haiku." I pressed the elevator button. "I left you a note in return, and stuck to the main street, so it was no less safe than wherever you went."
"That's not--"
"If you mean Quinn, it wasn't as bad as it looked. Yes, I know, one minute I'm worried about meeting the guy, and the next I'm chatting and laughing with him. But that's my way of handling situations like this. Morose and monosyllabic may work for some people, but not for me."
"Morose?"
"The best way for me to behave with someone I don't trust is to act like I trust them completely. They may let their guard down, but I don't. Ever."
