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"Riley's dead," Jack said. "Falcon's long retired. Not many left. Not at this age. Young man's game." He leaned back, as if searching his memory.
"What about Felix?" I said. "He's about the right age."
Evelyn shook her head, her eyes still on her computer screen. "He's been with Quinn and if he started taking off, Quinn would be suspicious. Plus, Phoenix isn't the retiring type."
"Phoenix?"
"Felix. Phoenix is his work name. Any hitman with a moniker like that--a bird, animal, whatever--probably has a second nom de guerre for friends. Can you imagine chatting over beer with a guy and calling him 'Phoenix'?"
"So I can cross Felix/Phoenix off my list. And Quinn is obviously too young--"
"Ah, Quinn," she said. "What did you think of him, Dee?"
I glanced at Jack. "Okay, I guess. Seemed straight up."
"Oh, he is. As straight as they come." Her eyes glittered. "I bet you two will get along famously. You have so much in common, and not just a shared law-enforcement career. Quinn has another name, too, something with a little more...meaning, as much as he hates it. Perhaps you've heard of--"
"Scorpio," Jack said.
"Scorpio? That's Quinn's other--"
"No," Evelyn said. "Jack is telling us to move back to the list. Age-wise, Scorpio is a possibility, though you know him better than I do, Jack. Could he pull something like this?"
"Doesn't matter. Add him. This list--" He waved at the paper in my ha
nds. "Probably finish with four, five names. This job? Not a high retirement rate. Check them all."
* * *
THIRTY
Two hours later, we were no closer to finding details of the hit Koslov had witnessed. Evelyn had put Maggie and Frances on it, to see whether their Nikolaev contacts knew anything.
"What about Little Joe?" Jack said as we ate dinner.
"The same Little Joe who laid a marker on my head? Oh, yeah, there's the guy you want to chat up about Nikolaev history."
"He'll talk."
"After excusing himself to go call the next name on his list? Or will he try a new tactic this time?"
"Nah. Not that creative. He'll stick to hitmen."
"That's comforting."
"We can handle it."
"We?"
"Yeah. Need your help. It'll be okay. Safe." When I didn't respond, he added, "No miniskirts."
"I'll think about it."
I saw the note the moment I walked into my room. It wasn't obvious, a small square of paper partly tucked under the bedside lamp. But when I stepped in, I automatically did a visual sweep. And so I saw the note--something that had not been there before.
I unfolded it. A newspaper article on white copy paper, printed from the Internet. I knew it came from Evelyn. Anything Jack wanted to convey to me, he'd say. Language might not be his forte, but I couldn't imagine him communicating any other way--certainly not through clandestine notes in my bedroom.
My gaze went first to the headline: "Accused Pedophile Freed."
