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Did I want Evelyn to be the one to take me there?
To Evelyn, I was a project. Something to be made better. Something to be used? Maybe. But a project nonetheless. And here, in my hand, was the lure.
I folded the paper and put it into my bag.
It was past two. I'd gone to bed an hour ago. I was coming out of the bathroom, heading toward my room when a shadow moved. I started, then saw Jack silhouetted in his open bedroom door.
"Oh," he said. "You were just--" He waved toward the bathroom. "Thought you were heading down."
I managed a small smile. "Trying not to, but losing the battle."
"Come on."
He waved me to the kitchen table and got out the cocoa and sugar containers. When it was made, he brought over my mug and sat across from me.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Sure."
He studied me. "That letter. Doesn't mean shit. We're getting close."
"Sure."
We sat there for a few minutes, the quiet broken only by the drumming of Jack's fingers. He cast a few glances at the window overlooking the driveway.
"Want me to grab your cigarettes?" I asked.
A tiny smile. "That obvious?"
"Stressful day." I lifted my mug. "This is my fix. I suppose Evelyn wouldn't be keen on you smoking in the house, but we can step outside if you'd like."
"Damned cold..."
"I don't mind if you don't. A little fresh air might help us sleep."
Jack lit a cigarette, took a drag and made a face. Then he took another one.
My soft laugh echoed through the backyard. "Tastes like shit, but it does the job, huh?"
"Yeah."
We were leaning on the railing, side by side, staring out into the night. There was a sharp wind coming from the north, but Jack had moved close, blocking it for me. I had my hands wrapped around my still-warm mug, sipping it as Jack smoked.
I longed to ask him about Evelyn. To tell him about her "offer." Not to set him against her, but to get his opinion, as the person who knew her best. When he said this was my decision to make, I knew he meant that. I also knew that accepting this job, accepting Evelyn's help, wouldn't mean giving up his. He'd never make me choose.
Would she? Maybe. As fond as she was of Jack, she wasn't one to share.
Two years ago, Jack hadn't wanted me becoming Evelyn's project. Why? What danger was there in accepting the tutelage of the woman who'd trained him, a person he still obviously trusted, still had a relationship with?
Good enough for him. Why not good enough for me two years ago? And what had changed now?
So many questions--and here, alone in the dark, I could have asked. I should have asked. But I couldn't find the right words. So we stood there looking out over the yard. I drank my hot chocolate, shared his cigarette and his company...and asked him nothing.
The next morning, Evelyn didn't mention the "offer." Nor did I. We had breakfast, then Jack and I got ready to go. Back to Little Joe. As Jack promised, I was miniskirt free. No high heels or push-up bras, either. My outfit was pretty much what I'd normally wear at this time of year--jeans, a turtleneck and a denim jacket. The disguise started at the neck, with Evelyn's long brunette wig and my new green contacts. I'd added a needle-thin scar under my eye, the kind of distinguishing feature that doesn't really stand out, but would be the first thing you'd mention in a witness ID.
Jack had dressed casually as well--in jeans and a thick pullover that, with some padding, bulked him out from well built to hefty. A sandy-brown wig and glasses, and he was the other half of a middle-class couple going to visit an old family friend in the nursing home.
As Jack drove, the radio station we were listening to faded. I flipped the dial and caught:
