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Quinn kept staring.
"I have had lady friends in Chicago, Quinn, and have escorted them to the symphony and such, occasions for which women often appreciate new evening wear."
"Oh."
Felix shook his head. "While poor Quinn works that out, may I suggest we move straight to shopping? That should give him time to recover, then retrieve the blueprints and security details."
We finished our hot dogs, and left.
* * *
THIRTY-THREE
Jack checked us into a motel on the outskirts of Chicago. Felix and Quinn would presumably find one elsewhere. I could tell Jack wasn't comfortable with the prolonged time together, but there was little we could do under the circumstances except keep our guard up and remember that there was no reason for anyone to be tracking us. Had this been a job, that would be a concern, but here, attention was focused on our target, and no one was looking for us.
The opera curtain was ninety minutes away, and the doors would open in forty-five. I was ready to go, dress on and hair fixed in the best updo I could manage with bobby pins and a hand mirror. Jack had showered and shaved, but still had to throw on his tux, so I left him to do that and went outside to find Quinn.
It was dark already, and the motel poorly lit, but I located him on the other side of the lot, leaning against the fence, watching the highway traffic whiz past. He'd changed into black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt--dark enough for recon work outside the theater, but common enough street wear not to attract attention. He'd also switched to dark hair, and from his profile I could see that he'd added a beard and mustache. Guess he wanted a little more of a disguise in case he bumped into someone from the FBI task force. Further proof that I was right about him being a Fed. FBI or DEA was my guess. A field agent--he didn't strike me as a desk jockey--but he obviously still had enough clout to get all the info we needed without raising eyebrows. And the clout to get the time off.
As my heels clicked across the asphalt, Quinn turned. He stared. Then he stared some more.
I laughed. "Don't tell me I look that different."
"No, just...wow."
I blushed.
"You look good as a redhead," he said. "That must be closer to your natural--I mean, it suits you."
"Thanks."
The wig was redder than my normal hair--and longer. The dress was mint-ice-cream green. The tag had called it sea-foam or something like that, but it reminded me of mint ice cream. Felix and I had debated the merits of black over colors and, while black would doubtless be the shade of choice and I'd have blended into the crowd more by wearing it, it would also increase the chances that Jack would lose me.
So we'd picked this--a simple, formal dress in pale green, nothing revealing or flashy...although by the way Quinn was staring, you'd have thought it was fire-engine red with a neckline plunging to meet the hem. It'd been a while since a guy had looked at me like that. Jack had grunted something when I'd put it on, which could have been "nice," but could just as easily have been gas.
"Is Jack really wearing a tux?"
"He will be soon."
Quinn laughed. "This I gotta see."
I grinned. "Should be interesting. Thank God Felix is there to help, because I suspect Jack doesn't have a clue how to do the tie."
I don't think he heard any of that. As soon as I grinned, his gaze locked with mine.
"You have a great smile," he said, then blinked. "I mean, you look great when you smile. Not that you look bad when--"
Before he could muddle his way out, a figure appeared from the shadows. Quinn looked over at Jack and, if he'd been about to make some jab, he stopped. It was my turn to stare. Jack didn't look nearly as uncomfortable in a tux as I'd expected. It even suited him, giving the harsh angles of his face an air that was less rough and tumble and more sharp and sophisticated, but still slightly dangerous. He had foregone a wig in favor of putting more gray in his black. Bright blue contacts added a splash of color. He looked fine...better than fine. Of course, I wasn't telling him that--not when my outfit had only warranted a grunt.
Jack turned to me. "You forgot these."
He handed me a pair of gloves--not latex, but green silk. One advantage to formal dress--it gave you an excuse for gloving up and hiding fingerprints. For himself, he would use a form of liquid latex. It worked pretty well, but was far from perfect, so whenever possible, I'd be opening doors tonight.
As I pulled on my gloves, Felix joined us. I had to do a double take to recognize him. That afternoon, he'd looked as I remembered him from Indiana--tall, thin and ginger-haired, fussy, professorial. The man in front of me looked like he was ready to join the senior's mall walk--gray-haired, pasty-faced, slightly stooped and pot bellied, dressed in a navy jogging suit and new sneakers. An old man trying to prolong his life with some much needed exercise.
"We all set then?" Quinn said. "Any last-minute obstacles need tackling?"
"Besides the lack of a suitable method of communication?" Felix said.
