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"Yeah, I know it'll be a bugger without it, but even Jack agrees. The Feds may be monitoring frequencies, and there isn't a radio or phone I'd take the chance with."
"I know of one," Felix said. "Unfortunately, no courier could deliver it from Moscow in time. However, we may wish to consider splurging if we fail to roust this man tonight."
Quinn's face darkened. "It ends tonight. Between us and the Feds, he doesn't stand a chance. A few hours from now we'll be celebrating, not ordering extra equipment." A sudden smile and he turned my way. "Speaking of celebrating, I know a place, has the best suds and deep dish in town."
"Think I'd be overdressed?"
"Definitely, but you won't hear me complaining." He glanced over my head. "How about it, guys? Up for a little postassignment partying?"
Felix arched a brow. "Oh, were we included in that invitation?"
"Of course. Not like Jack would let me take Dee without him." His gaze shot back to mine. "Is it a date then? Say...midnight?"
"Only if I can buy the first round."
"Haven't caught him yet," Jack said. "Don't get cocky."
I looked at him, my smile fading. "It isn't cockiness, Jack. It's confidence...and a generous helping of hope."
He nodded and, for a minute, we all stood in silence. Then Jack jangled his keys.
"Time to go."
A half hour later we were rounding the corner, the opera house in sight, a crowd at the doors, moving slowly. Jack eyed the crowd, then motioned me aside and took out a cigarette. Earlier he'd grumbled about the habit, calling it the worst a hitman could have. I wasn't sure I agreed. It certainly came in handy--a convenient excuse for standing around outside without drawing attention to yourself. Unlike that hitman at the jail, Jack could pull it off. No one watching would mistake him for an amateur smoker.
He lit the cigarette, took a drag, then said, "We okay?"
"Sure. Aren't we?" I stepped to the side, out of the path of an oncoming foursome. "Is something bothering you? Something we missed?"
"Nah."
His gaze slanted away, as if this wasn't what he'd meant and he was trying to reword it. After another drag, he looked at me.
"You okay?"
"Me? Sure. Not having second thoughts about getting involved, if that's what you mean."
A small shake of his head, coupled with a look that said he'd never make that mistake. A third drag, then he passed the cigarette to me. He let me inhale, exhale, and waved it off when I offered it back.
"Might not get him," he said, voice low, though no one was around. "Gonna try. Sure as hell gonna try. But...might not."
"Like Quinn and I said, we don't care who does the take-down, us or the Feds. Yes, I'd rather be the one..." I paused. "You mean--This is about that talk outside the motel--Quinn and I going on about getting this guy, making our victory celebration plans." I felt my gaze harden. Blinked it away. "You're worried that I'll get cocky. Overexcited. Overeager. That I'll screw up."
"'Course not. You're a pro--"
"Quinn and I were just blowing off steam, okay? Some of us need to do that. And, yes, I suppose showing it is unprofessional--"
"I never said--"
"I know we might not get this guy tonight. I know maybe no one will. And I know that if we stand a hope in hell of success, it's going to take calm, controlled, focused effort. There's no room for grandstanding, for cowboy bullshit--"
"That's not--"
"I'm ready, okay? If you think I'm not, then just say so, and I'll walk away now."
He looked out over the road and, for one long minute, I was certain he was going to call me on that, tell me to walk away. Could I do it? My heart hammered at the thought, fingers trembling around the cigarette.
"Line's going down," he said, waving at the crowd. "Better get inside."
