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"Not him."
Felix chuckled. "Yes, it would be difficult to forget our Mr. Cypher, once met. It's been what, ten years? Fifteen? Perhaps even twenty? Last I heard, he got into some trouble on a job, pulled a kiss-and-tell."
In other words, Cypher had warned the mark . . . probably after sleeping with her. Felix was being careful with his wording. It didn't matter how secure their phones might be or that Felix himself was the tech expert who secured them. You never said more than you needed, though sometimes, Felix struggled with that concept.
"Heard that," Jack said.
"Then you also heard the rumor that he didn't survive the encounter. Our Mr. Cypher was never heard from again. Until now. He's been in contact."
Jack grunted a non-response.
"He called me asking after you."
Jack tensed again but still kept his "Yeah?" casual.
"I never got the impression you two were close," Felix said.
That was one way of putting it. Another was that Cypher had screwed Jack over on a job, and Jack had gotten him back, which should have been the end of the matter. Only Cypher seemed to think Jack's response had been disproportionate to his crime, and he'd told everyone who'd listen that he was going to kick Jack's ass "for good." There were exactly three pros in the world who could say that and make Jack start looking over his shoulder. Cypher was one of them.
"What'd he want?" Jack asked.
"Nothing. Just asked about you, how you were doing, what you'd been up to."
"And you said . . . ?"
"Nothing incriminating. You know that."
But he'd said something. Felix always did.
"What exactly did you tell him?" Jack said.
"Just that you were semi-retired, had left the country, that sort of thing. Do you actually remember Cypher? If you did, then you'd know I could practically hand him your address, and he still wouldn't find you. Mr. Cypher is not exactly a mental giant."
That was Felix's mistake. Cypher might not be a certifiable genius--most pros weren't. Sure, there were indeed guys who could barely write their names . . . but then there were the ones who acted that way because it was a convenient fiction. That was Cypher. And if he'd been asking after Jack, then it didn't matter how little Felix gave him--it would be enough.
Jack needed to get home. Now.
Chapter Three
Nadia
By the next morning, I'd decided that the best way--the only way, really--to deal with Tyrone Cypress was to quarantine him from other guests and bear the weight of his company alone. Given the choice between solo hikes and dealing with Cypress, they seemed quite happy to amuse themselves.
Cypress seemed equally happy to have me all to himself. I did take two others on our hike, though: our dogs, Scout and Rex.
We were heading up the ridge when Scout raced across the path in a blur of white.
"You know that's not a special breed," Cypress said.
"Hmm?"
"White German shepherds. Some fucking idiots think it's a separate breed."
"Well, fortunately--given that characterization--it's a recessive gene that people breed for, which is how new types of dogs are created. Selective breeding."
"Also leads to genetic problems. I hope you were careful picking her out."
"She was a gift, but yes, I'm sure John was careful. She's fine, as you can see."
