“No Harold here, lady.”

“What?” Evelyn leaned forward, blinking nearsightedly. “Who are you? Where’s my Harold?”

“You’ve got the wrong room.”

The man started to close the door, but Evelyn’s foot darted into the gap, leaving him no choice but to keep it open or crush her. Even cold-blooded killers have their limits.

“Look, lady-”

“Stop whispering, young man. I can’t hear you. Where’s my Harold? Open this door right now.”

“You’ve got the wrong-”

Her voice rose to a screech. “Open this door!”

I tensed, listening for a certain sound…

“Lady-”

“If you don’t open-”

Click. He’d disengaged the chain. I kicked the door open.

TWENTY-THREE

As the door crashed open, the man flew back. I swung in, gun raised, Evelyn covering me.

“On your knees,” I said.

The man froze, but didn’t drop. His gaze flicked down, presumably to the gun holstered under his jacket.

“Hands up and get on your knees,” I said as Evelyn closed the door behind us.

Still he hesitated, and I knew what he was thinking. He wasn’t about to drop for a couple of women-and one a senior citizen. Better to take the risk, pull the gun and trust that he could get the drop on us.

I pretended to glance toward Evelyn, as if getting her opinion. The moment I moved, he went for his gun. I kicked his kneecap and he dropped down with a grunt. When he looked up and saw my gun pointed in his face-and Evelyn’s at the side of his head-he decided to raise his hands.

I ordered him onto his stomach, hands to his sides, palms up. Evelyn motioned that she’d stand cover while I bound him, but I shook my head. I wasn’t lowering my gun and my guard while she had a gun. Not after that stunt in the parking lot.

As she bound him with the duct tape, I took a closer look at the man. Did he bear any resemblance to Manson? It was hard to tell, since I presumed he was wearing makeup. He was certainly bigger than Manson, but that could come from his mother. The age seemed reasonable.

Evelyn patted him down, removing a 9mm, a hidden switchblade and a wallet. When she finished, I repeated the pat down. If she was offended at my double-checking her search-and her binding job-she gave no sign of it.

I took the wallet. Inside were a half-dozen twenties, some smaller bills and a Virginia driver’s license. The name and the license were fakes, but I had no idea how good a forgery it was. That’s the beauty of using out-of-state licenses. If you get pulled over, chances are the officer who writes up your ticket wouldn’t know a real license from a fake.

“Robert,” I said. “Would you prefer Rob or Bob?”

The man only glared up at me.

“Bert, then,” I continued. “You look like a Bert to me. So, Bert, not exactly a story you can barter for beer at the legion hall, is it?”

“You made me, didn’t you?” he said, eyes on mine, voice as calm as if we were indeed discussing this at the legion.

“A takedown in a prison parking lot? In front of witnesses?” Evelyn shook her head. “Amateur hour.”

“I could have done it,” he said.

“But you didn’t. You fucked up. Having a mark make you before you even get within firing distance? Unbelievable.” Evelyn stepped forward, eyes trained on his. “But you didn’t have all the facts, did you? You didn’t know she was a pro.”

“Pro?” Bert squinted at me. “She’s a hitwoman?”

“No,” Evelyn said. “You just got your ass kicked by the Avon lady.”

His squint narrowed to a slit. “He told me she was a con artist.” A sharp twist of the lips. “Paying me five grand to off a pro? Fuck, I deserve twenty for this.”

“For what?” Evelyn said. “You didn’t kill her.”

Bert shrugged his brows as if he hadn’t abandoned the hope of collecting.

“And for me?” Evelyn said.

“Two.”

“Two grand? Two-”

I stepped forward, cutting her off. “Who hired you?”

Evelyn waved me back. We stared each other down for a few seconds, then I rolled my shoulders and moved beside Bert, gun at the ready. I’d already taken the muscle role. Too late to change my mind now.

“Who hired you?” she asked.

“I want to make a deal,” he said.

“Do I look like Monty Hall? Here’s your deal: either you tell me or you never leave this motel room.”

His gaze shifted from Evelyn to me. “Look, if you’re a pro, you know the score. If I go blabbing on my employer, my life ain’t worth shit.”

“And if you don’t, it ain’t worth shit, either,” I said.

He turned his attention to Evelyn.

“You’ve got to understand,” he said. “This isn’t some nobody I’m dealing with-”

“Isn’t it?” she said, taking a seat on the bed. “Perhaps he was a somebody once, but now he’s a toothless old lion desperate not to cut his last years short. That’s why he called you, isn’t it?”

I glanced sharply at Evelyn, but her gaze was riveted on the hitman.

“You know then,” he said. “So why are you asking me?”

“For confirmation.”

“Yeah, it was Little Joe Nikolaev. He said you two went to see him yesterday and he let something slip. Something big. I don’t know what it was, but he said if Boris heard, that was it. He’d shut him up for good.”

So that was what this was about? That old hit Little Joe had let slip, the details of which I’d already forgotten?

For twenty minutes Evelyn prodded and probed, trying to find out whether there could be a Helter Skelter connection. She even asked point-blank if he knew anything about the killer, but it was obvious he didn’t.

“All right then,” she said. “You can’t tell us what you don’t know.”

“I held up my end,” he said, gaze lifting to hers. “Now it’s your turn.”

She nodded. “Fair is fair. Dee?”

I walked behind him, aimed the gun at the base of his skull and pulled the trigger.

TWENTY-FOUR

Thirty minutes of driving and Evelyn had yet to say a word. Finally, I glanced her way. “You think I made the wrong decision. Killing him.”

“If you didn’t, I would have. Let him live, and he’d only keep trying to finish the job. We humiliated him. In such a situation, there’s no room for mercy.”

“So the problem is…?”

After a moment, she murmured, “No problem. Just…interesting.”

As soon as I got back, I took a shower. While I was dressing afterward, the hall floor creaked. One creak could be blamed on the older house, but a second told me someone was out there. I tensed.

I knew I was alone with Evelyn, but that was all the more reason for being nervous. I still wasn’t sure how to interpret her trick earlier.

I pulled on my shirt, unlocked the door as quietly as I could and cracked it open. There, at the top of the stairs was Jack, his back to me, hands in his pockets.

I released the door handle. At the soft click, he turned.

“Back already?” I said. “Do you need-?” I waved into the bathroom.

“Nah.”

I backed up to the sink again, leaving the door open. As I took out my comb, he stepped into the doorway.

“Did you find Baron?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So we’ll need a plan-”

He shook his head. “Can’t question him.”

A glance over his shoulder, head tilting as if listening for Evelyn. When I sidestepped, giving him room to come in, he did.

“Baron’s dead. Shot himself. A month ago.”

“Oh, geez, I’m sorry.”

As the words left my mouth, I realized how silly they sounded. Offering my consolations on the death of a colleague he hadn’t seen in years, and had suspected of being a serial killer. Yet he nodded, gaze sliding to the side.

I rubbed SPF moisturizer on my face, then scrubbed my hands and repacked my toiletry bag. “Are we sure about Baron? I know faking your death sounds like something out of a movie, but is there any chance…?”

“Slim. Talked to someone. Got the story. Looked it up. Found the obituary, picture. It was him. Other ways to check?” He shrugged. “No idea.”