Sure, I could find a guy willing to overlook my past-I’d had plenty who’d offered-but I wasn’t as willing to let anyone try, not after Eric. And I was never bringing a child into this world to grow up under the shadow I’d cast. If I really wanted those things, I could move to another country and start over, under a new name, but that was something I’d never more than fleetingly considered.

There were people who would give a damn if I didn’t come back from this trip. Emma and Owen and a handful of friends, like Mitch and Lucy. A pitiably small group, none of the ties as close as those I’d once had. I no longer let people get close, not after everyone who should have stuck by me didn’t. My mother, my brother, my lover, my friends, my extended family-some tried to hang on after “the Incident,” but none tried very hard and when I’d finally packed up and left, I’d heard a collective sigh of relief.

If I died on this mission, I couldn’t help wondering whether my funeral would be like Kozlov’s, where news cameras outnumbered the mourners. That’s a shitty thing to realize…and a shittier thing to make someone realize.

Damn Jack.

After two hours of tossing and listening to the hitches in Evelyn’s breathing as my restlessness disturbed her sleep, I grabbed a pillow and blanket, crept from the room and set up on the sofa.

About thirty minutes later, I drifted off. But when sleep came, it didn’t come soundly, and the moment I lost consciousness I slid right into my nightmare.

I was out of that endless forest and running through a field. I could see the Millers’ house ahead. I’d stop there, call my dad-

Something flashed over my head. I looked up, and saw the wire. My hands shot up to block it, but it flew down, passing right through my outstretched palms and into my throat.

I couldn’t breathe. I kicked and flailed, but the wire only cut deeper. Then it changed. Not Wilkes’s wire, but a knife point, digging into my throat.

Aldrich laughed.

No! He couldn’t have followed. He’d finished with me and was busy with Amy now. I had to get help. To save her-

“Save her?” His voice whispered in my ear. “You aren’t saving her, Nadia. You’re running away. Abandoning her.”

“No!”

As the word ripped from my throat, the world dipped into black. Something whispered across my cheek. A touch, a hand, brushing back my sweaty hair. Cool skin against mine. The faint smell of soap.

“Nadia…?”

I opened my eyes. Jack sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands smoothing my hair.

I groaned. “I’m making a habit of this, aren’t I? How many partners have you had to comfort after nightmares?”

“Don’t work with partners.”

“And this is why, isn’t it?”

A small smile. He traced his fingertips down my cheek, then stopped, his gaze flicking to his hand as if surprised to see it there. He pulled back and shifted to adjust my blanket.

“Sorry,” I said. “Two nights in a row…that’s not normal for me.”

For a moment, he crouched beside the sofa, gaze averted, as if thinking. Then his eyes swung back to me. To my throat. To the ghost of a scar. I pulled the blanket higher. His face turned from mine. Then he pushed to his feet.

“Gotta get you to sleep.”

He walked toward the minibar.

“Uh-uh,” I said. “Booze isn’t-”

He took out a bottle of brown liquid and held it up. “Saw this earlier.”

“Yoo-hoo?” I said, squinting at the label. “What’s in it? Looks like chocolate milk, but…”

“Thought it was.” He looked at it and frowned. “Not sure. Huh. Ingredients…” His lips moved as he read the list. Then his frown deepened. “Still not sure.”

He put the bottle down. “Let me go downstairs. Find you some real stuff. Heat it up.”

“Ah, hot chocolate. Now I get it.” I sat up. “Here, we’ll use that. I’ll just stand back from the microwave, in case it’s explosive.”

He waved me down. “Stay.”

He poured the stuff into a coffee mug, and microwaved it for me. As he brought it over, I gestured at the cigarette pack on the table, where he’d tossed them down earlier.

“You didn’t finish them, I see. Go ahead if you want.”

“Nonsmoking room.”

“I think you’ve broken worse laws.”

“Yeah. But I’d feel bad about this one.”

He handed me my mug and sat beside me on the sofa.

“So, you talked to Quinn tonight,” he said. “He tell you? About himself?”

“That he’s a vigilante hitman? I’d already figured that.”

He studied my expression. Then he grunted, fingers tapping against the cigarette pack. A hungry look down at it, then he stood, crossed the room and tossed it on the counter.

“What did you think would happen, Jack? That I’d hear what Quinn does and say ‘hey, sign me up’?”

“Nah. Just…” He shrugged. Didn’t finish the sentence.

“I didn’t need to hear it from Quinn to know it was an option, that there’s a market for that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He sat down. I sipped my hot Yoo-hoo, and tried not to make a face.

“Tastes like shit?” he said.

I managed a small smile. “Yes, but it gets the job done.” I took another sip. “About tomorrow. I’d really like-I know you’re not the person to talk to about it, because you have problems with the whole plan, but, well, Evelyn, Quinn…I can talk to them but I just don’t feel…”

I looked at Jack. “Whatever happened today, however much we disagree about that, I trust you and I’d really like your input. I plan to pull this off, Jack. Without getting myself killed.”

“I know.” He leaned back into the cushions. “Talk to me.”

So I did.

FORTY-EIGHT

I woke up in the bedroom I was sharing with Evelyn. Last thing I remembered, Jack and I had finished discussing the plan and moved on to talking about…I had no idea what we’d moved on to, because I think that the moment I had the plan straight in my head, I fell asleep. Jack must have carried me in to the bedroom.

I rolled over and checked the other bed. It was empty. The clock read 8:12. I shot up with a curse. Of all the days to sleep in…

I could hear Evelyn in the main room, saying something about Dubois and the contact call. Was there a problem? I scrambled up and threw open the door.

“Have we heard back-?”

I stopped. Evelyn sat on the sofa, in conversation with a man. Only that man wasn’t Jack. It was Quinn. And I was standing in the doorway, half-naked, no wig, no contacts, no makeup. Quinn’s gaze didn’t go to my face first, though. It went to my chest. Or, more accurately, to my torso, emblazoned with the Ontario Police College logo. His eyes lifted to mine. He blinked, realizing I wasn’t wearing a disguise, then looked away. I backpedaled and slammed the door as Evelyn let out an oath.

Evelyn opened the door without knocking.

“Shit, that was a stupid move,” she muttered.

I glared over my shirt collar as I pulled it on. “Yes, I’ve been making a lot of stupid moves lately, but thanks for clarifying that.”

“By ‘stupid move,’ Dee, I meant mine. I should’ve warned you Quinn was here.”

I tugged on my jeans. “Well, I should have woken up enough to think about checking before throwing open the door.”

“I don’t think he got a good look at you. He did the right thing-turned away.”

“It’s not my face I’m worried about. It’s this.” I lifted the police college shirt for her to read before I refolded it into my bag. “That he did see.”

“Shit.”

A soft knock at the door.

“Dee?” Quinn.

I asked him to wait while I looked around for my wig and contacts. When I had them on, I called a welcome. He slid inside. Evelyn hesitated, then left. Quinn stood there as I pulled on my socks.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. You just glanced up when the door opened. And thanks-you know, for looking away when you realized I…”