Kelley Armstrong - Exit Strategy

I smiled. “Did you ever do that?”

“Tried. After my first big job? Ate at places like this almost two weeks straight. Made myself sick.”

I laughed. “I’ll bet.”

I could have prodded more personal information from him, maybe asked if he’d known Evelyn at the time and what she’d thought of that. Innocent questions that I suspected he’d answer. But that seemed manipulative, tricking him into revealing more.

Was I interested in knowing more? Sure. Jack played a significant role in my life, yet I knew next to nothing about the man. Curiosity was a given.

When Evelyn had tempted me with details on Jack, goading me about being interested, I’m sure this casual curiosity wasn’t what she’d meant. Was I interested in Jack? Physically attracted to him? Maybe to Evelyn the question should have an easy answer. He was a man, not unattractive, and available, at least in the sense that he was right there, with no immediate competition in sight. Maybe, to her, it was as simple as “yes, I’m interested” or “sorry, not my type.”

Jack wasn’t my type. Far from it. But when I looked at him, across the table, even asking myself “am I interested?” threw up a mess of incomplete and conflicting emotions…and an overriding sense that any time I spent untangling my feelings for him would be wasted, because he was clearly not interested in me.

I’d worked with enough men to sense, almost immediately, whether I was in danger of being cornered in a dark alley on patrol or followed to my car postshift with a shy “You doing anything tonight?” With Jack, that radar didn’t even turn on.

When the server asked whether we wanted to see the dessert menu, Jack didn’t consult me, just said yes, two please.

“What’re you getting?” he asked after I’d surveyed mine for a minute.

“I don’t think I could finish anything…”

“So don’t finish. That’s the point of dessert. You don’t need it.”

I smiled. “Are you getting something?”

“’Course. Eat like this? Gotta have dessert. Rich people do.”

My smile grew, and I ordered an apple-caramel something-or-other and a coffee.

When it arrived, he asked, “So, the money. What’re your plans? Something for the lodge?”

It took a moment to realize he meant the payment for this “job.” “We need to catch him first.”

“We will. Got plans?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” I said as I cut into my dessert. “The Moretti job will pay for the roof and prewinter repairs. I think I’ll use this for extras.”

“That deck by the lake? You mentioned that this summer.”

“I did.” I leaned back with my coffee. “I really want to work on snagging more of the romantic getaway market for summer. Winter is easy-couples just want to hole up in a warm room and have someone else cook comfort food for them. Summer needs more. Owen and I have plans for a picnic spot in the meadow. I’d been hoping by next fall I could afford a gazebo, for the following summer.”

“There you go. Buy yourself one this spring. Get one for the deck, too.”

“That’d be nice. A big deck at the waterfront, plus a gazebo over the edge. Maybe even upgrade to ones with screens for black-fly season and cooler weather. It’d make a great place for couples to have a drink or-” I tapped my pastry. “Coffee and slice of Emma’s pie. It’d photograph well for the brochure. I’d take the picture of the meadow picnic spot when the spring flowers are out. And the other one by the lake at sunset.”

My mind racing ahead, planning. All the tension and frustration from earlier, from hearing the killer’s letter, had evaporated. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the good food. Maybe it was just being away, comfortable and relaxed. Whatever the reason, the fire in my gut had stopped burning, and I could see beyond this case, to a time when it would be over and I’d be reaping the rewards-the monetary ones and the deeper, more meaningful ones.

I glanced at Jack. “First, we need to catch this guy.”

“Still gonna get paid. Only difference? Afford two gazebos or four. I’d count on four.”

I smiled. “You do have an optimistic streak.” I sipped my coffee. “As much as I’m enjoying this break, should we talk about tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’m going after Baron.”

“Do you think Evelyn will have a lead for you?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t? I’ll find one. Legwork.”

“Evelyn wants us to talk to Volkv tomorrow, but I think Baron is the better lead. Where do you want me?”

He considered this as he scraped chocolate icing from his plate. “Shouldn’t focus on one thing. Do I want you along? Sure. Need you? Hard to say. More than Evelyn will? No.”

“So I’ll stay with her. If you find Baron…I know you don’t need backup…”

“I find him? I’ll call.”

Again, Evelyn met us at the door. “About time. I’m getting a little tired of this, you two. I find all your leads, then I’m stuck in this damned house waiting for you to get your asses back and start investigating them.”

“You find all our leads?” Jack said as we hung up our coats.

“Most.”

“Is this one about Baron?” I asked.

She waved the question aside. “Later. I have something better-a fresh avenue.”

I groaned. “The only thing worse than not having any theories? Having too many.”

She herded us to the living room, impatiently waiting while we settled in, then said, “Earlier, you asked me to look into criminal records for the other victims. What you failed to ask for was arrest records-”

“I did ask. You said you’d look into-”

“I found one.” She eased back in her seat and smiled. “Murder.”

“Who?”

“Mary Lee.”

“You don’t mean the-”

“Old lady?” Her brows arched. “A murderous old lady? Heavens, what a thought.”

Before she could have the satisfaction of drawing out the explanation, Jack walked to the computer desk, flipped through the papers, brought one to the sofa and sat down beside me where we could both read it firsthand.

Mary Lee had indeed been charged with murder, almost twenty years ago. From the article, it wasn’t clear whether the charges had been dropped or whittled down to something that hadn’t shown up in our earlier search. We could tell only that the case had never gone to trial.

The victim? Lee’s husband. Smothered with a pillow. She’d confessed to the crime even. But after every member of her family told a story of years of escalating abuse, backed up by medical records, the DA’s office had decided that Lee had been in justifiable fear for her life and acted in self-defense. She’d been lucky. It didn’t always work out that way, especially twenty years ago, but she’d been set free and gone on to live exactly as she had before, as a law-abiding member of society.

Evelyn said, “So we have six victims so far, and two confirmed killers-”

“I wouldn’t put Mary Lee in the same category as Leon Kozlov.”

She waved me off. “Details. They’re both killers. Two out of six. Seems a little high for random sampling, don’t you think?”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on circumstance. Like Dee said-”

“There’s more. What do those two crimes have in common besides being homicides?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “In Lee’s case, the charges were dropped. In Kozlov’s they were reduced. Did the crime, but not the time.”

Jack grunted. “I don’t see-”

“No, but I’ll bet Dee does.”

As she said that, I realized what she was getting at and spit out the word she wanted. “Vigilantism.”