Kelley Armstrong - Exit Strategy

With Wilkes’s exit strategy permanently aborted, it was time to worry about ours.

Dubois was dead. Jack had found his body when he and Quinn had gone into the house, searching for me. I felt bad about Dubois. Yes, I’d tried to warn him. Yes, he’d accepted the risk when he came into the house. But I still regretted the outcome.

We didn’t hide Wilkes’s body. Evelyn sent a letter to the Feds, just in case they mistook Wilkes for some poor senior citizen who got caught in the cross fire. I’m sure they would have figured it out eventually, but the nudge-and his real name-would help. As they unraveled Wilkes’s story, they’d probably find out about his former occupation, so all the work we’d done to avoid that was for naught. But Wilkes was dead, and we weren’t. Good enough.

Felix and Evelyn stayed behind to clean up any loose ends and watch for unexpected fallout. Quinn and I wanted to help, but Jack refused. We were the most vulnerable-the youngest, and least experienced, plus we both had “normal” lives and “normal” jobs, and he wanted us to go back to those right away.

Before I left, Evelyn took me aside. She wanted a method of contact. I wasn’t comfortable giving it, but it was a case where refusing was more dangerous. She offered her training services, but seemed content to leave it at that, not pushing the point…yet.

Jack drove Quinn and me into Pennsylvania the next morning. Our first stop was the hospital. A half-day later, I walked-okay, hobbled-out with a reset ankle and wrist. I’d broken both.

I also had a nice collection of bruises plus a couple of bullet grazes. Jack had taken care of the grazes right away. He cleaned and bandaged them, and we came up with a cover story, in case someone at the hospital noticed the bandages and asked. They didn’t.

Once out of the hospital, I hid my wrist cast under my coat sleeve as best I could. The bandaged foot was bad enough; I didn’t need to call extra attention to myself.

When we got to the airport, Jack went to buy our tickets. Quinn helped me to a seat in a quiet corner, and bought me a coffee and muffin. He started to pass me the coffee cup, then stopped and opened the lid first. When he began peeling the wrapper off the muffin, I laughed and took it from him.

“Hey, don’t-” he began.

“It’s my wrist, not my hand.”

“Still, I don’t think-”

“I’m okay.”

He hovered on the edge of his seat, as if expecting me to fumble and dump coffee into my lap at any moment.

“I’m okay .”

“I know, I just feel-”

“Really bad. I’ve heard it. Heard it from you, heard it from Felix, heard it from Jack, even heard something like it from Evelyn. It was my choice to go in there. Unforeseeable circumstances, and no one’s to blame…except Wilkes and Dubois, but neither is in much of a position to take his share.”

“Well, I still feel-”

“Really bad.”

A small laugh. “Okay, I’ll stop saying it.” He reached out to take my coffee before I could set it down, but backed off at a mock-glare. Then he shifted in his seat.

“So, what I said the other day…Is it still…? About keeping in touch, I mean. Jack’s sure not going to give me a way to contact you, so this is probably my last chance to…”

He let the sentence trail off.

I grinned. “Ask me for my phone number?”

“That’d be nice, but I know I’m not getting it. How about e-mail?”

We discussed it for a minute and each decided to set up a new account. I suggested we use other names, to keep things separate. After I gave him one for me, he thought about it for a few seconds, then sighed. “I’m no good at this stuff. Umm, maybe…geez, I don’t know…”

“Backdoor Man?”

A laugh. “ Your backdoor man. I’ll use it. You won’t mistake me for anyone else with that.”

Quinn looked left and I followed his gaze to see Jack approaching. He leaned toward me.

“So, you know, keep in touch, okay?” A grin, and he sang, “Pick up the phone. I’m always home. Call me anytime.”

I grinned back. “Just ring 362-4368?”

“I lead a life of crime.”

Jack, who’d heard the end of the exchange, looked from one to the other, blank-faced as we laughed.

“AC/DC?” I said.

Still blank.

“‘Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap’?” Quinn said. “Our anthem. Or if it isn’t, it should be.”

“Yours maybe,” he said. “I’m never cheap.”

Waving the tickets, Jack motioned Quinn aside. We said a quick good-bye, and Quinn promised to be in touch. Jack caught that, and he looked at me, but said nothing, just gestured for Quinn to walk with him.

They headed for the domestic flights area, Jack talking and Quinn nodding. Then Jack passed him his ticket. Quinn shot me a final grin, hoisted his carry-on and merged into the flow of passengers.

Jack walked back to me.

“Got an hour,” he said. “Cutting it close for security.”

I nodded and he helped me to my feet. As I arranged my crutches, he looked back to make sure Quinn had disappeared, then led me to the international flights gate.

“Jack?”

“Hmmm?”

“Before I go. There’s something…” I paused, looked around, then led him to a quieter corner. “Evelyn offered me a job going after some pedophile.” I paused. “Vigilante work.”

I studied his expression, but he gave nothing away, only nodded, as if this was no surprise.

“You knew?”

“Knew she would.” A pause, then he looked at me. “You didn’t take it. Didn’t say no, either.”

“I…couldn’t. Either way. Not yet. She said it didn’t matter, that if this one falls through she’ll find me another.”

He nodded, again not surprised. After a moment, he said, “You want my opinion.”

“If I could.”

A longer pause now, staring out at the passengers hurrying by. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze back to mine. “Could argue for. Could argue against. Don’t think I should do either.” He lowered my bag to the floor. “Whatever you decide? I’m here. Won’t tell you which way to go. Won’t let you walk off a cliff, either.”

I considered that, deciphering it, then said, “Meaning it’s an honest offer, as far as you know. She isn’t setting me up for anything.”

“Honest enough. I’ll make sure of that. You wanna say yes? Let me check the job first. She won’t trick you. But…” He shrugged, letting the sentence trail off.

“She’s not above fudging the truth a bit to lure me in.”

“Yeah.”

He checked his watch. I took the hint and started walking. He steered our path away from the other passengers.

“Bring the cash next trip?” he said, voice still low.

“Cash?”

“Your cut. Assume you want cash. Easier if I bring it. For crossing the border. Unless you need it now.”

“I don’t want your money, Jack.”

I waited for him to protest, to say someone else had financed the job, but he didn’t seem to notice my wording.

“You earned it,” he said.

“I don’t-”

“You earned it. More than anyone. You need it, too. More than anyone.”

“I don’t, Jack. You know why I did this and it has nothing to do with a payment.”

“Yeah, but-”

“I don’t want your money.”

He hesitated. A flicker of consternation as he realized what I’d said, and that I’d said it before, and he hadn’t denied it. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but realized it was too late, and settled for rubbing his hand across his mouth.

Another pause, then, “I don’t need it, either. You earned it. I want you-”

“You want me to have it? Then I’ll tell you how you can give it to me: take me on an all-expenses paid trip to Egypt.”