Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

"Not meet them. I agree. Stay under the radar. Work with me. That's it."

"So you and I...we'll be working together?"

He looked over at me. "Thought that was understood. Watch each other's backs. That a problem?"

"No, I just...I wasn't sure. I know you work alone, so I thought maybe you'd just set me on a trail or a lead. But working with a partner is how I'm used to doing things--or was, as a cop, so that's fine by me. How are we going to coordinate this with the others, then? A conference call to toss around theories, come up with a plan of action, divide the work..."

I stopped, glancing over at Jack, who was staring out at the runway, face impassive.

"There's no meeting, is there? Long distance or otherwise."

He shook his head. "These guys? Not much for teamwork. Me neither."

"And I totally get that. But in this case, we need to coordinate our efforts, if only to ensure we cover everything and..." I met his gaze. "And it's not happening, is it?"

He shook his head. "One guy I tried pulling in? Already in custody. Better keep to ourselves."

"Well, what's our game plan, then?"

"Start by filling me in. Who's he killing? Where? Patterns? Methods?"

"I don't know a damned thing about these killings, Jack. I've told you I've been trying to forget that part of my life, stop following the cases."

"Oh."

"Ah, you thought I'd just said I'd stopped. I know he's killed four people in the past week or so, and that the last one was strangled."

"Four states. Four methods. That's all I know."

"Shit, we really are starting from ground zero, aren't we?"

Once we were on the highway, Jack handed me a bag. I reached in, pulled out a wig and sighed.

"Figures. Get a guy to buy a wig, and he's going to go blond every time."

"Small store. Two choices. Blond or red."

"I like red."

"Fire-engine red."

"Cool."

"Be thankful I didn't pick clothing. Almost did."

"What were you going to get? Miniskirt and fishnets?"

I put on the wig, then looked at the rest of my outfit. I wore jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a denim jacket--an all-purpose ensemble that, with the right accessories, could run the gamut from preppy-casual to biker-chick-trashy. Normally, I'd fall somewhere in the middle: the nature-girl look, with wash-and-wear hair, fading summer tan and tinted lip gloss. Given Jack's choice of disguise, more makeup was a must. I opened my makeup case, applied enough to scare myself, then took a tissue and pared it back a layer or two.

"Good?" I asked.

Jack glanced over and grunted. Not the most enthusiastic endorsement, but at least he didn't say I looked so much better in a platinum wig and half-pound of makeup.

"One thing missing," he said.

"Stilettos? Or a whip?"

His mouth twitched as he passed me a heavy wrapped bundle.