Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

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."

"Short of digging up a grave, that's probably the best we can do. Have you told Evelyn?"

He shook his head.