Shadows swathed the lower level. Moonlight dappled the floor like a cobblestone path. I followed it into the kitchen, leaving the lights off, my eyes having already had hours to adjust.
Crossing to the cupboards, I saw a figure by the window and bit back a yelp of surprise. It was Jack, his back to me as he leaned against the window frame with one hand, the other clutching the neck of a beer bottle. He stared out the window, lost in thought, oblivious.
I took a slow step back, retreating. He turned.
"Come in."
"No, you're - "
"Come in." He grabbed his crutch from the wall, leaving the bottle on the sill, then limped toward the cupboards. "Which one?"
"I can make - "
"Sit. Which one?"
I told him and he found the canister of hot chocolate mix - my "can't sleep" beverage of choice, dating from childhood when my father would fix it for me as he worked on cases into the wee hours. Cocoa and candy - I'm sure a shrink would have something to say about my choice of comfort foods.
Jack abandoned his beer and fixed a second mug. As he made the hot chocolate, I poured cookies onto a plate.
"Should talk outside," he said.
I agreed, and we gathered our jackets and shoes, then headed out.
As we approached the gazebo, I eyed it uncertainly. It looked so... confined. Like being back in my room again, staring at the four looming walls, inhaling stale air.
Jack glanced my way, then nodded toward the dock. "Sit out? Seems warm enough."
"Sure."
I sat on the edge, my feet dangling a few inches from the water, the warm mug cupped in my hands. For a few minutes, we just stayed like that, the quiet broken only by the munching of cookies.
"Couldn't sleep?" Jack asked finally.
I nodded.
"About Quinn?"
I lowered the mug to my lap, my hands still wrapped around it. "When he left, everything seemed fine. But once I crawled into bed... I don't know. Thoughts seem to roll around in my head with no place to go, like tum-bleweeds getting bigger and bigger. The next thing you know, I'm totally convinced Quinn is an undercover agent setting me up to take you down."
"He's not."
"I know. If you had any doubts about that, you'd never have gotten near him."
He eased back, shrugging. "Might. But he's clean. Evelyn's checked him out. So have I. Ever changes his mind? Decides to flip on me? On you? Remember what I said last year. He flips..."
"You'll flip harder."
"His story? About finding you? I believe him. Ever seen Quinn lie? Like a fucking five-year-old." He shook his head in disgust. "Looking you up when he promised not to? Then making up a story? Nah. Quinn's a lotta things. Not sneaky. Not sly. Doesn't have what it takes."
"He's an open book."
"Noticed, huh?" Another shake of his head, more bewilderment than disgust now. "Should make him a lousy pro. But the thing about Quinn? He doesn't kid himself. Knows what he is. What he isn't. Works around it."
"I know I'm overreacting, but I lie down and... anxiety dreams, I guess. Even when I'm still awake."
Jack sipped his cocoa, giving no sign he understood. I suppose he'd exorcised all his demons years ago... if he'd ever had any.
"So, is everything going okay here, at the lodge?" I said. "I know it's not exactly four-star accommodations - "