Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)

"Really?" I waved around us. "You're seriously going with that, Jack? We're in the middle of a field. Something tells me we didn't stop here for a piss break."

He glowered at me.

"Well?" I said.

"You want to discuss it? Fine. You nearly got killed over Aldrich. The guy who set that in motion? Sebastian Koss. Now you want to meet him? No disguise. Just walk up. Say, 'Hi, I'm Nadia Stafford. You may have taken out a hit on me--'"

"That's not--"

"I nearly got you

killed. Do you understand that?"

I sighed. "Jack, you didn't--"

"Do you understand what that's like?" He started bearing down on me. "For me."

"I'm sor--"

"Do not say you're sorry! Goddamn it, I don't ever want to hear that again. Apologizing to me. Thanking me. Making sure I know you appreciate it. Doesn't matter what it is. Give you a fucking bag of candy? Gotta let me know you appreciate it."

I glared at him. "I'm sorry, Jack--and yes, there's that phrase again. I'm sorry if it bothers you to be thanked and it bothers you when I apologize, but that's how I was raised. It's called being polite--"

"It's not being polite. It's acting like you don't deserve it. Gifts. Time. Attention. Thank me for a gift. Apologize for a so-called inconvenience. Make damned sure you pay me back somehow. I don't want gratitude. I don't want apologies. I don't want payback. You think I do things for you because I'm being nice?"

He spun on his heel and stalked off again. Before I could even think to go after him, he wheeled again, facing me now.

"I got cocky," he said. "Arrogant. Fuck caution. I can handle this. I can look after you. You say you don't blame me. Not arguing that. But I've fucked up before. Got cocky. Got arrogant. Lost everything. Were you almost killed by that moron? No. Not even close. Doesn't matter. I fucked up. You get that?"

Now I did. I opened my mouth to say so, but nothing came out. I just nodded. When I did, he deflated, the stiffness leaching from his shoulders. I waited a moment, then said, "Tell me what you want to do, Jack."

The problem with nixing my plan? As much as Jack hated it, there wasn't really a viable alternative.

Sebastian Koss was speaking in Chicago late this afternoon. The lecture was open to the public. So I wanted to go. As myself. I'd listen, and then I'd speak to him afterward, in a public place.

Sebastian Koss knew who I was. He knew from the Aldrich case and he knew from the Franco incident. Now the man that initially bound us together--Drew Aldrich--was dead. He'd committed suicide and admitted to the murder. I was understandably shocked and trying to figure things out. I'd spoken to my cousin about the case. I'd discovered Koss had been on the defense, and I remembered him from when he'd reached out after Franco.

If I was "in the area," wasn't it plausible that I'd stop at his lecture in hopes of speaking to him about Aldrich as I tried to deal with this sudden upsurge in painful memories? Koss understood victims. He'd made a career of understanding them. He would know, better than anyone, that my quest for answers was a perfectly normal part of the process. He would not question my motive in coming to see him.

If I went in disguise, I'd lose all that. And I'd lose the chance to see his face when I introduced myself. Were we right that Aldrich had told him that he thought he'd seen me in Newport? Did Koss have anything to do with hiring the man who had tried to kill me? The best way to find that out was for me to appear, unannounced, right in front of him.

Jack knew that. Or he realized it, after two cigarettes and nearly an hour of hashing it out. He still didn't like it, but as long as I was willing to take every possible precaution, he would allow that it was our best chance of inching closer to the truth.

"What time's the lecture?" he asked as we reached Chicago.

"Three this afternoon."

He nodded and switched lanes. "Need to dress up?"

"It's at Northwestern. It'll be mostly students, so my jeans will be fine."

A minute of silence, as he tapped the steering wheel. Then he cleared his throat. "Reason I'm asking . . . Made dinner plans. Or Evelyn did. Found us a place. Says it has the best steak in Chicago. Only problem? There's a dress code. Which is bullshit. You want something more casual? I'll switch. I just . . ." Another throat-clearing, his gaze still on the road. "Thought we'd go someplace nice. Seems that means a dress code. If you needed to buy something for this lecture . . ."

"Then I could buy something that would also be suitable for this evening. No, if we're going fancy, I'm not wearing business clothes. It's nice to dress up every now and then and, believe me, I don't get many chances to do it. Let's hit a mall, and I'll go shopping."

"I'll buy."

"You don't need to--"