Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

I don't know what Dubois's plan was, and I knew he wouldn't tell me if I asked. So when everything was ready, and it was only eight o'clock, I sat on the bed, munched my snacks, drank my bottled water and kept in radio contact with Evelyn and Felix.

Quinn and Jack were still on the prowl, presumably without result. Since they'd given their radios to Evelyn and Felix, though, one of them could have been ambushed by Wilkes and be lying in a backyard somewhere. I tried hard not to think about that, and to remind myself they were both experienced hunters, but I felt a lot better when my radio flashed at eight forty-eight, and Jack came on, telling me he and Quinn had returned.

They had scoured every bit of land within sight of the house, and found no trace of Wilkes. Quinn thought he'd given up. Felix thought he hadn't been able to follow Dubois. Jack thought he'd hadn't fallen for the trap in the first place. Evelyn told us all to pipe down and be patient. So we waited.

While Quinn and Jack took a breather, Evelyn and Felix went on patrol, in the hope that if the guys had missed a nook or a cranny, fresh pairs of eyes would find it. An hour later, they got back with nothing to add. Even Evelyn now suspected our trap had failed. We'd hold on until morning, then come up with something new.

"You need sleep," Jack said as I yawned into the radio for the umpteenth time.

I laughed.

"I'm serious."

"One, I'm waiting for a professional killer who wants me dead. Falling asleep tops the list of stupid things I could do. Two, it's not even ten."

"You're tired. Three nights, almost no sleep. Wilkes waited this long? He's waiting until late."

"Jack's right," Quinn cut in on the other radio. "He'll be waiting for as many people in that house as possible to fall asleep, and be deeply asleep. My guess is you won't see him before two. And if you're tired now, you'll be beat by then. Can you catnap?"

"Sure, but--"

"Then we'll give you a half hour. Leave your radio on, and we'll wake you up at ten thirty."

I hesitated.

"You're okay, Dee. Everything's covered. Jack has your front, and I have your back." A pause, then he sang. "For a fee, I'm happy to be your backdoor man."

I sputtered a laugh.

"That didn't sound right, did it?"

"I think that's a whole different kind of pro."

Jack came on. "Suppose you want a story."

"Oh, I've got one," Quinn cut in. "You'll like it. A little tale about Martin Dubois. This isn't the first fix he's gotten himself into, but the last time he was lucky, managed to wriggle out..."

* * *

Dubois

Dubois looked across the room at the girl. Unbelievable. It wasn't even ten thirty and she was asleep, as if she was home in bed after a long day's work. And this was the same girl who'd lured a killer into an alley? Planned to take him on all by herself? Spent two hours poised in the downstairs bathroom like a pointer holding position on a duck? But, hey, night comes and the killer hasn't shown up yet? Yawn, I'm getting slee

py...and this bed looks so comfy. He was surprised she hadn't ordered pizza and a video.

Professionals, his ass. They reminded him of his stepson, who had ADD or whatever they called it these days. Put the kid on a task and he'd go full blazes on it for an hour and then...oh, look, a pretty butterfly. Didn't matter what so-called specialists said, what the kid needed was discipline. That's what differentiated real cops from these "detective wannabes."

He looked at the girl's hands on the pillow, beside her gun and radio. She was still wearing her gloves. Damn. He'd hoped to get a print. Maybe if he could slip off the wig and snag a hair...but just his luck, it wouldn't contain a DNA tag. And what the hell would he do with it? Ma Barker from the coffee shop had made it clear that "her boys" weren't going to give him the chance to turn the tables on them. If he tried, she had their conversation on tape.

At the time, he hadn't cared. Hadn't cared about anything. Rushed in headfirst. But that wasn't his fault--they hadn't given him enough time to think, only to react. Now,it looked as if he'd be heading home with no Helter Skelter killer to explain why he'd lied on camera and fucked off midinvestigation...

He ground his teeth. Something had to be done. His gaze traveled to the radio--her connection to the guys running this show. As long as she was in charge of that connection, she was in charge of things within these walls. He should have taken it from her, by force if necessary, hours ago. Yet, as the situation had unraveled, even as he'd raged against the loss of control, some panicked part deep inside him had been happy to cede that control, to continue hoping they could pull this off.

If everything went tits up, he could claim he'd been duped and kidnapped. That wouldn't work if he'd had the radio all along. But now, as failure seemed imminent, he was seeing a new way out. Yes, he'd been duped and taken hostage, but he would redeem himself by handing over, not the Helter Skelter killer, but a handful of hitmen.

Time to take back what rightfully belonged to him: control.

He took a few careful steps. No floorboards creaked, and she seemed to be sleeping soundly. Another step...