Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

I didn't dare comment on that.

Paul continued. "So what happened, as you cops or shrinks might say, was your standard escalation of violence, and now we've got ourselves one dead whore and a kid who doesn't seem to understand what he did wrong. After all, he says, she was only a whore."

My hands tightened around the log I was holding.

"You and I both know it isn't going to stop at one. My uncle, he knows that, too. He wants the matter resolved." Paul put the axe down, headfirst, and leaned on the handle. "I'm thinking maybe you could help us with that."

It's a testament to my desperation that I even considered the offer. For all I knew, I was being set up.

But at that point in my life, on the brink of losing everything, it was a chance I had to take.

When I finished, I drove for another five minutes before Evelyn reminded me that she now owed me an answer.

"I think I'll save mine," I said. "I don't know what you can do, what you can teach me. When I find something, I'll ask."

"Professional knowledge?" She put her empty coffee cup in the holder. "Stop being so damned polite. When I offered information, I meant an exchange in kind. Personal for personal."

"Something about you?"

"I suspect I don't interest you that much. I'm an old woman whose sole importance is how I can help solve this case and what I can do for you professionally, and I don't take any offense at that. But I'll bet there's someone you do want to know more about." A small, unreadable smile. "Jack."

I turned onto the off-ramp. "You're offering me personal information on Jack?"

"Nothing too personal, of course. Ask me who he is or where he lives or how to find him when he doesn't want to be found, and I'll tell you to go to hell. But I can't imagine you'd ask that, so the point is moot. What I can offer is some...smaller answers."

"No, thank you."

She laughed. "How very polite you are. Let me guess. You don't want to pry; when he wants to tell you, he will. If that's what you're waiting for, you're a fool. He won't tell you anything."

"Then I guess he doesn't want me to know."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. With Jack, it's not so much a matter of not wanting to give things away as assuming you wouldn't be interested in hearing them. But if you are..."

I said nothing, but I could feel her gaze boring into me.

"You are interested, aren't you?" she said, voice deceptively light.

I turned and met her gaze. "If I want to know anything, I'll know who to ask."

"This isn't an open-ended offer, Dee."

"You said Jack doesn't talk about anything personal because he assumes I'm not interested. So if I am interested, all I have to do is ask him. First thing Jack taught me? Avoid the middleman. The price might look reasonable, but you'll end up paying more for it than you expect."

Evelyn went around front to collect the mail as I headed for the rear door. I'd barely cracked open the gate when a black-and-tan torpedo hit the other side, nearly slamming my fingers in the gap. A dark nose squeezed between the slats, snuffling like a pig finding truffles.

"Hello, girls," I said, heaving the gate against their dead weight. "Come on now. Get back so I can get in."

Scotch stuck her head through the opening and tried to wriggle through as Ginger danced and whined behind her. I turned to Evelyn as she came up behind me.

"I thought you left the dogs inside," I said.

"I did. Seems someone made it to his contact and back in record time."

We stepped through the back door into the kitchen. Jack looked up from the newspaper.

"See, she's still in one piece," Evelyn said. "I haven't devoured her yet."

Jack's gaze flicked over my outfit. "And I got shit for the wig."