Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

"I'm vouching for her," Jack said.

"That's very nice. But we're taking a big risk, working with a stranger--"

"I said, I'm vouching for her."

They stared at each other. Last time I'd seen that look it'd been on a pair of feral dogs, in a battle for control of the lodge's garbage bins--right before I turned the hose on them. Some guys...you can teach them to walk upright, put them in nice clothes, but it still comes down to a good ol'-fashioned pissing contest. And me without my hose.

"Hey," I said, inching between the two. I fixed my smile on Quinn and upped the wattage. "What's a club without initiation rites? How about a test? Make sure I pass muster."

"You don't have to--" Jack began.

I put up a hand to stop him, never breaking eye contact with Quinn.

"Test me," I said. "Can't say I was ever any good at pop quizzes in school, but what the hell. Give it a try."

Quinn's gaze locked on mine. "You any good at distance shooting?"

"Got a rifle on you?"

The barest hint of a smile lit his eyes, but didn't reach his lips. "Not right now. So, what's the best silencer for Remington 700?"

"None."

His brows rose a quarter-inch.

"First, it's a suppressor. You can't silence a gun. Ignoring that, a real distance shooter wouldn't use one unless absolutely necessary. Most times, you're taking the shot from far enough away that a suppressor isn't necessary, and using one means you run the risk of throwing off your MOA."

"Minutes of angle," the red-haired man said with a smile. "She's right. I've told you that before, but you never listen."

I continued. "If you have to use a suppressed rifle, you'd be better off with a McMillan M89 or Steyr SSG. Their suppressors work okay, but personally I prefer--"

"All right, all right." He extended his hand. "Quinn."

"Dee."

The red-haired man took my hand with a smile. "Felix."

Quinn turned back to Jack. "So what the hell was that fuckup at the hospital?"

"Following a lead. Same as you."

"Well, that shit wouldn't have happened if you'd listened to me and we actually tried a little teamwork on this job."

Jack glanced my way, as if expecting a "told you so." I looked away before I gave him one. As I scanned the rest stop, I slid between Jack and Quinn again.

"We have an audience," I said.

Quinn followed my gaze. Next to the building a middle-aged couple stood beside their car, watching us.

"May I make a suggestion?" I asked.

Quinn nodded.

"How about we sit down, I'll grab some cans of pop and we'll have a picnic."

"Good idea," Felix said. "You stay here, Dee, and I'll get the sodas." A wry smile my way. "You make a better referee."

Quinn waited until Jack was halfway seated, then picked up the argument where he'd left off. "I'm getting sick of this, Jack. I might not have the career you a