Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

By "wait," I assumed Jack meant "Don't go home" or "Don't have breakfast without me." Sure, it could mean "Don't leave the hotel room," but that's the problem with one-word sentences--they're so open to interpretation.

I donned the wig, contacts, mascara and lipstick. Any more makeup than that and I'd be wearing it on my shirt-front by the end of the run. Then I amended his note, crossing off "Getting coffee" and replacing it with "Gone jogging."

Five minutes later, I was running along a downtown street, weaving past baby strollers and business suits. I doubted I'd make the full 10K. My legs might, but my lungs wouldn't. Ten kilometers of breathing in exhaust fumes and I'd be ready for the oxygen mask.

I liked to run every morning, but that hadn't been possible since this started. I didn't want to be seen jogging around Evelyn's neighborhood--not when no one else seemed to. That first morning at a motel I hadn't wanted to slow down the investigation by asking Jack if he minded me taking off for a while. So now I welcomed the excuse.

After a few blocks, I found myself stuck on a street corner, running on the spot, waiting for a very long light to change. A diesel delivery truck cut the corner too sharp and belched blue smoke into my face. I closed my eyes, and pictured falling golden leaves and an endless empty dirt road.

"You look happy," said a voice at my shoulder.

I tensed as I recognized Quinn's voice. He'd followed me?

I forced a smile. "Hey, there. Small world."

The light changed. I started to walk across, but he waved me forward.

"Go ahead. Run. I can keep up." We broke into a jog. "When I got to your room, Jack said you were out jogging, so I thought I'd join you. Hope that's okay."

I slanted him a look. "What did Jack say?"

"I snuck out while he was in the bathroom."

"Smart man."

I navigated through the commuter crowd and crossed the road, Quinn at my heels. Once across, the bulk of the crowd turned left. I continued straight. Quinn jogged up alongside me.

"I thought this might be a good time to redo my introduction," he said. "I came off like a jerk yesterday and I'm sorry."

"You didn't like the idea of Jack bringing a stranger on board. I don't blame you. I think that's why he didn't want us to meet. Protecting your privacy--yours and the others."

We turned a corner.

"So you must be Evelyn's new protegee," he said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, because you're a--" He colored slightly. "Because I can be a sexist moron. Sorry. Again. I didn't mean to jump to conclusions. You're not Evelyn's, then?"

"No, I'm Jack's."

When he looked my way, brows raised, I sputtered a laugh. "I mean his protegee. Strictly business. Even 'protegee' is probably pushing it."

Another light. We waited in silence, then crossed.

"How far do you go normally?" he asked.

"Te--" I stopped myself before saying kilometers. "Five miles. Give or take."

"Every day, I'm guessing."

He flashed an appreciative glance down my figure. A nice glance--not a leer or an ogle. The appreciative part was good, too. After that dream, I was certainly in the mood for it. I even returned it, though more discreetly. He was wearing jogging pants and an old T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing his muscles. Good-looking in a wholesome, athletic way, nothing to stop traffic, but enough to invite the gaze to linger...and enjoy.

He plucked at the sweat-sodden front of his T-shirt and pulled a face. "I definitely need to start doing more cardio myself. Soon, or I'll be skipping ski season this year."

"Cross-country or--" I stopped. "Sorry. I guess that'd be prying."

Quinn whooped a breathless laugh. "That's what happens when you hang out with Jack. You start thinking 'What do you take in your coffee?' might be too personal."