Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

"Gimme five minutes."

He stumped off. I opened the door to follow and help him pack, then forced myself to close it. Better to take a few minutes and figure out how I was going to swing this past Emma. I'd decided on a story, and was jotting notes in my "Sammi casebook," when Jack rapped on the driver's window. When I looked up, he beckoned me out.

I rolled the window down. "We have to go, Jack. I have work waiting. If there's a problem - "

"Gonna drive. Up all night. Should sleep."

Out of practice with Jack's habit of dropping pronouns - and any other words he deemed nonessential - it took a minute to realize he meant that I'd been up all night so I should get some sleep while he drove.

"Have you forgotten your broken ankle?" I said.

"Left foot. Truck's automatic."

"You aren't driving my truck with a cast on. It may be a piece of crap but - "

"Out."

I shifted into reverse. The truck lunged back.

Jack swore, eyed me, as if trying to figure out how serious I was, then cursed again, slung his bag into the pickup bed, and hobbled to the passenger side.

I used my real ID at the border. I suspect Jack wasn't thrilled with that, but if I was using my own vehicle, it was silly to pull a fake passport. I presumed his was fake. I didn't take a good look.

Jack didn't say much on the drive, maybe because I kept the radio cranked up. When I pulled over in Oakville for a washroom break and coffees, I came back to find him in the driver's seat. Arguing would have required energy, and I was asleep before we reached the highway.

When I woke up, we'd already gone through Toronto and were passing Whitby. I stretched, reached for my coffee, and found it cold and bitter.

"Got time for breakfast?" Jack asked.

I checked my watch. Almost eight. I needed to call Emma and explain, but with that explanation came the excuse for being as late as I wanted. I directed him off the highway and made the call.

I told Emma that Jack was my dad's cousin. When Aunt Evie called the night before, it had been about him, stranded in Buffalo with a broken ankle in the midst of a cross-country job-hunting move. He really needed a place to stay while he recuperated and Aunt Evie thought the lodge would be perfect.

I'd started worrying about him, stuck in a strange city, and took off last night to pick him up. For most people this might seem odd, but Emma didn't question it from me. She'd only grumbled that she hoped I wasn't being taken advantage of by family that otherwise couldn't be bothered with me. I assured her he was paying and that cheered her up.

For a name, I went with John. That way, if I slipped and called him Jack, I'd just say that's what family called him.

We stopped at one of the rare Canadian Denny's, the lot filled with trucks. My dad always said that was the best way to look for food on the road - go where the truckers go. Not true. Truckers go where it's cheap and filling, but he always took me to places like this for breakfast on a road trip, so that's where I instinctively turned in.

These truckers must have been pretty hungry, because they'd all grabbed the first table they reached, leaving the other end empty. Jack chose the farthest table, next to a window, earning a sour look from the servers, who'd probably hoped to keep the mess contained to one side.

Getting our coffees and placing our orders consumed a few minutes. A few more disappeared as I scrubbed up in the bathroom. But then, after I returned, the silence became too obvious to ignore. Jack folded a paper napkin and creased it with his thumbnail, intent on that task until, finally, even he could bear it no longer.

"Been meaning to call," he said.

Coffee churned in my stomach. My own fault for not being my usual chatty self, making him think the emptiness meant I was waiting for those obligatory words. Empty words. Like when a friend you haven't seen in years calls, and the lie comes naturally: I was going to call you.

"You've been busy," I said.

"Yeah."

He sipped his coffee long enough to drain half of it.

"Money," he said. "You okay?"

In other words, did I need any jewels fenced? On Jack's advice, the Tomassinis paid me in uncut jewels, which were easier than cash to transfer over the border, easier to store, and safer to liquidate, with Jack as middleman, putting an extra layer between me and the cash. He was supposed to keep a cut for himself, and I presumed he did, though I had no way of knowing.

Jack fenced only what I needed. As wonderful as it would be to pay off the mortgage and fully renovate the lodge, it would be a little hard to explain to Revenue Canada since the business barely broke even. It already took some creativity to inject just enough extra cash to keep the lodge in good repair.