The opera curtain was ninety minutes away, and the doors would open in forty-five. I was ready to go, dress on and hair fixed in the best updo I could manage with bobby pins and a hand mirror. Jack had showered and shaved, but still had to throw on his tux, so I left him to do that and went outside to find Quinn.
It was dark already, and the motel poorly lit, but I located him on the other side of the lot, leaning against the fence, watching the highway traffic whiz past. He’d changed into black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt-dark enough for recon work outside the theater, but common enough street wear not to attract attention. He’d also switched to dark hair, and from his profile I could see that he’d added a beard and mustache. Guess he wanted a little more of a disguise in case he bumped into someone from the FBI task force. Further proof that I was right about him being a Fed. FBI or DEA was my guess. A field agent-he didn’t strike me as a desk jockey-but he obviously still had enough clout to get all the info we needed without raising eyebrows. And the clout to get the time off.
As my heels clicked across the asphalt, Quinn turned. He stared. Then he stared some more.
I laughed. “Don’t tell me I look that different.”
“No, just…wow.”
I blushed.
“You look good as a redhead,” he said. “That must be closer to your natural-I mean, it suits you.”
“Thanks.”
The wig was redder than my normal hair-and longer. The dress was mint-ice-cream green. The tag had called it sea-foam or something like that, but it reminded me of mint ice cream. Felix and I had debated the merits of black over colors and, while black would doubtless be the shade of choice and I’d have blended into the crowd more by wearing it, it would also increase the chances that Jack would lose me.
So we’d picked this-a simple, formal dress in pale green, nothing revealing or flashy…although by the way Quinn was staring, you’d have thought it was fire-engine red with a neckline plunging to meet the hem. It’d been a while since a guy had looked at me like that. Jack had grunted something when I’d put it on, which could have been “nice,” but could just as easily have been gas.
“Is Jack really wearing a tux?”
“He will be soon.”
Quinn laughed. “This I gotta see.”
I grinned. “Should be interesting. Thank God Felix is there to help, because I suspect Jack doesn’t have a clue how to do the tie.”
I don’t think he heard any of that. As soon as I grinned, his gaze locked with mine.
“You have a great smile,” he said, then blinked. “I mean, you look great when you smile. Not that you look bad when-”
Before he could muddle his way out, a figure appeared from the shadows. Quinn looked over at Jack and, if he’d been about to make some jab, he stopped. It was my turn to stare. Jack didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable in a tux as I’d expected. It even suited him, giving the harsh angles of his face an air that was less rough and tumble and more sharp and sophisticated, but still slightly dangerous. He had foregone a wig in favor of putting more gray in his black. Bright blue contacts added a splash of color. He looked fine…better than fine. Of course, I wasn’t telling him that-not when my outfit had only warranted a grunt.
Jack turned to me. “You forgot these.”
He handed me a pair of gloves-not latex, but green silk. One advantage to formal dress-it gave you an excuse for gloving up and hiding fingerprints. For himself, he would use a form of liquid latex. It worked pretty well, but was far from perfect, so whenever possible, I’d be opening doors tonight.
As I pulled on my gloves, Felix joined us. I had to do a double take to recognize him. That afternoon, he’d looked as I remembered him from Indiana -tall, thin and ginger-haired, fussy, professorial. The man in front of me looked like he was ready to join the senior’s mall walk-gray-haired, pasty-faced, slightly stooped and pot bellied, dressed in a navy jogging suit and new sneakers. An old man trying to prolong his life with some much needed exercise.
“We all set then?” Quinn said. “Any last-minute obstacles need tackling?”
“Besides the lack of a suitable method of communication?” Felix said.
“Yeah, I know it’ll be a bugger without it, but even Jack agrees. The Feds may be monitoring frequencies, and there isn’t a radio or phone I’d take the chance with.”
“I know of one,” Felix said. “Unfortunately, no courier could deliver it from Moscow in time. However, we may wish to consider splurging if we fail to roust this man tonight.”
Quinn’s face darkened. “It ends tonight. Between us and the Feds, he doesn’t stand a chance. A few hours from now we’ll be celebrating, not ordering extra equipment.” A sudden smile and he turned my way. “Speaking of celebrating, I know a place, has the best suds and deep dish in town.”
“Think I’d be overdressed?”
“Definitely, but you won’t hear me complaining.” He glanced over my head. “How about it, guys? Up for a little postassignment partying?”
Felix arched a brow. “Oh, were we included in that invitation?”
“Of course. Not like Jack would let me take Dee without him.” His gaze shot back to mine. “Is it a date then? Say…midnight?”
“Only if I can buy the first round.”
“Haven’t caught him yet,” Jack said. “Don’t get cocky.”
I looked at him, my smile fading. “It isn’t cockiness, Jack. It’s confidence…and a generous helping of hope.”
He nodded and, for a minute, we all stood in silence. Then Jack jangled his keys.
“Time to go.”
A half hour later we were rounding the corner, the opera house in sight, a crowd at the doors, moving slowly. Jack eyed the crowd, then motioned me aside and took out a cigarette. Earlier he’d grumbled about the habit, calling it the worst a hitman could have. I wasn’t sure I agreed. It certainly came in handy-a convenient excuse for standing around outside without drawing attention to yourself. Unlike that hitman at the jail, Jack could pull it off. No one watching would mistake him for an amateur smoker.
He lit the cigarette, took a drag, then said, “We okay?”
“Sure. Aren’t we?” I stepped to the side, out of the path of an oncoming foursome. “Is something bothering you? Something we missed?”
“Nah.”
His gaze slanted away, as if this wasn’t what he’d meant and he was trying to reword it. After another drag, he looked at me.
“You okay?”
“Me? Sure. Not having second thoughts about getting involved, if that’s what you mean.”
A small shake of his head, coupled with a look that said he’d never make that mistake. A third drag, then he passed the cigarette to me. He let me inhale, exhale, and waved it off when I offered it back.
“Might not get him,” he said, voice low, though no one was around. “Gonna try. Sure as hell gonna try. But…might not.”
“Like Quinn and I said, we don’t care who does the take-down, us or the Feds. Yes, I’d rather be the one…” I paused. “You mean-This is about that talk outside the motel-Quinn and I going on about getting this guy, making our victory celebration plans.” I felt my gaze harden. Blinked it away. “You’re worried that I’ll get cocky. Overexcited. Overeager. That I’ll screw up.”
“’Course not. You’re a pro-”
“Quinn and I were just blowing off steam, okay? Some of us need to do that. And, yes, I suppose showing it is unprofessional-”
“I never said-”
“I know we might not get this guy tonight. I know maybe no one will. And I know that if we stand a hope in hell of success, it’s going to take calm, controlled, focused effort. There’s no room for grandstanding, for cowboy bullshit-”