He drove for at least five minutes without answering, then did so slowly, as if with great reluctance. “Safer to meet them. Get it over with. You’re in disguise. Quinn’s a blowhard but…” A long pause, as if he’d rather not finish. “He’s good. Trustworthy. You’ll be fine.”

Quinn and his partner were waiting when we pulled into the rest stop. Jack drove past them, circled to the rear of the building and parked on the far side. He looked around, then got out and headed for the picnic area that, given the cool season and the late hour, was understandably empty.

He gestured at the table in front of us. “Here good?”

“Seems okay. We’re far enough from the buildings that no one should overhear if we keep our voices down. Watch the body language, though.”

When I looked up, Quinn was bearing down on us, jaw set, fists balled at his sides.

“So much for body language,” I murmured.

Jack stood, shoulders squaring. Quinn’s partner headed our way, as if to intercept, but he was too far to reach us in time.

“What’s this?” Quinn said, gesturing at me. “When you said you had a partner, we all figured you meant Evelyn or someone we knew. That”—his finger jabbed my way—“is neither.”

“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.