“Head games, Dee,” Jack murmured. “Remember that. We’re getting closer.”

“Are we?” I said, unclenching my jaw, but keeping my gaze down, hiding the dark rage bubbling in my gut. “This throws a big wrench in our theory, doesn’t it?”

Evelyn flicked off the monitor. “Tell me this theory.”

I explained what we’d learned from Volkv.

When I finished, she nodded. “If that’s not why Leon Kozlov was killed, it’s a hell of a coincidence. Only one problem…”

“This”—I waved at the television screen—“screws it all to bits. If he’s making demands, then he’s not doing preretirement cleaning.”

“Don’t be too sure, Dee. That’s isn’t the problem I meant. How many witnesses have you left, Jack?”

“None I know of.”

“I had one,” Evelyn said. “My fourth job. When I told my partner what happened, he sent me back to clean it up, and I learned my lesson there. Make damned sure you don’t have witnesses, or you might have to do something you’d rather not.”

I nodded. “In other words, if the killer is as good as he seems, there’s no way he should have left six witnesses…maybe more. So Kozlov is a coincidence?”

Evelyn shot off her chair and marched to her bookshelf. She grabbed a thin paperback. A second later it landed on my lap, the cover facing up.

“A B C Murders. Agatha Christie.” I skimmed the blurb on the back cover. “Oh, right, this is the one where the killer murders a bunch of people to hide a single—” I looked over at Evelyn. “You think he killed the others to cover killing Kozlov?”

“Former Russian mobster winds up dead, where’s the first place the cops look?”

“Organized crime.”

“A little extra effort, and Kozlov’s murder is hidden. Plus, our hitman goes out with a headline-making bang. Not a bad way to retire.”

“Killing five innocent people isn’t what I’d call a ‘little extra effort.’”

“You know what I mean. For someone who’s spent his life killing people, a few more isn’t going to matter. Most pros don’t even see people anymore. Not the way you do, Dee.” She looked at me, finger wagging. “And that’s what could make you a hell of a hitwoman. Conviction. Purpose. Passion. Harness that and—” Her eyes gleamed. “You might even become better than me.”

Her gaze locked mine, daring me to break away.

“Kozlov,” Jack cut in. “We need more.”

She looked at him. For a moment, no one spoke. Then she turned to her computer and got to work.

As Evelyn searched, we put together criteria for a list of potential hitmen.

“The Nikolaevs fired Kozlov in the early eighties, according to Little Joe,” I said. “That means we’re looking for a guy at least…”

“My age,” Jack said. “Probably older.”