I managed a smile and glanced over at him. His gaze met mine, and I saw something in it that sent a slow burn through me. I was suddenly aware of how close he was sitting, almost brushing me, close enough to feel the heat from his body, and I remembered sitting in that opera house, Jack beside me, my body telling me the perfect substitute for a thwarted hunt. A way to chase the shadows from tonight and still the thoughts pinging through my brain. Something I could cling to, a warm body and a dip into the mindlessly physical.

I could use this. In every way, I could use this.

The attraction was there, and I didn’t need to worry about either of us expecting anything. One night. No strings. I looked at him, and felt the hunger burn through me. Then I looked away.

Too risky. I told myself Jack would worry if I disappeared for a few hours with Quinn, but that wasn’t the risk I was thinking of. I couldn’t trust Quinn. Didn’t want to trust him. Even for a night.

When I looked away, I expected Quinn to find an excuse to go inside. Instead, his hand slid into mine. I glanced over at him, but he was staring into the depths of the pool.

“They should have closed the handicapped washroom,” he murmured, not looking up.

“They couldn’t. Not both of them—not without causing an uproar. In some places you could, and no one would complain, might not even notice. But that place was 50 percent retirees.” I gazed out into the night. “They should have posted a guard. Maybe closed one and watched the other. There were guards at the end of the hall and in the main bathrooms, but it would have been easy for him to slip into a handicapped one, unlock the door after a minute and have no one notice he didn’t leave.”

I glanced over at him. “Do you think he did that on purpose? Targeting someone who was handicapped? Or was it just the easiest way?”

“Maybe one of the easiest, but I’m sure he thought about it. Probably has a whole goddamned list drawn up—little tick boxes to make sure he doesn’t overlook any target group.”

There was an anger and bitterness in his voice that made me squeeze his hand.

“You get it, don’t you?” he said softly. “They don’t. Jack and Felix—” He shook his head. “Jack, cutting out on you the second he can get away. And Felix, calm as can be. To them, this is just business. Got a hitman causing trouble, that’s bad for business, so you take him out. Doesn’t matter how many people get killed in the meantime.”

“I think they care,” I said. “In their way. Maybe Jack doesn’t show it but—”