“Warn me about what?”

“Cops think he’s a pro.”

“The Helter Skelter killer? The Feds think he’s a hitman? Shit.”

I tapped the ash off the cigarette, then looked down at the burning ember and stubbed it out against the log.

“Is that why people think Moretti might have been part of the pattern? There has to be more to it than that.”

He shrugged. “Not important. You did fine. Cops will make the mob connection. They’ll back off. But if the Tomassinis come calling again…”

“It’ll be the new year before I hear from them again anyway.”

“Good. Cops are coming down hard on pros. Dragging in every guy they ever suspected. Couple have already gone. Old charges. Circumstantial evidence. Lot easier to make that stick right now.”

I glanced up at him. “Are you in trouble?”

“Nah. But what’s bad for the business? Bad for everyone in the business. Word’s already leaking. Jobs are drying up. It goes public? They think he’s a pro?” He shook his head. “Gotta be stopped. Some of us are gonna try.”

“Finding the killer?”

Jack nodded. “You want in?”

“Me?”

“I know you’ve got a legit job. We’d work around it. There’s a payoff, too. Expenses plus, covered by an interested party.”

My hands slid out to either side of me, as if adjusting my seating—steadying myself as the world seemed to sway. But I kept my face impassive, gaze down as if considering his words.

Beside me, Jack took out a cigarette. Calm and patient, unaware of what he’d just offered. The chance to hunt this killer. The excuse to tell myself it was just a job.

I inhaled deeply. “Well, I’m flattered, but compared to you, I’m a rookie. There’s nothing I could add.”

“You were a cop. You’re good. Careful.” He took out another fresh cigarette. “Could use you.”

He glanced at me. When I said nothing, he lit the cigarette, one elbow resting on his thigh, and smoked while staring out into the forest. Several minutes passed. Then he cocked his head my way, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Fuck.” He breathed the word. “What’s the problem?”

“You know this is just a part-time thing, something to cover the bills until the lodge starts making money. I just…I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He shook his head, lips parting in another curse, this one a silent puff of smoke. He finished his cigarette, then glanced my way again. When I didn’t speak, he stood, stubbed out the butt and stuck it into his jacket pocket. From the same pocket he pulled a white envelope and handed it to me. I opened it. Inside was an airline ticket and a fake passport.

“For tomorrow night,” Jack said. “Give you time to think.”

I nodded.