“I saw. Looked fine.”

“Then what—?”

“Evelyn got your gear. We’ll head straight to the car. Merge with the crowd. Stay beside me. You see a cop—”

“Act normal,” I said. “Don’t avoid him, keep my gaze up, maybe look curious, wondering what’s going on, but act like everyone else seeing cops swarming around.”

He hefted my knapsack and started across the roof, leaving me to catch up.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-FIVE

When the Feds learned that Wilkes had tried to take a victim—and left a missing witness—they’d probably erect roadblocks. But if they had, we didn’t see them. We did see cops, fanning out to search the crowds leaving the parade route, but our back-street path kept us—and probably Wilkes—out of their way.

When we reached the car, Evelyn was already there, with my gear in the trunk. As we approached, she got out of the driver’s side. She looked from me to Jack, and waved me to the passenger seat, then reached for the back door. I shook my head and crawled in the back.

Jack got into the driver’s side, leaned over Evelyn and opened the glove box. He pulled out the napkins and hand wipes we’d stashed in there after lunch.

“Clean your hands,” he said, tossing them over the seat at me.

“I’ve already—”

“Clean them again.”

As he started the car, Evelyn twisted and caught sight of my cut hands.

“Christ, what happened to you?”

I glanced at Jack.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” she said. “Just came over to where I was supposed to meet you two, threw me the keys, told me where your gear was and stalked off.”

“I met Wilkes.”

She blinked, then glared at Jack. “Well, that’s not worth telling me about.” She looked at me. “So what happened…and start at the beginning.”

I told her.

“So now he’s missed two scheduled hits,” she said. “Plus he has an eyewitness…a victim who fought back. Probably saw you and decided to skip the demographics and take the easy mark.” She chortled. “Oh, he’ll be mad now. Spitting mad.”

“And off-balance. We need to keep him there. If we act now, we can use it to our advantage and end this.”

Jack’s hands clenched around the steering wheel. “We’ll end it. The old-fashioned way. Legwork. Stop this shit and—”

“That’s not fast, Jack.”

Our eyes met in the rearview mirror. His were ice cold. “And this is? Running after him? Facing him down in alleys? Almost getting killed?

“I had him. If you saw it go down, you know I had him.”

“Where I stood? Looked fifty-fifty.”

“Seventy-five/twenty-five. At least.”

“So that’s okay? Twenty-five percent chance of getting killed? Fuck, yeah. Why not? Goes bad? Who gives a shit? You don’t.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”