I shook my head. “I don’t drink before a job. And I’m beat. I’m just going to go to bed, okay?”

I didn’t wait around to find out whether it was okay, just grabbed my bag and headed for the bathroom. When I came out, Jack was gone.

Evelyn started for the bathroom, but I stopped her.

“You know what Quinn does, don’t you?” I said. “His angle.”

A small smile. “The Boy Scout?”

“Is that his other pro name?”

She moved back into the room and sat on her bed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t suggest you use it unless you want to piss him off. Seems vigilante types have this odd aversion to having it thrown in their face.”

I ignored that and pressed on. “But if this is his angle, vigilantism as you call it, and he’s obviously far more into it than I am, why not take him?”

She grinned. “If I were thirty years younger, Dee, I’d take him in a second. But that’s just libido talking. As a student? He’d be…adequate. Nothing more.”

“But he is a vigilante. And a true believer, not just some guy taking advantage of an underserviced wedge of the market.”

“Still trying to wriggle out of this without making a decision, Nadia?”

“Of course not,” I snapped, a little harder than I meant, annoyed by her switch from Dee to Nadia. I covered it by continuing. “You said you want me because you’re interested in this ‘angle’ of mine. But Quinn has it, so I think I’m entitled to ask a question or two.”

“And make sure I’m not misleading you? Tricking you into something?”

“I’m being careful.”

“Good girl. So why you and not him? Fair question. For Quinn, it’s all up here—” She tapped her head. “Cerebral. He sees injustice and, as a cop, as a moral man, he’s outraged. But there’s no fire here—” She patted her stomach.

“But Quinn’s good. Even Jack admits it.”

“Technical skills, attention to detail, creativity, brains, all that can make you a damned fine hitman, and Quinn has it all. But to be better than fine, to be legendary, you need that drive. Me, I had some, but not on your scale. I’ve only ever seen that kind of fire once, a different sort—the worst case of ‘fuck the world’ rage you’ve ever seen. Without training? Suicide. You take too many chances, trying to dowse those flames. You burn yourself up.” She met my gaze. “Seen any symptoms of that lately, Nadia?”

I said nothing. She pushed to her feet, muttering about her knees, then wished me good night and headed to the bathroom.