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  Cypress seemed equally happy to have me all to himself. I did take two others on our hike, though: our dogs, Scout and Rex.

  We were heading up the ridge when Scout raced across the path in a blur of white.

  "You know that's not a special breed," Cypress said.

  "Hmm?"

  "White German shepherds. Some fucking idiots think it's a separate breed."

  "Well, fortunately--given that characterization--it's a recessive gene that people breed for, which is how new types of dogs are created. Selective breeding."

  "Also leads to genetic problems. I hope you were careful picking her out."

  "She was a gift, but yes, I'm sure John was careful. She's fine, as you can see."

  "Seems to be. I still don't see the point in making them white. I notice you got a regular black-and-tan for the other one." He nodded at Rex.

  "Yes, we like variety."

  "Stupid name, though." He shook his head. "John pick it?"

  "No, I did."

  Which was true, but it'd been a joke. I used to tease Jack that in a world of creative noms de guerre he had to be contrary and pick the most boring one imaginable. It wasn't even really a nom de guerre--John was his real name, and his family used to call him Jack. Of course, as I'd learned later, the truth went much deeper than that. Calling himself Jack professionally was a constant reminder of what happened to his family and the role he'd unwittingly played in that. When I got him a dog, I'd jokingly suggested calling him Rex--the most boring canine name imaginable. And Jack kept it.

  "So I've got a question," Cypress said as we walked along the ridge top.

  "Uh-huh."

  "How the hell do you do this? You seem smart enough. Someone said you used to be a cop."

  I tensed. "Yes . . ."

  "So why do a shitty job like this? Playing babysitter to fucking morons from the city."

  "I like the wilderness . . . and I like people. Strange concept, I know. But I became a cop because I enjoyed working with people."

  "Really?" He looked at me in genuine bewilderment. "I did some law enforcement shit myself, but . . ."

  "You didn't do it to help others?"

  His belly laugh startled Rex. "Fuck, no. I did it to help me."

  Well, I had to give him points for honesty. As the path veered toward the forest, Rex's nose shot up, catching the wind. He gave a happy bark and tore off. In the distance, Scout crashed through the forest after him.

  "Seems your pups found themselves a rabbit," Cypress said.

  I nodded, but I knew it wasn't a rabbit, not with that bark, and I had to plant my feet to keep from tearing off after them, my imaginary tail wagging.

  The only person they'd bark like that for was Jack.

  Unfortunately, as soon as Jack spotted Cypress, he'd detour to our private chalet. Living where we also conduct business meant we had to keep a firm line between the personal and the professional, and having the guide pause a hike to hug her returning boyfriend crossed that line. Jack would back off, after making sure I knew he was home. Disappointing, but I could ask Emma to chaperone Cypress post-hike--feed him her famous cinnamon rolls--while I enjoyed my reunion.

  While I didn't gape about for Jack, I'll admit I listened for him. Which was pointless. It was an old game--a training exercise for both of us, him sneaking up on me, seeing whether he could manage it. In the city, he always could, but the forest had been a new environment, one he'd been determined to master. I stood no chance of hearing him unless he wanted to be heard, and the forest remained a soft symphony of birdcalls and wind-rustled leaves.

  Then something thumped to Cypress's right. He wheeled that way . . . and I looked the other, that thump very clearly being a stone thrown as a distraction. Sure enough, Jack stepped out right behind Cypress. Cypress's head jerked up as a gun pressed into his back.

  "Hey, Jack," Cypress said. "Long time, no see."

  I withdrew the concealed gun I carry for this exact reason: in case someone came around who didn't call Jack 'John.'

  "You wanna lower that gun?" Cypress said when Jack didn't respond to his greeting.

  "No."

  "Getting jumpy in your old age?"

  "No," Jack said. "Nerves are fine. Memory is, too. You hoping I'd forgotten?"

  "Forgot . . . ? Really?" Cypress shook his head. "I was playing with you."

  "Playing?"

  Cypress shrugged. "Job gets boring. Not nearly enough playmates on our level, you know what I mean?"

  "No."

  "That was always your problem. You took yourself too seriously. If I wanted to come at you, I'd have come at you. I was playing. Ask Evie. That's my idea of play." He paused. "Nah, better not ask Evie. She might give you a whole other definition, and that's more than you need to hear."

  "What do you want?"

  "To hire you."

  "No."

  Cypress tried glancing over his shoulder, but Jack pressed the gun barrel in harder.

  "You sure your memory's fine?" Cypress said. "You do know I've seen what you look like. I also know what your girl here looks like. Dee, right?"

  "That a threat?" Jack said.

  Cypress threw up his hands. "Fuck, you are impossible to talk to. Everything's a threat. Everything's personal. I meant you might as well let me turn around since I've seen you both already. I'm here because I want to hire you, okay? That's it."

  "No."

  "Jack is in the process of retiring," I said, because at this rate, we'd be here all morning, Jack refusing to give an explanation that required more than three words.

  I walked in front of Cypress. "That means he isn't taking on any new clients, and he's doing jobs for very few of his old ones. If you wanted to ask, though, the correct protocol would be to call."

  "I don't have a phone."

  I gave him a look.

  "I don't. Been living up north for fifteen years, out where a phone is as useful as a rock. Even if I could find a pay phone around here--and these days, they're scarce as hen's teeth--any number I have for Jack wouldn't work. No one in the biz keeps a number that long."

  "You mentioned Evelyn, who is much easier to contact and who could pass along a message."

  "Yeah, no. It's harder for Jack to refuse when I'm out here, in his face. I'm good at getting in faces. Good at getting people's attention."

  "By taking Jack's girlfriend hostage until he agrees to your job?"

  Cypress's broad forehead screwed up. "What? Hell, no. That'd be a fucking stupid idea, considering your alternate line of employment."

  "It's been tried."

  He snorted. "Like I said, fucking idiots are everywhere. Let me guess. Moron never even managed to catch you, right?"

  True enough, but I only shrugged. "This might be different. I'm at home. My guard's lowered. You're a big guy. It's possible."

  "If I'd planned that, I'd at least have pretended I was allergic to dogs. Get you to leave your pooches behind. You think those two would let me take you?" He shook his head. "I'm here to ask you to do a job. Both of you."

  "Do it yourself," Jack said.

  "I can't. It's not my kind of thing. Too much investigation. I gotta find the mark first. That isn't my talent. I'm a point-and-shoot guy. You point 'em out. I shoot 'em. Well, without actually shooting."

  "Because that isn't sporting?" I said.

  He only shrugged. "Either way, Jack's always done a helluva lot more research than me, and now I hear he's with a girl who's good at that stuff, too. I didn't know you'd been a cop, but now that makes sense. You've got the skills."

  "You said you'd done law enforcement."

  "I was the sheriff in a very, very, very small town. Only thing they needed was someone to kick ass and keep folks in line, which I do very well. But now a woman I care about is in trouble, and someone's gotta die to keep her safe, and finding that someone is way above my pay scale. So I'm coming to you. If you'll let me explain--"

  "An hour," Jack said.

  "Fine, give me an
hour."

  "No. Give us an hour. Alone. Then we'll talk."

  Chapter Four

  Nadia

  Ikicked myself for not realizing Cypress was more than a regular guest. Jack often said that the average hitman was just a thug who didn't mind killing people. Guys low on the IQ scale and high on the sociopathy one. Which seemed to fit Cypress.

  Except those hitmen weren't "pros" like Jack or me or Evelyn. If guys like that knew of Jack, it was by reputation only. And those hitmen weren't still walking around at Cypress's age. That breed wasn't big on planning--they just walked up to a guy and shot him, and then repeated the process until they were caught or killed, which rarely took long. Disposable hired killers. That wasn't Cypress. Nor was I sure he fit "low on the IQ scale." He acted it, but I can, too, having learned the value of a good "dumb chick" disguise.

  Cypress's cover story had made sense. "Fucking business in Toronto," he'd said. "But that doesn't mean I gotta stay in the damned city all weekend." I had regulars like him--those who didn't want to spend their off-time in hotel bars with the rest of the solo business travelers. I've even promoted to that crowd at trade shows. Stuck in Toronto for the weekend? We're just an hour's drive away!

  And, honestly, if anyone came to the lodge for Jack, they weren't going to check in as a guest. So I understood why I hadn't suspected Cypress . . . but that wouldn't stop me from cursing myself now.

  Lost in my thoughts, I walked to our chalet in silence, but I barely had the door closed before Jack pulled me into a kiss that made me forget Cypress. When we separated, I traced my fingers down his shirtfront.

  "I hate it when you go away," I said. "But I really like it when you come back."

  "Timing sucks."

  "Next time you see me with someone from your past? Don't say anything. Just call me back to the chalet so I can get sex before we need to fix the problem."

  He chuckled. "Good plan. Trouble is . . ." He waved, and I picked up the sound of guests laughing as they passed close to our house.

  "Mmm, yes. Strike that. Only come home between midnight and six, when I can guarantee stray guests won't come knocking on our door. Well, almost guarantee it."

  He shook his head and headed into the kitchen. "Need a fence. Electrified."

  "If I thought that would stop them, I might actually agree."

  Despite warning all guests that the chalet was private property--and erecting discreet signs--we found nose prints on the glass almost daily. People just can't resist the allure of a cabin in the woods. We used to keep the door unlocked until we found a couple succumbing to that allure in front of our fireplace.

  Jack started the coffee machine and opened a fresh gift from the pie fairy.

  "Emma's welcome home present," I said. "Though I could point out it's still morning."

  "Fruit, pastry, it's breakfast food. Just gotta eat it with coffee."

  "So Tyrone Cypress . . ." I said as I settled at the table.

  "That what he's going by?"

  "What's his work name?"

  "Cypher."

  I arched my brows. "Okay, I hate to give him credit, but that's kind of awesome. Much better than--"

  "Yeah, yeah." He handed me a slice of pie. "Better than Jack."

  "I was going to say better than Dee."

  "You can change it anytime."

  "Rebranding's a bitch."

  He slid into the chair across from mine. "Evelyn named him."

  "Ah. He's one of hers, I take it. Lover and student?"

  "Mostly the former. Some training but . . ." He shrugged. "She never understood him."

  "Hence the moniker."

  "Yeah. At first? What makes him different was what got her attention. But then she wanted to fix him. He said 'fuck that.' They'd still hook up. But nothing more."

  A common story in relationships, one person trying to change the other. That was one reason Jack had kept me away from Evelyn. He'd been able to accept her training while refusing her plan to turn him into a slick assassin. He'd also never ended up in her bed.

  As the coffee brewed, I nibbled my pie and listened to Jack explain how Cypher found him. Through Felix, apparently, who'd been quick to buy Cypher's dumb hick routine and divulged just enough information to send Cypher in our direction.

  "And there's bad blood between you two?" I said as I got up to pour the coffee.

  "Screwed me over. Stole a job. So I did the same." He paused. "Well . . . not exactly the same."

  "You hit back harder."

  He shrugged. "Don't care for one-upmanship. But sometimes you gotta. He undercut my price. So I shot his mark."

  "That's one-upmanship?"

  "Shot him while Cypher was strangling him. Pissed him off." Another pause. "Really pissed him off. If he claimed the hit, he had to say he used a gun. Which he wouldn't do."

  "He joked about hunting with his bare hands. That wasn't actually a joke, was it?"

  "Nah. Like I said, he's a little . . . different."

  "Uh-huh. So you literally shot his mark out from under him in retaliation for him stealing a job. Fair enough. But he struck back, didn't he?"

  "Tried to. Failed. Disappeared before he could try again."

  I sipped my coffee. "Playing devil's advocate here. Is it possible he really was playing with you? I'd never disrespect the job by turning it into a game, but he seems the type."

  "Maybe. Still don't trust him."

  "More than you don't trust everyone else?"

  He toyed with a piece of piecrust. "We'll hear him out."

  Chapter Five

  Nadia

  Cypher had to wait until after lunch to talk to us. Guests paid for access to the host, which meant there was a limit to how much time I could be unavailable. Until Jack and I built the chalet, I'd lived in the lodge, partly to avoid any temptation to retreat for a little me-time. Jack had helped me see there was an unhealthy side to that, the side that felt I didn't deserve me-time. The truth was that guests didn't really expect me on call 24/7, and any debt I owed the world could not be paid off by providing an impromptu canoe trip.

  We told Cypher that we'd hear him out after lunch, which kept him from breathing down our necks. He took his meal to go and said he'd be over by some ramshackle cabins on the far edge of the property.

  Jack and I ate with our guests. I regaled them with life-in-the-lodge anecdotes while Jack . . . well, Jack ate. Most of what he did around the lodge was behind the scenes, slowly taking over for my aging caretaker, Owen. Jack interacted with guests for the activities I hated but otherwise kept to himself. No one bothered him. Some people just have that air about them--the one that says they won't bite your head off if you speak to them, but they don't encourage it either.

  After lunch, I reminded guests about the twilight canoe excursion. Then Jack and I left to speak to Cypher.

  It was a good twenty-minute hike to that part of the property. Up until a few months ago, it belonged to a neighbor. When they'd been preparing to move, Jack had approached them with an offer: he'd pay for over a hundred acres of their lot, leaving them to sell the house with five acres, which was all most people wanted--just enough to feel like they're living in the wilderness.

  The ramshackle cabins had once been rental units. That was before my time, and I'd always grumbled about them being both an eyesore and a safety hazard. Guests couldn't resist wandering over to explore or photograph the cabins, which was dangerous. So Jack bought the land. We'd tear the shacks down soon and erect small cottages, expanding the business.

  When we arrived, Cypher was poking around a ruined cabin.

  "Careful," I called. "We've had one collapse."

  "Kind of a safety hazard, don't you think?"

  "We just bought the land," I said. "We haven't gotten to the demolition part."

  He grunted. "Good. I was afraid you were renting them like this."

  "I should hope not."

  "Never know. Where I'm from, sometimes, this is what you get."

 
I walked over, Jack beside me, the dogs trailing along.

  "Speaking of where you're from . . ." I said. "You want us to help someone you know. But you also suggested you live someplace without easy access to the outside world. So how'd you know your friend was in trouble?"

  "I have ways. It's not exactly regular contact. She's been dealing with this shit for months, and I just found out."

  "And 'she' is . . . ?" I said.

  Cypher settled on a log pulled over by an ancient fire pit.

  "It's a woman," he said.

  "I guessed that from the pronoun."

  "That's really all there is to say. It's a woman. Someone from my past, from when I was young and stupid. Someone . . ." He shrugged. "Sometimes sticking around isn't an option, and as much as you might want to, you realize that the right thing to do is walk away. Doesn't mean I stopped caring. So I keep tabs on her."

  "And she's in trouble."

  "Yeah. You hear about that family court shit in Honolulu?"

  "Hawaii?"

  "Is there another one?" He planted his feet farther apart. "That's where she lives, and I'm guessing by your answer that you haven't heard of the case. Some sicko has been targeting people who work for the family courts."

  "Didn't something like that happen in Australia? Years ago?"

  "I don't doubt it. In our job, we get asked to do some ugly shit. To me, though, there's nothing uglier than the guys--and gals--who want us to off their exes. Not because the ex is a nasty piece of shit. Not even because they want revenge. But because of the divorce. Kill your wife so you don't have to pay alimony. Kill your husband so you don't have to sell your home. And the absolute fucking worst: kill your partner so you get the kids."

  "All of which is handled by family courts," I said. "They make a ruling, and one party is bound to be unhappy with it. So that's what this is. Someone's taking it out on the court representatives."

  He nodded. "Three people are dead. All had a connection to the family courts. This woman I'm worried about? She's a family court lawyer."

  "You're afraid she'll be targeted?" I asked.

  "No, she is being targeted. The damn fool--" He shook his head. "She's put herself right in the middle of this. A lawyer's kid got killed, so he quit his cases. No one would take them except her. Then her dog . . ." He glanced at Scout and Rex and lowered his voice as if they could hear. "Bastard killed her dog and put a bomb in her car. Pretty soon her boyfriend--asshole coward--lit out, deciding he wasn't taking the risk. So she's lost her dog, her boyfriend, nearly lost her life, and you think she'll give up those cases? Fuck no."