Sure, it’s a little screwy, but I’d really like to keep it for a while longer. Going in there, after the last time, doesn’t seem the best way to prolong my term on this earth.”

He opened the car door. I didn’t move.

“You trust me?” he asked.

“Sure, but—”

“Then get out. I’m going to fix this.”

“That fix doesn’t involve prematurely ending the life of a Mafia don’s brother, does it?”

A look. That’s all he gave me. Just a look.

I threw up my hands. “Well, I had to ask. The last time I had a run-in with Little Joe, it ended with body disposal, and I like to be prepared.”

He headed for the home.

There were three people at the front desk—a nurse, a receptionist and a young man who looked like an orderly. They were so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t notice us come in.

“—think he’ll do it?” the receptionist was saying.

“Of course he will. He has to. Otherwise, no one will take him seriously.” The orderly glanced at the wall clock. “Right now, someone, somewhere is enjoying the last few minutes of their life.”

“Someone, somewhere is always enjoying the last few minutes of their life,” the nurse snapped. “Hundreds of people will die in the next ten minutes, and if we start panicking over that one, we’re giving him exactly what he wants.”

The Helter Skelter killer. What else would they be talking about as the clock hands hit noon, reminding me that no matter how close we got, it would be too late for at least one person.

My throat tightened, breath catching, as if the oxygen content in the room had plummeted. Jack’s hand tightened on my elbow.

“We’re here to see Joe Nikolaev,” he said with a standard midwestern accent.

The receptionist and the orderly both glared at him for disrupting their death watch. As the nurse turned off the radio, the orderly looked from Jack to me, then scurried off, probably to find another radio. Jack’s gaze followed him.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said. “I’m afraid Mr. Nikolaev is no longer with us.”

“No longer—?” I began. “Oh—oh, geez. We hadn’t heard. When did it happen?”

The receptionist sputtered a laugh, covering her mouth as she did.

The nurse glared at her, then turned a wry smile on us. “I’m sorry. We need to be careful what we say in this business, don’t we? I meant he’s not here anymore—at the home. His family took him out yesterday.” She lowered her voice. “He didn’t seem too happy about it.”

“Caused a real uproar,” the receptionist muttered.

“Transition can be difficult at that age,” the nurse said. “I’m sure Joseph will adjust.”

That hitman Joe sent after me had said Boris Nikolaev had had enough of his brother’s screw-ups, the same thing Evelyn had heard. If Boris had found out about Joe’s slip of the tongue—and the failed hit—well, then the only thing Little Joe would be adjusting to was life at the bottom of a six-foot hole.

“Thank you,” I said. “We’ll try to stop by his brother’s—”

“Toilet,” Jack said.

I glanced at him, brows raised.

He continued. “Before we leave, you needed the toilet. Don’t forget, because we have a long drive.” He turned to the nurse. “Is there one she can…?”

“Right down this hall. Third door on the right.”

Jack put his hand against my back. “I should use it, too.”

When we were out of earshot, I whispered, “I’m assuming you want to search his room. Do you know which it is?”

He tugged a tissue from his pocket and used it to open the bathroom door, then peeked inside. “Go in. Open the window. Then cough.”

“Cough?”

He propelled me through the doorway. “Glove up. And don’t lock.”

The door closed. I looked at the lace-curtained window. Better follow instructions, and get the explanation later—if he cared to give it.

I snapped on latex gloves and cracked open the window. On the other side was a screen. I suspected bathroom air quality wasn’t the reason he wanted this open, so I lifted the sash as far as it would go, unlatched the screen and pulled it inside. Then I coughed. After a moment’s pause, the door eased open and Jack slid in. I grasped the window edge, preparing to climb out, but he waved me back.

He moved to the window, then crouched to look out under the privacy glass. A sweep of the yard, then he climbed through. I waited for the all-clear and followed.

A fifteen-foot dash to a shed, and we ducked behind it.

“The orderly,” he said.

And that’s all he said, as if