Double Play (7 page)

From what he could pick up, the men were hunting for something or someone, which he’d already guessed. He looked at Evelyn. She knew more Spanish, but she was frowning, head tilted, and he suspected it wasn’t so much a language barrier as the fact she couldn’t hear the voices as well as he could. She was too vain to wear a hearing aid until her doctor recommended one. Which meant she got along fine in day-to-day conversation. But ask her to decipher one a few hundred feet away and she struggled.

Jack hunkered down. Evelyn motioned to say she wanted to get closer. He raised his hand, telling her to hold on. He picked apart the voices and the sounds of movement. Two men talking. What sounded like a third searching without adding to the dialogue.

He lifted three fingers and then pointed in each direction. Moving to the side, he scanned the best view of the playing field. Then he indicated a route they’d take. Evelyn didn’t argue, which was as sure a sign as any that she needed to rely on him to hear from this distance.

Jack aimed for the silent guy first. When he drew close enough, he motioned for Evelyn to continue toward the other two, in hopes she’d overhear their conversation better, though he knew not to say so. Pointing out Evelyn’s weaknesses was like intentionally stepping on a tiger’s tail.

He slipped through the woods until he could see the third man. It was a young guy, maybe mid-twenties. Not Hispanic, which may have explained why he wasn’t joining the conversation—most likely local hired help, not considered a real part of the team. He was clearly hunting for something, doubled over and pulling back shrubs and undergrowth. Paying absolutely no attention to his surrounding. That preoccupation meant Jack could get within ten feet. He lined up his shot and put a bullet through the back of the guy’s head, dropping him to the ground with a thump no louder than the suppressed shot. His two comrades continued talking, oblivious.

Jack pulled brush over the dead man’s head to hide his light hair. As for the guy himself, the only thought Jack spared him was to wonder, for a moment, whether he
ought
to spare him a thought. Whether Nadia would. You couldn’t be a philosopher in this job. Or much of a humanist, for that matter. Only now that he was with Nadia did he pause to contemplate what
she’d
think. Because that was still the only criterion that mattered. Not whether it was right or wrong, but whether it might bother her. This wouldn’t. Yeah, the guy was young, but he wasn’t a child. He knew what he was getting into, and if he didn’t believe it could cost him his life, that was just stupidity. No cure for that.

Jack remembered the first time he’d really understood the risks himself. He’d been sixteen when the group recruited him, and all he’d cared about was showing his brothers he wasn’t a little kid. Second mission, he took out his mark with ease and then realized one of the other recruits had been made. Jack killed the guy who made him, but not before the guy popped off a shot. Wasn’t fatal, and Jack dragged his comrade into an empty building. That’s when his handler came along, decided the guy needed serious medical care and popped him two in the head.

The kid had been six months older than Jack. Signed up because his infant daughter was sick and he needed money for medicine.

“Too fucking bad,” his handler said when Jack protested. “He wanted safe? Shoulda stayed on the farm.”

That was when Jack realized that not only could he die, but if he fucked up, his termination papers would be the permanent variety. And all he’d taken from that lesson? That he had to make himself less disposable. Had to be so fucking good that if he’d been shot, they’d have gotten him to a fucking hospital.

As for the rest? Well, if he wanted safe, he could go back to being a mechanic’s apprentice, making a couple bucks an hour and praying the boss’s rusted hoist didn’t drop a car on him. You make your choices. You live with them. Or die with them.

Jack was on the move again, sliding through the forest as he made his way to Evelyn. When he reached her, she typed out a note for him on her phone to avoid speaking.

They’re looking for something. That’s all I know. Chatter is just macho bullshit about sisters they want to screw. Seems the gals are holding out for wedding rings.

Jack grunted. Picking off one of these two would be tougher, given how much they were talking and how close together they walked. Jack surveyed the situation. Then he took Evelyn’s phone and tapped out his plan. She adjusted it, of course, not because it needed adjusting but because she had to put her fingerprints on it. Jack let her. He didn’t play the pissing game with Evelyn—or with anyone else. No fucking time or energy for that bullshit. As long as the core plan hadn’t changed, she could have her tweaks.

Jack slipped off. He’d take the long route around. The tougher route. The one better suited to the younger guy, which was a bit of a laugh, all things considered but, hell, kinda nice to be “the younger guy” once in a while.

He had to dart across open patches without being seen or heard. He managed it easily enough, and gave Nadia credit for that. In the early days, he’d meet her out in the forest and sneak up on her. He’d pretended, of course, that the subterfuge was accidental—that’s just how he moved. And it was, in a way, but part of it had been a game, too, surprising Nadia in her own element, the forest. Also, yeah, some ego there too. Showing off, though he’d never admit it.

It’d taught him how to move better in the woods, which stood him in good stead now. He was about to cross the last patch of open ground, near what looked like a broken-down hunting blind, when one of the men turned and Jack ducked fast. His hand shot out to steady himself against a tree and it touched something slick. He looked to see blood spray and flecks of a substance that would make most people look closer, wondering what it could be. But no one who made a living shooting people in the head would ever ask that. It was brain matter.

Jack saw the sheer fucking quantity of the shit—on the tree, on the undergrowth. That much didn’t come from a normal bullet to the head. This was from a shotgun.

Shotguns were for thugs who enjoyed their work, liked to make a fucking mess. Jack might not be one to claim he had standards, but using a shotgun was just fucking disrespectful. It didn’t only make a mess—it killed slower and . . .

And Nadia did not use a shotgun.

He grabbed the tree again to keep himself steady because
Nadia did not use a shotgun.
Which meant . . .

It meant nothing. Maybe she took it from the thugs chasing her.

That’s when he saw the body. An outstretched hand on the ground. A man’s hand with a wedding band. His gaze traveled from that wedding band to the perfectly manicured fingernails to the Bulova watch to the suit jacket cuffs.

Jack eased to the side to get a better look. It didn’t help much—the guy had been shot in the face and, fuck yeah, that was just not the way to do it. Really wasn’t. From what Jack could see, the guy seemed Hispanic, but the thug kid Jack shot had been in jeans and a leather jacket. From the glimpses he’d caught of the other two, they were similarly dressed. What was with the suit?

If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say the guy had been shot by the thugs. Nadia wouldn’t do this.

But who the hell would the thugs have shot if not Nadia? The suit screamed “Federal Agent.” Someone from the Marshals office tailing Quinn? Fuck, they really didn’t need that.

Jack continued to close in on his target, pausing only to text Evelyn a warning.

Body. Looks fed. Marshals?

He’d never known Feds to travel solo, and he considered changing his plan in light of that, but the woods were silent. If that was indeed a dead agent, his partner would have been on the phone the moment the shot pellets hit and by now the woods would be crawling with Feds. More likely Jack just had to worry about stumbling over a second agent’s body.

He moved in behind his target and waited for Evelyn’s signal. It came as a shot as the second of the thugs went down and Jack’s target wheeled toward the noise, his gun rising.

“Stop,” Jack said.

The thug, of course, did
not
stop. Not until Jack put a bullet through his knee. He went down screaming, the pain apparently enough to make him temporarily forget he was armed. Jack fixed that by knocking the guy’s gun from his hand. Then he kicked the injured knee, setting the guy both screaming and falling. Another kick convinced him to stay down.

Evelyn showed up a moment later. The guy lifted his head, saw her and seemed to decide that the sight of a little old lady meant he really shouldn’t be giving up so easily. He started to rise. Evelyn shot him in the side.

“By the way,” she said as he writhed in pain. “I didn’t
miss
your heart. That comes next. Unless you tell us what we need to know.”

The thug swore in Spanish. Evelyn waited him out and then replied in the same language. Jack focused on the guy’s body, watching for any sign he was going to bolt and ignoring the urge to try to figure out what they were saying, even when he heard the words for “woman” and “brown hair,” meaning they were talking about Nadia.

He kept his ears attuned to the sounds from the surrounding forest. When he heard a soft groan, it came from his left, past the old hunting blind. The undergrowth rustled. Evelyn didn’t hear it and kept questioning their captive, her voice sharp. Jack motioned that he’d heard someone and backed off in the direction of the noises.

As he approached, the noises stopped. He could make out a figure nestled in a thick patch of undergrowth and bushes. The figure half rose, carefully and quietly, and said, “Stop right there.”

When he heard the voice, he did the exact opposite, jogging forward, his gun lowered.

He could see more of her then—the auburn curls, the heart-shaped face, the stubborn chin, and even if he couldn’t see the rest, his memory imprinted it. Hazel eyes. Freckles over her nose. Thin scar on her neck. And dimples, though she definitely wasn’t smiling.
He
was. He was grinning like an idiot and—

“I said stop,” Nadia said. “One more step, and I’ll—”

“It’s me,” he said. Then added, because it seemed prudent, “Jack.”

He moved around the bushes to see her crouched in the undergrowth, and he wanted to rush forward, drop his gun, scoop her up and hug her, as tight as he could. Like some movie reunion scene. Crush her against him and say,
Thank God. I was so worried.
Instead, his grin fell away and he stood there, awkwardly holding his gun at his side, as he said gruffly, “You okay?”

“I think so.” She started to straighten, swaying, and he could see blood on her arm, which was bound with a makeshift tourniquet. He said, “Slow down,” but she was already up . . . and that sway turned into a topple. He rushed forward, his gun shoved in his pocket as he caught her.

“Or maybe not . . .” she said with a chuckle, and he heard that laugh, as wry as it was, and he gave her that fierce hug he’d imagined, her face against his chest until he heard a stifled hiss of pain and quickly moved back, saying, “Fuck. Sorry. Fuck,” but she drew him into a hug as tight as his own and said, “Thanks for coming,” and he had to chuckle at the way she said it, as if he’d done her a favor, possibly inconveniencing himself in the process.
Hey, thanks for coming by. Sorry about all the trouble.

“Gonna get you—” he began, and then heard Evelyn’s “Goddamn it!” followed by a shot. Nadia grabbed the nearest tree for support and pushed him off, saying, “Go.” He cast a quick glance around, making sure the area was clear. Then he ran back to find Evelyn standing over their hostage, blood pumping from his chest.

“Fuck,” Jack said.

“He’s still alive,” Evelyn said.

Barely. Jack glanced at Evelyn. She didn’t explain what had happened, just kept her gaze on the downed man, and that was all he needed to see. That she wouldn’t meet his eyes. He also noted dirt on her left knee and mentally filled in the rest of the story.

She’d lost control of her captive. Maybe she’d heard Nadia’s voice. Maybe she’d just turned to see where Jack had gone. In years past, that wouldn’t have made a difference. But these days, a quick shove was all it took to put her down. She’d had to shoot fast and blind. Which meant they now had a dying hostage.

“Shit,” a voice said behind him. He turned to see Nadia making her way toward them, moving from tree to tree. He strode over, but she waved him off. “I’ve got it. Just a little woozy. Good thing you guys got here, or I might have staggered right into their path.”

Jack doubted that, but he only said, “Fill me in?” as he walked to the dying man.

11 - Nadia

I watched Jack take control of the hostage as I struggled to keep my brain on track. It was still fuzzy, like I’d woken from a deep sleep. I kept staring at Jack, thinking I was imagining this, I had to be, that I’d fallen unconscious and was dreaming he’d arrived.

He glanced over. I got the message.
Talk
. He had a hostage living on borrowed time.

“Not sure how much you know already,” I said. “Quinn was kidnapped. Diaz came to tell me.”

“Diaz?”

“The Contrapasso guy. Who is . . .” It took a moment for me to remember. Then I turned, seeing an arm on the ground through the trees. “Over there.”

“Fuck,” Jack said. “Turned on you? Or helping you?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I thought the former, but I think it was the latter. He knew something was amiss with Quinn’s disappearance, so he let me take off as bait. That trap caught three guys, who are now dead.”

Jack grunted, as if this didn’t need to be clarified—of course they’d be dead if they came after me.

“Hispanic?” he said.

I nodded. “But I’m not sure if that’s significant.”

“Yeah. It is.” Jack kicked the man on the ground. “Isn’t it?”

The guy only groaned.

Jack hunkered down. “You want us to help you?”

The guy nodded. I started toward him. Jack saw that and said, “Evelyn?”

It took a moment before she blinked and then patted the guy down and removed his weapons, which was indeed what I’d been going to do. The fact that Jack had to prod her meant she wasn’t quite herself either. Evelyn rarely ventured into the field these days and she says that’s because she’s retired, which is true, but I’m sure she also doesn’t appreciate any reminder of her age. She must have been holding the hostage when she’d been forced to shoot him, which had thrown her off her game.

I watched that pat-down carefully, in case she was too distracted to do it right. She wasn’t, of course. She removed a knife, gun, wallet, cell phone and then did a second pat before backing away.

“You want help,” Jack said. “We want answers. Which cartel?”

The man said nothing.

“Let’s try that with more words,” Evelyn said. “Which cartel do you work for?” When he still said nothing, she switched to Spanish. Jack gave him about two seconds to reply before a kick had the guy whimpering in pain.

“I—I do not know,” the man said, his voice halting and heavily accented. “I was hired. Me and my . . .” He weakly turned his head. “My brother. He is dead?”

I would have pretended that his brother may have survived his injuries, but Jack said, “Yeah. So you were hired. By who?”

“I do not know. They went through my brother. He took the orders. Go there. Do this. Come here. Do that.” The man let out a slow hiss. “I need help. Now. Or I will—”

“Help’s coming,” Jack said. “They told you to come here. And do what?”

“Find the woman. Others had followed her. They did not report back, and so we were to come and see what had happened. See if she was still here.” He glanced my way and his eyes narrowed as he said, “She was,” as if I’d caused his brother’s death by not jumping up sooner to announce my presence.

“They’re holding someone else hostage,” I said. “A man. He’s around my age, about six-two, big guy.” I didn’t add more, not knowing what disguise Quinn might have been wearing. “Do you know anything about that?”

Jack’s hands flexed on his gun. He eased back, just a half inch, but I got the message. He didn’t really care where they were holding Quinn. Well, yes, he’d have gotten to that part eventually, but right now, knowing what these guys had in store for me was more important to him. I understood that. I appreciated that. But I wasn’t in danger right now. Quinn was.

“Answer,” Jack said, in a quasi-reluctant growl when the guy glanced up, as if checking for the go-ahead to respond, because, you know, it was just the chick asking, so it probably wasn’t important.

“He is in a building,” the man said.

“Really?” Evelyn said. “I thought they’d hold him hostage in the middle of the damned highway. Do better.”

Again, he glanced at Jack, ignoring the fact that the old lady asking was the one who’d shot him in the chest.

“He is alive,” the man said. “I had to take him food. He did not eat. He talked to me.
En Español.
My brother heard and he was angry, said the man was trying to get information about our employer, but he was not. He only talked, asking about me.”

Getting to know the low man on the totem pole. Forming a relationship. Which meant Quinn was fine, just sitting tight and trying to figure a way out. Exactly as I’d expect.

The man grimaced. “I really need—”

“It’s coming,” Jack said. “This building. Where is it?”

The guy didn’t know—they’d been taken to and from it in the back of a van. They really were only hired muscle. Jack did manage to get details about the building and the immediate vicinity. That was as far as he got before the guy started going into shock and when he did speak, it was incoherent babble about his mother and his brother and his girlfriend.

“Dee?” Jack said. “Can you head out? See if any help’s arrived?”

Evelyn frowned, not comprehending. I nodded and turned away. I’d gone about a half-dozen steps when a suppressed shot fired behind me. One through the side of the head. An instant kill.

Jack didn’t send me away so the guy would think I was bringing help. I’m sure the guy had thought I was, which was good—one last moment of hope before everything went dark.

Having me turn away was partly Jack saying, “I don’t want you to watch me do this.” But it was also, by projection, “I’d rather not do this.” He couldn’t turn away, so he asked me to. Jack didn’t promise the guy would be fine. He didn’t promise we’d save him. He said he’d help. Which he had—in the only way he could, by administering a merciful and quick death.

When the shot came, I turned back quickly, because hesitating would say that I needed a moment to collect myself and slap on an “it’s okay” face. I didn’t. I said, “We should get going. They’ll send more as soon as these guys don’t call in.”

Jack nodded. Then he looked around, saying, “The other guys . . .”

“I’ve cleaned them out.”

Another nod. “Good.” He walked over and put his arm around my waist, supporting me. I said, “I’m fine,” but he said, “Humor me,” so I did, leaning on him.

As I turned, I caught a blur in the forest. Jack did too, at the same moment, his hand going to my back, shoving me down. I stumbled, caught off guard, but his mouth opened in an oath, and there was a near-comical moment of Jack trying to steady me and then remembering why he’d pushed me down and mouthing another “Fuck!” By that time, I was already halfway to the ground of my own accord—and yanking the leg of his jeans to get him down beside me.

That’s when I remembered Evelyn, who could not drop nearly so easily. I saw she’d swung against a tree, her gun out. I looked at Jack. He nodded, saying she was fine. Through the trees we could make out two men heading toward us. Two men in suits.

I whispered “Contrapasso,” to Jack, who nodded. Like the cartel thugs, when Diaz didn’t check in, his boss would have sent reinforcements to his last known location.

The two men continued forward, guns leveled in our general direction, but well over our heads. They’d seen or heard something but been too far out to actually spot us.

“Stop,” Jack said.

The man in the lead slowed, his head tilting as if not sure he’d actually heard a spoken word, which is one problem with Jack being so terse.

“Stop right there,” I said.

“Dee?”

“Identify yourself, please.”

Jack’s lips twitched at the
please
.

“There are three guns trained on two of you,” I said when the man didn’t respond. “There are also seven bodies on the ground around you, which means we’re a little tired of being chased and ambushed. Two more won’t matter, but if you are who I think you are, I’m not eager to add yours to the count.”

“Haskell,” the first man said. “Contrapasso. We’re here for Agent Diaz. We know he tailed you to this location, and he’d damned well better not be one of those seven bodies.”

“He is,” I said. “I’m sorry. I came in here to avoid being run off the road. Two guys pursued. Diaz followed them. We took out the pair, but apparently there was a third party we hadn’t seen. He got Diaz. I finished him. Then three more came looking for me. And I’m going to guess they won’t be the last, so if you two will drop your weapons and raise your hands . . .”

Haskell snorted. “Not a chance. You’ve accounted for the seven bodies, but not the two other guns you say are trained on us.”

“That’d be me,” Jack said.

“And you are . . .?”

“Take a fucking guess.”

Haskell’s partner eased to the side, trying to get cover as he moved slowly.

“Jack,” Haskell said. “Diaz’s report said you were abroad.”

“I’m back.”

“Conveniently.”

“Meaning?” Jack said.

“Quinn disappears with clues leading us to Dee, who jumps at the chance to come find him. And then you suddenly reappear.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We kidnapped Quinn. Then came to rescue him. Got bored. Needed action. Can’t find it? Make my own.”

“If you’re suggesting you two lack motivation for kidnapping Quinn—”

Jack cut him off with a snort.

“Diaz told me Contrapasso suspected me,” I said. “But unless there’s some motive I can’t see, Jack’s right—it makes absolutely no sense for us to take Quinn and even less to come hunting for him if we did.”

“We don’t know what your game is, but there’s obviously a game.”

“Obviously,” Jack said.

Haskell’s face mottled. “Just because we can’t see your motivation—”

“Not the point. You don’t know
exactly
why? Fine. But no fucking
clue
?” Jack shook his head.

“We have ideas.”

“Name one.”

Haskell started to bluster. No one paid him any attention, because we were watching his partner creep around the side. Not watching him directly, of course, but aware of him. Waiting while Haskell thought he had us distracted.

I considered the options, relying on what I knew of Contrapasso. Then I walked to Evelyn, leaving Jack on his own. Sure enough, the partner headed to Jack. A thug would grab the old lady mentor or the girlfriend and use us to threaten Jack. Whatever Contrapasso’s faults, they weren’t going to even pretend they’d hurt Evelyn or me. And they were bright enough to go straight for the biggest threat.

Jack pretended not to notice and kept goading Haskell. I feigned boredom with the proceedings—a pissing match between alpha males—and started whispering to Evelyn, asking her when they’d arrived, how they’d found me. Pointless crap that did have a point, in that it gave Haskell’s partner the confidence he needed to get right up behind Jack.

Jack’s gaze flicked my way. I hesitated. I thought I knew what he meant. But I wasn’t entirely sure he’d put that much faith in me until—

The partner took two final steps, bringing him right up behind Jack.

I spun, gun up, snarling, “Stop!” It startled the guy enough that he did exactly that, as Jack wheeled and slammed his fist into the guy’s gun arm, knocking the weapon to the ground. I was there in a few running paces, kicking the gun away. The guy danced back as he went for a secondary weapon.

I was already turning on Haskell, who’d been caught off guard. Evelyn turned, too, and stumbled, dropping again to one knee. I started after her, but Haskell was faster. He lunged after the easy hostage . . . and found himself with a gun pointed at his groin as Evelyn recovered from the pratfall.

“Drop it,” she said.

He hesitated. She fired a shot between his legs. He lowered his weapon.

“Drop the gun and put your hands behind your back.”

He did. In the meantime, Jack had the partner down and was relieving him of his weapons and cell phone as I stood guard.

Once they’d patted down the two and eased back, I said, “We have no reason to take Quinn, and Quinn has no reason to fake being taken. You seem to think we lured Contrapasso in, but that’s just paranoid bullshit. Diaz knew it. He still did as he was told, testing me. I passed. While he’s not alive to confirm that, unfortunately, the battleground should speak for itself. Unless you guys are hooking up with cartels, we’re both caught in a trap. I have no idea what the purpose of that trap is . . .”

I trailed off as I saw Jack’s expression. I turned to him. “You do.”

“Yeah. Hiring me.”

“Kidnapping Quinn is about hiring you?”

“Daisy chain,” he said. “Take Quinn. Lure you. Take you. Get me.”

“Grab Quinn to lure me away from home and then take me hostage to convince you to do a job. Cartel work, I’m guessing. Because you don’t take those jobs.”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t that a little complicated?” Haskell said.

“Not if you want Jack badly enough,” Evelyn said. “Obviously it’s a big job. Important enough to go through the hassle.”

“Political?” I said.

“That’s our guess,” she said.

I turned to Haskell. “The fact it seems so damned complicated should suggest it’s true. We’d make up something a lot simpler. And if you know anything about Jack’s work history, you know that’s not his line of work—cartel or political assassinations. Meaning he’d need a very big carrot to do it. But you two are just Contrapasso lackeys, so since we have some idea what’s going on here, we’re going to leapfrog over your heads.”

Evelyn took out Haskell’s cell phone. I reached for it, but she pretended not to notice and placed the call herself. She did have more contact with them, and where I’d have dialed a number in Haskell’s recent call list, she dialed one from memory.

“Edgar?” she said. “Evelyn. I’m with Dee and Jack. I’m sure you know what’s going on, so I’ll skip to the update. Diaz is dead at the hands of the people who took Quinn. We have Haskell and his partner. If you want them back, you’ll give us everything you know about Quinn’s kidnapping, and then back the fuck off before you lose more agents. Understood?”

She listened for a few moments and then said, “You do that. We’ll call in two hours for an exchange: your agents for your intel.”