Double Play (10 page)

14 - Jack

Jack was supposed to meet Cillian’s “fixer” in a motel, not unlike the first place he’d rented earlier in the day. The only difference was that this place was closed—permanently, it seemed. In an apparent burst of optimism the For Sale sign had recently been replaced, but that was as far as it’d gone, the owners not even bothering to weed the parking lot.

He’d spent the last twenty minutes scoping out the situation. His options were limited. Extremely limited. The motel might be deserted, but it sat on acres of empty land, leaving no way to sneak up.

He’d spent the drive here weighing all the possibilities for what was really going on. As soon as he saw this motel setup, he knew the answer. And maybe, just maybe, he’d always known. Just hadn’t wanted to believe it. He could play the hardened criminal, and ninety percent of it wasn’t an act. But ten was. Maybe even closer to twenty. That’s the part Nadia saw, the part that allowed him into her life, even as he told himself he had no fucking idea why she’d do that.

That part of him had not wanted this outcome. Suspected it and feared it.

But just because he hadn’t wanted it to turn out this way didn’t mean he hadn’t considered it. Didn’t mean, either, that he hadn’t mentioned the possibility to Nadia while they’d been lying in bed. Now, while there was still a chance he was wrong, he prepared as if he wasn’t. Then he walked to Room 7, as per instructions, and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice said, deep, with an American accent.

Jack pushed open the door. The room was dark, blinds drawn.

“Keep the lights off,” the voice said. “Step in, shut the door and then move away from it.”

Jack did.

“Turn around. Take out your phone and weapons, and push them back behind you. Then put your hands up.”

Jack set down his holstered weapon and his ankle gun, along with his knife and cell phone.

“All your weapons.”

Another gun, from inside the waistband of his jeans.

“If I have to ask again—”

He took a knife from his other ankle.

“Fucking arsenal,” the man said with a snort. “You got an AK-47 somewhere, too?”

“Wouldn’t fit.”

Another snort. The man patted Jack down. Then he backed away and turned on a lamp. When he said, “You can turn around now,” the voice and the accent had changed, and Jack had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to expect this. So he feigned shock, tensing, and then turned slowly—as if uncertainly—and when he saw Cillian standing there, he said, “Fuck,” with the right degree of muted shock and consternation, and a shake of his head.

“I came to help you,” Cillian said, his voice rising, eyes rounding. “Honestly. I was so upset about everything that happened that I hopped on a plane and flew here to make it right. Because I want to make it right. For you, Jack.”

Cillian gave an ugly laugh and slouched into a chair. “You never did grow into that ego, did you, Jack? Or should I say your brains never quite caught up to it. Did you really think I’d fallen that far? Gotten that goddamned stupid?”

Jack wisely didn’t answer that. The truth was that Cillian had never been particularly bright, having only that feral kind of criminal intelligence they called street smarts.

As for thinking Cillian had fallen so far? No, Jack hadn’t realized how far Cillian
had
fallen from the man he’d been. Not until he saw the proof of it here. If there was one thing Cillian had prided himself on in the old days, it was loyalty. Playing fair. That’s where Jack got it from. The one part of his career that came from Cillian. The one truly good part.

Except, when forced to face this possibility earlier, he’d dug deeper into those memories. Dug past the rose-colored tinge of nostalgia to the truth. Which was that, in Cillian, Jack had seen the veneer of honor, of loyalty. A man who’d worn those traits like platform disco shoes, to lift him above the crowd and flash at every opportunity the message, “I’m a fair man. A reasonable man. Not like those dirtbags.”

Cillian had wooed Jack with those fancy shoes, the perfect enticement for a bitter young man who felt his only place in the world was at the business end of a gun, but who still held onto something that hoped he could find more in such a future. That he could be, like Cillian, fair and loyal. Then he’d caught Cillian shortchanging him on jobs and lying to him about targets. That’s when Jack got out. He’d squared up, thanked Cillian and caught the next boat for America. And this was what Cillian had really taught him—if you’re going to don those shoes, own them . . . and maybe tone down the glitter, just a little.

“Come on, Jack,” Cillian said. “I know you don’t talk much. Better to keep your mouth shut and thought a fool than open it and remove all doubt.” He snickered. “But you must have something to say to me now.”

“What’s the game?”

Cillian blinked, clearly expecting outrage or at least a muttered curse. Then he forced another chuckle. “What? You didn’t figure it out? Surprise, surprise.”

Actually, Jack had. The main thrust of it, at least. But he said nothing.

Cillian reached over and opened a laptop on the nightstand. On the screen was a grainy surveillance camera video of Quinn, on his feet, clutching something silver as he looked around.

“Huh, sounds like the Boy Scout has heard something. You don’t know what that could be, do you, Jack?” Cillian flipped to a still photo time-stamped twenty minutes ago. Nadia creeping down a semi-dark hallway.

“Seems she found him,” Cillian said. “Excellent detective work. Excellent timing on my part, too. Having a very expensive pair of eyes in that idiot Contrapasso group helped. It still took some serious coordination, let me tell you. Of course, I had backup plans in case you hadn’t found the location or decided not to head there.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “You’re proud of yourself. I get it. Move on.”

Cillian’s face mottled. “Do you know how fucking hard this was, staying one step ahead of you when you kept screwing everything up?”

Couldn’t be too hard, given how
stupid
Jack was. He didn’t say that. Wasn’t even tempted. He might not be a genius, but he seemed like one compared to Cillian.

“Oh, look,” Cillian said. “The Boy Scout is pretending to be asleep. Those footsteps must be getting closer.”

Jack pushed back the panic with a reminder that Nadia would be prepared for this. When Cillian gave the signal, his thugs would swoop in to grab Nadia, but she’d be ready. Evelyn would be ready. Hell, with Nadia this close to Quinn, she could get his door open and hand him a gun, and between the three of them, they’d be fine. Not that Jack intended to let that happen. Keep Cillian talking. Get the whole plan. Then sound the alarm, warn Nadia and end this.

“You seem very calm,” Cillian said. “Not so worried about your girl after all? Personally, I’d agree. She’s a looker, but I’d worry she’s a little
too
interested in freeing that young, burly Boy Scout.”

Jack said nothing.

Cillian looked at him and shook his head. “No fool like an old fool. You didn’t used to fall for the ladies, Jack.”

“You want a job. A big one.”

“Is that what you think this is about? A job? You already owe me one. So why the hell would I—?”

“A bigger one. Too big for your chit.”

“Nothing should be too big for my chit, Jack,” Cillian said, eyes narrowing. “You cannot repay what you owe me. I
made
you. Everything you are now started with me.”

“Nah. You helped. But it started with—”

“They only put your feet on the road. Made you a killer. I made you a
hitman
. A
professional
. And how did you repay me? Fucked off to America. I told myself it was temporary. You’d come crawling back. But you didn’t. You stayed there and found yourself a new mentor. A woman. Do you have any idea how much shit I had to put up with for that? My prize student dumps me for a skirt?”

“Wasn’t like that. Moved on. New country. New contacts.”

“You owed me, Jack. Everything you are—”

“I paid you back. Before I left. Even you agreed I had. Walked away with an even score.”

“I agreed that we were settled temporarily. And then I spent ten fucking years expecting you to come back. Watching your star rise and telling myself you were just busy, making a name for yourself, and you’d come back and work for me. Repay your debt. But you didn’t.”

Jack struggled to drum up some sympathy. Maybe even a little guilt. But for once, he couldn’t find it. Cillian didn’t look like a man who’d been cheated; he looked like a scorned lover. The idiot who keeps waiting, telling himself she’ll come back, even after she’s cleaned out her closet, settled their bills and walked away with a handshake. It had been a clean parting. Jack had no doubt of that. Even that chit was a favor; more a thank-you than an obligation.

But if this wasn’t about a job . . .

Scorned lover.

Jack wheeled toward the laptop. On the screen, Quinn was rising. He said something to someone off screen, relaxed as he talked.

“Your girlfriend has arrived,” Cillian said. “Maybe she’ll do more than rescue him. Maybe in the heat of the moment they’ll be unable to resist doing more than exchanging a hug.”

Jack looked at Cillian.

Cillian laughed. “Do you really think I brought you here in hopes you’ll have to watch your girl screw another guy? I owe you more than that, Jack. So much more. You’re going to watch her rescue him. All she needs to do is open the door . . . rigged with C4. That, Jack, is how I’ll repay you.”

Cillian pulled out his gun and backed up, ready for attack.

“Okay,” Jack said.

Cillian stopped moving. “If you’re calling my bluff—”

“No.”

“There’s no negotiating here, Jack. I can’t stop that explosion. The minute she opens the door—”

“Got it. You’re gonna kill her. You win.” Jack sat on the edge of the bed and checked his watch. “Shouldn’t be long. Then I can go, right?”

Cillian blinked.

Jack continued. “You got your revenge. I liked her. Gonna feel bad. There. You win.”

Jack turned to the laptop and checked his watch again. Quinn was almost out of sight now, only his back visible as he presumably talked to Nadia through the wall. Jack resisted the urge to check his watch again—and resend the double-push that transmitted an urgent message to Evelyn, the one that said, “Stand down
now
!” He’d done it twice already. By now she’d have told Nadia, and that was undoubtedly what she was discussing with Quinn—Nadia saying she had to leave but she’d come back.

Unless she decided she could free him first.

Jack double-tapped the watch again, just in case. Still, he trusted Nadia. As tempting as it would be to find and open that door, if he’d sent the double-tap, she’d know it meant get out immediately.

Quinn started backing up. Nadia was leaving.

Good. Perfect. Now just—

“You want me to hurry this along, Jack?” Cillian said. “You got places to go?”

“Nah. Nothing like that.” He looked over. “You said no negotiating. You sure? You could send a guy in. Stop her from opening the door.”

Cillian smiled. “A little more concerned than you want to let on?”

Jack shrugged. “I like her. A lot. Yeah. If we can figure out something—”

“You want to negotiate, Jack?”

“Yeah, I do.” Jack stood. “Tell me what you want.”

Cillian took a cell phone from his pocket. “I want you to suffer, you arrogant son of a bitch. No negotiations. No more waiting, either.”

Cillian raised the phone and Jack knew that was the detonator. He lunged. He didn’t care about the gun pointed at him. He flew at Cillian and knocked the detonator from his hand. The gun fired. The bullet went offside. Jack wrested the gun away and pointed it at Cillian’s forehead. Cillian smiled. Just smiled, and as Jack saw that smile, his gut went cold. He glanced over his shoulder at the laptop and on the screen, he saw only the fuzzy gray-white blur of a lost signal.

15 - Nadia

As soon as I saw the C4 rigged over the door, I took a slow step back.

“Yep,” Quinn said with a wry smile. “This is not the place you want to be right now.”

I didn’t ask if he could defuse it. If he could, he would have. Neither of us had ever used bombs. Nor had Evelyn or Jack, so there was no use contacting them.

“I’m going to get help,” I said.

“If you can, yeah. If you can’t . . .” He shrugged. “I’m the idiot who stepped into a trap.”

“I’m
going
to get help.”

The smile returned, still crooked, but his eyes lighting with it as he stepped toward the hole. “Thank you. For trying. I know I’ve been a bit of an ass. Okay, more than a bit. I’m having a hard time with . . . If it was anyone else . . .” He straightened. “The point is that I appreciate that you haven’t cut me loose. I’ve given you plenty of reason. Coming after me like this? Honestly, I wouldn’t have expected it.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, someone may have told me that before. But I do appreciate it. Whatever happens. And if something does happen, I just want to say—”

“Dee!” Evelyn said through the earpiece, loud enough that Quinn must have caught the buzz of it and stopped. “Out now!”

“I—”

“No.
Now
. Jack wants you out.”

“There’s C4 rigged—”

“And that’d probably be the reason.”

I turned to Quinn. “You need to take cover.” I looked around the room, thinking how pointless that was.

“Got it,” he said. “Now go.”

“You—”

“
Go
, Nadia.”

He reached through the hole to give me a shove. I caught his hand and squeezed it.

“Dee!” Evelyn said. “Tell me you’re running your ass off right now. Jack just sent a third—”

“Gone,” I said, gave Quinn’s hand one last squeeze and then turned and ran. I made it to the end of the hall when Quinn shouted, “Nadia! Down!” and I dove, hitting the floor as the building exploded.

16 - Jack

The car didn’t go fast enough. It just didn’t. Jack flattened the pedal, not giving a shit if he brought a squadron of police cars in his wake. He didn’t see any until he reached the scene—police, ambulances, fire trucks, all pulling up in front of the building.

When he first spotted the building, there was a moment when he thought Cillian had tricked him. That Jack had seen some prerecorded image. Because despite the emergency vehicles, the building seemed fine.

The building was not fine.

It might not be a pile of dusty rubble, but it was as if someone carved out the middle, the remaining outer walls tottering around nothing.

He’d lost contact with Evelyn after the explosion. He didn’t want to think what that meant. As he roared up, though, he saw her, stepping from behind a vehicle to flag him down.

She waved him to a spot around the corner, away from the knot of first responders. As he flew out of the car, he could see she was covered in dust and hobbling. Blood dripped from a cut on her cheek.

“You okay?”

“A fucking building didn’t fall on me, Jack. Right now, that means I’m fine.”

He started toward the building. She caught his arm. He tried to shake her off, but she said, “No, Jack. You go that way and they’ll stop you, and then you’ll pull your damned gun and this will turn into an even bigger cluster-fuck. Come around back. They’ve got the scene cordoned off, but there’s more chaos there. We can get through.”

As she led him, he said, “Have you heard—?”

“I would have told you if I had. But that only means the explosion knocked out the damn signal.”

He’d keep telling himself that was all it meant.

“Here.” Evelyn gestured to a gaping hole in the side of the building. “No one’s gone in yet. Those walls aren’t going to hold and they’re already dealing with the two guys they found on the first floor. They’ll need more equipment before they go searching for more survivors.”

Jack nodded and picked his way through the rubble toward the opening.

“If they do go in, I’ll tell them she’s trapped,” she said. “To hell with what happens after that.”

Jack nodded again and looked around, trying not to assess the damage. Just find a path down to the basement.

The basement. Under a building’s worth of rubble, because it had collapsed and she was down there and he’d been chatting up Cillian, so fucking confident—

“Jack,” Evelyn said.

When he only nodded, she gripped his arm, tight. “Keep it together, Jack.”

Another nod.

“I was just saying that if I can get them to search, I will, screw the consequences. I know that’s what you want.”

He started for the nearest hole. Then he stopped and said a gruff, “Thanks. I—”

“Just get down there before someone sees you.”

The building hadn’t entirely collapsed. That’s what he kept telling himself as he pushed through the rubble. The walls still stood. Most of the building still stood. Whatever Cillian had planned, it hadn’t quite worked as he’d intended.

Fucking shock of the century.

When I find her, I’ll make him—

Forget that.

No, don’t forget the first part.
When I find her
. Not if. He would, and then he’d take care of Cillian, whom he’d left in the motel room.

Never in his life had it been more difficult
not
to kill someone, not to put as many bullets in him as he could. A blinding moment of rage, unlike anything since that moment he’d walked into his house thirty years ago and found his family. He’d always thought that if one of their killers had been there, he’d have emptied his gun in him. But he hadn’t with Cillian. He couldn’t afford the delay. And he wasn’t giving that bastard such an easy way out.

Jack heard knocking. Someone hitting a pipe. He exhaled, seemingly for the first time since Cillian hit the detonator.

He made his way toward the sound. That wasn’t easy. He had to crawl through impossibly small spaces. He fit, though. He made himself fit. Finally, he could see a jean-clad leg ahead. A leg pinned under a slab of concrete. He crawled through the wreckage until—

“Quinn,” he said. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, not who you’re looking for.” Quinn twisted, grimacing as he tried to lift the slab on his leg. “Go on. Find her. Just tell someone I’m here.”

Jack almost did exactly that. Then he heard a creak and looked up to see a section of the wall teetering over Quinn.

“Fuck,” Jack said.

Quinn looked up. “Well, that would solve one of your problems, huh?”

Jack crawled through and grabbed the chunk pinning Quinn’s leg. “On three.”

Quinn helped lift, but the slab barely moved.

“Go on,” Quinn said.

Jack surveyed the concrete and the surrounding debris.

“Just go, Jack. I take back the smart-ass comment about solving a problem. You tried to rescue me, I appreciate that. Now go find her.”

“You’re not my problem,” Jack said as he moved aside rubble. “You’re hers. She’s trying to stay friends. You say you want to?” He shoved a steel rod under the slab. “Don’t act like it. Act like a sore fucking loser.”

“Thanks, Jack. That’s really what I need—”

“You want to be her friend? Get your shit together. Otherwise? Get the fuck away. Only making her feel bad.” He looked at Quinn. “And
that’s
my problem.”

He finished wedging in the rod and said again, “On three.”

This time it worked. They got the slab shifted up enough for Quinn to wriggle his leg out. When he did, Jack said, “Broken?”

“Doesn’t seem to—”

“Good. Then help me find her.”