Double Play Read Free Page A

Jack’s radar. And if that wasn’t the case, then showing up here is the best way to get your help. You know him better than we do. You know how his mind works.”
    And it’d be much harder for me to refuse in person. Which only proved Diaz didn’t know how
my
mind worked either. A phone call would have put me on this trail. Whatever problems Quinn and I had, I wouldn’t have considered sitting on my ass and letting Contrapasso investigate on their own.
    “When will the Marshals’ office realize he’s missing?” I asked.
    “He’s supposed to be back at work Tuesday. We can extend his absence with a falsified call, but I’d rather not.”
    “So we have about sixty hours before they realize something’s wrong. The problem is that it’s Sunday and I have commitments here. I can conduct research today, but I can’t get away until tonight.”
    “Understood. I’ll get started and meet you in Virginia tomorrow morning.”

4 - Jack
    First thing Monday morning, Jack was back on the roof. Smoking this time. Not just a cigarette to settle his nerves. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed that. Work didn’t cause him stress. Life did. Work was simple. Life was not.
    But today? Today the two melded, and he was already on his third cigarette. Which was a fucking bad sign. He wasn’t overly concerned about his aborted call to Nadia. If anything really bothered him about that, it was the fact he’d spent far too much time yesterday coming up with ways to guarantee daily contact, like a second phone or a backup time to call. That was pure selfishness. He had to stick to the plan because a plan is safe. It wasn’t a concept he’d ever struggled with before.
    He tapped his cigarette on the ventilation shaft and looked down at the cafe. Ten minutes to go. Two hours until he could call Nadia again. It wasn’t just about talking to her, however much he liked that. It was about stilling his anxiety better than nicotine could.
    It’d been nearly thirty years since he’d spoken to Cillian. Cillian had been a mentor in those days. He’d helped Jack get out of Ireland and set him up with his first jobs. Which meant Jack owed him. Half a lifetime later, Cillian was coming to collect.
    As for what he’d ask Jack to do? That was the real reason for the chain smoking.
    Cillian knew Jack from the time when he’d pull a hit for any reason—when he didn’t even
need
a reason. As long as it wasn’t a family or a kid or an innocent bystander, he didn’t give a shit why someone wanted his mark dead. He’d worked fueled by the rage of a twenty-year-old kid who’d gotten his family killed and blamed everyone else, hated the world, but deep down only blamed himself, only hated himself. All the bullets in the world couldn’t fix that shit, not unless the barrel was aimed at his own head.
    That blind rage had passed. He’d grown up. Calmed down. Within a few years, he’d started needing a reason. But that was a matter of self-protection. He wasn’t going to off witnesses for a cartel—that shit comes back on you. Kill a guy’s business partner to give him control of the company? No problem. Then he met Nadia, and began scrubbing his client list until, while it might not be up to her standards, he wasn’t worried about her scrubbing
him
from
her
contact list.
    And now . . .
    Fuck.
    He stubbed out the cigarette and pocketed the butt. This was stupid—worrying about possibilities before he even talked to Cillian. Part of being a pro meant mapping out every contingency and planning a response. Great for the job; bullshit for real life.
    While he didn’t tell Nadia about his job—she was always safer not knowing—she’d be okay with it. He refused to pull any hit he wouldn’t want her finding out about. That vow stood. Even for Cillian.
    Fuck, Cillian. Know I owe you. And I do. But I’m getting out. Retiring. Can’t do that kinda shit. Too dangerous. Still owe you. But not that.
    Then he’d walk away. Because