Double Play

by Kelley Armstrong

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 Espanol. 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."
<
br />   "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.