Double Play by Kelley Armstrong Read Free Book Online

silence, waiting for me to break it.
    I checked the phone.
    Nope, gotta do it this way. Just don’t talk out loud. Makes people wonder.
    I smiled and shook my head.
    What doesn’t make sense? The job?
    No, it was exactly the kind of opportunity Quinn would jump at.
    Yep.
    That’s all he’d say, but even in my imagination, I heard more in that word. Enough that it made me stop and think.
    It seemed tailor-made for Quinn, didn’t it?
    Yep.
    And what about the airline ticket? I can’t say Quinn would never pull a stunt like that . . .
    Jack snorted.
    Yes, he might. But there was no reason to do it
now
. He didn’t know Jack was away. I hadn’t hinted we were having problems.
    Yeah. Why now? No point.
    If Quinn hadn’t bought that ticket, who had? The obvious answer? The people who’d “discovered” it. Contrapasso.
    According to them, Quinn had been wearing a GPS tracker that his attackers somehow found and disabled the moment they grabbed him.
    Either way, suggests one thing.
    That if that tracker really had been disabled, whoever took him knew it would be there.
    My cousin’s killer had turned out to be the lawyer who helped get a “not guilty” verdict for her alleged killer. A lawyer who’d turned his attention to activism, which got him recruited by none other than the Contrapasso Fellowship. He turned out to be only one of a handful of rotten apples. One of his confederates who’d walked away clear of the whole mess? The same guy who came to visit me just before my missed call from Jack. Diaz.

8 - Jack
    Jack stepped off the plane in Baltimore and turned on Cillian’s phone, holding his breath until he confirmed he hadn’t missed any texts or calls. In other words, the goons hadn’t grabbed Nadia yet.
    With some trepidation he switched on his own phone. Part of him wanted to see a message from Nadia. But part of him feared that, too—if she found a way to make contact, it might attract the attention of her pursuers.
    There were no messages from Nadia.
    He did, however, have a voice mail and two texts from Evelyn. Nothing more than, “Call me,” and maybe the frequency of those made it seem urgent, but that was just Evelyn. If she wanted to speak to him, goddamn it, he should be available to speak.
    He sent back, “Busy,” and headed to the car rental area, his carryon slung over his shoulder. His bag held nothing suspicious—he kept his work gear in storage or purchased it on-site.
    He was in the car rental line when Evelyn called. He let it ring three times, enough to earn him, “Aren’t you going to get that?” glares from the others waiting to be served. Then he answered, grunting a hello.
    “Good to hear you too, Jack-o.”
    “Busy.”
    “Yes, I got the message. Minimalist, even for you. I know you’re working, but I want to talk to you about Dee.”
    He stiffened. Before he could speak, Evelyn said, “I’m concerned about her going after Quinn. I understand she’s worried but—”
    “Fuck this phone.”
    “What—?”
    “Damn tech. Never fucking works. You still there?”
    “Yes, I’m right—”
    “Hello?”
    “I said—”
    “Can’t hear a fucking thing. Goddamn it. Look, I’m busy, okay? Working. You got a problem with Dee? Call Dee.”
    He hung up. Then he switched his phone off and headed back into the terminal. He found a payphone, turned on his cell, and sent Evelyn the number. It was encrypted, of course. Some code she’d made him memorize years ago. He could still remember bitching about that.
Fucking codes, Evelyn? I’m a hitman, not MI6.
    Like the tech, the codes seemed like overkill and most of the time they
were
. Nadia got a laugh out of hitmen in books and movies—top-notch assassins trained in every imaginable martial art, Olympic-level marksmen who carried the kind of tech found only in sci-fi movies. They could kill anyone, anywhere, and leave no trace.
    The truth was that your average hitman killed by walking up to a target and shooting him. That was