Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

"What'd she ask for?"

I shook my head. "We settled on cash. She suggested I couldn't afford it. I said I would. But the point is, Jack, that I absolutely cannot afford to add to that bill... and I don't just mean the monetary value. If I agree after I've said I won't take anything more from her, then it's right back to the scenario I mentioned yesterday. There's no sense claiming I won't take anything from her, because she knows I will and it's just a matter of price."

"She found Honcho. She contacted him. She accepted the offer. All she's gotta do now? Give you the time and place. Already has that. Might say she doesn't - "

"Which puts me right back where I started, Jack. She'll keep playing her game and I'll keep buying in."

"Not you. Me. From now on? She talks to me."

I rubbed my legs, trying to work the frustration from my voice. "Which again, Jack, plays into her hands. You heard her in there, jabbing me because I have you and Quinn helping out. The poor little damsel in distress. The chick who thinks she's a big tough hitman... and hides behind the real ones. That's not who I want to be."

"Course not. Think she doesn't know that? How many times you think she got that shit? Starting out? She hooked up with men, too. No choice. What happens? Dis missed as a wannabe. A groupie. Evelyn's been there. Knows how much it hurts. Knows how mad it'll make you. Knows how hard it is to prove you aren't."

He took another drag off the cigarette, then handed it to me. I accepted.

"This whole mess?" he continued. "My fault. I screwed Evelyn over. With you. Don't regret it. But then we needed her. I made a decision. Probably the wrong one." He took the cigarette back and inhaled, expelling the smoke before going on. "Yeah, the wrong one. Not much doubt about that. Rest of the debt? Mine. Only fair."

"Jack - "

"You care what she thinks of you?"

"No, but - "

"It's set then. We make the meeting. Evelyn goes home. You're done with her."

He passed the cigarette back and I took it.

Evelyn did not go home. She insisted on staying to see the contact through. Was she being a responsible go-between and protecting her reputation? Or just having fun pushing my buttons? I didn't care. At that moment, I had two main concerns. One, preparing for this meeting with the Byrony Agency contact. Two, convincing Quinn I wasn't an irrational bitch.

Fortunately, task two was simple. He was confused, nothing more. We went out for a walk and I explained a version of events that skirted the more "interpersonal" issues, like Jack and Evelyn's clash over my mentorship, which would only confuse him all the more.

I also left out any mention of the Contrapasso Fellowship offer. He'd be as excited at the prospect as I was trying hard not to be. There are guys who go vigilante because they like killing people and it gives them an excuse they can l

ive with. Quinn wasn't one of them.

Evelyn once said the difference between us was that, for Quinn, the drive to see justice done came from the head. For me, it came from the gut. She had only a casual interest in his cerebral vigilantism. What she wanted to mold was my fire, my passion.

Maybe, but I suspected if I told him about the Contrapasso Fellowship, he'd want in, and I wasn't ready to deal with that - either his hurt when she refused him or the guilt of getting him entangled in her web if she accepted.

What I did tell him was that Jack had gotten Evelyn involved in Sammi's murder case by asking her to find a hitman who matched our profile. The expectation was that, because she owed him plenty and they were close, she'd do it with no obligation to me. Today I'd found out otherwise and, spooked, I'd reacted by wanting nothing more to do with her "help." The story made sense to him, so he let it go at that.

Chapter Forty-three

Before I left to meet the client, Jack took me aside for a few words of advice. I tried not to notice the roll of Evelyn's eyes.

We walked behind the hotel again, to the delivery lane, and again he pulled out his cigarettes.

"Still want that story?" he asked as he lit one, cupping the flame against the wind.

"Only if you want to give it to me. And if it won't reveal anything that could compromise your privacy."

He waved me to our spot on the curb and sat beside me. "Nah. Wouldn't care." He exhaled the smoke through his nose. "I trust you. Happened after the job anyway."

He took another drag, then passed me the cigarette before continuing. "Backyard hit. Went down fine. Getting out? No problem. Big yards. Estates. Full of trees and shit. Had my path mapped out. So I'm moving. Not running. But moving. Then there's this wall. Maybe..." He lifted his hand about three feet off the ground. "Knew it was there. No surprise. So I'm coming to it. Lots of time. Could stop. Climb over. But no. Gotta jump it."

He took the cigarette back and inhaled, letting the smoke swirl out as he shook his head. "So I jump. Don't clear it. Foot hits the wall. I topple over. Face-plant into the fucking tulips."

I swallowed a laugh, but not before some of it escaped.