Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

"Really? Then I'd suggest you don't answer your phone again. Actually, in general, I'd suggest you don't answer it again."

I smiled, but something in that smile made him inch back, perhaps reconsidering the wisdom of treating a contract killer in the same way he'd treat a filing clerk temp.

"I presume you have a name for me?"

"I have an address and a photo. That's all you need."

His inflection turned the last words into a question, though I knew that wasn't what he'd intended, and I considered pushing the matter, but his lips were pursed, prissily, like an IRS flunky questioning a mobster's tax return. Act tough and he might back down... or he might get his back up. While I longed to hold the upper hand, if he had the address and my mark was the lone occupant, getting a name should be easy enough.

"Please tell me you at least have his schedule," I said.

"What?"

"If you want it done tonight, that means I don't have time for surveillance, meaning I can't get a feel for his daily routine."

"I want him killed at home, in his bed. He's in town, so he'll be there."

"All right, but understand that if he isn't there, in his own bed, alone, I can't do it. If I know his schedule, I can follow him from his workplace and ensure - "

"No, he'll be home. Alone. He doesn't have a girlfriend."

I thought of pointing out that this didn't preclude nighttime companionship, but the twitching of his lips warned me I was pushing him past nervousness into anxiety.

"So, presuming he's at home and alone - "

"He will be."

I met his gaze. "Please stop interrupting me. Now, presuming he's there, you want him eliminated, using a method of my choosing - "

"I need the house - " He stopped, flushing. "I'm sorry. I didn't meant to interrupt, but this is critically important. I need the house torched."

"Torched?"

"Burned to the ground, with him in it."

I stared at him until he wriggled in his seat like a three-year-old needing to go potty. "That's a joke, right?"

"Of course not." His voice started squeaking again. "I have very specific requirements and I'm paying a lot of money to get what I want."

"Did you clear this with Honcho?"

His mouth set in that prissy line. "I don't need to tell him the details."

"Because he presumes you have the sense to request something that can actually be done."

"It can be done. I've heard - "

"Even with notice, I can't burn a house 'to the ground.' Ignoring that small fact, though, you're asking for an elaborate scenario that will take time and research. I don't go to a job prepared to honor all possible requests. I'm a hired killer, not the Piano Man." I paused, as if considering. "But if you give me a few days..."

"It has to be tonight."

Damn.

He went on. "Do it however you need to, but you must torch the place."

"And by 'torch the place,' do you still mean 'burn it to the ground,' because I don't think you're following me on that one. It can't be done."

"Why not?"