"I'm wondering how long it would take someone to find the wreck. Especially if we cleaned it up, got rid of the skid marks and such." He looked around. "It's not thick forest, but the grass is long enough, and the embankment is steep. I haven't heard another car since we got here. I imagine it would be a few days. If I put you back in that car and kneecapped you . . ."
"No." The rage evaporated from Roland's voice, fear seeping in. "No . . ."
"Nah, you're right. Too risky. I'd need to get you farther in. That looks like a field over there. Lots of long, dead grass. I could stake you out, nicely hidden. Sure, the wreck would be seen, but the driver's over there, dead. They'll wonder what's up when they trace the car to you, but they won't put much work into the investigation. Offed by that thug"--he gestured at the bodyguard--"who hid your body and stole your car, then spun out going too fast on a bad road. Not used to the power." Jack hunkered down beside Roland. "Does that sound like a good plan to you, Reggie?"
"You . . . you sick fuck. You goddamn . . ." Roland continued raging, but his voice was pitched high, rant fueled by terror.
Jack put his boot on the back of Roland's injured knee and stepped down. Roland screamed. Jack leaned over and said, "Shut up." I don't know how Roland could hear through his own screams, but he clamped his mouth shut fast.
"Here are your options," Jack said. "Either you answer my questions promptly and courteously or I stake you out in that field and come back in three days. And there's no sense calling my bluff." Jack bent, meeting Roland's gaze. "Because you know I'll do it."
Roland swallowed. "What do you want to know?"
"Not me," Jack said. "My client."
Roland's gaze rose to me, standing silently by his shoulder.
"No, she's not the client. Someone hired me on her behalf. She has important friends."
So Jack was going to spin a story. One that didn't connect me directly to a hitman. Which meant either he did intend for Roland to survive . . . or he just wanted Roland to think so. Killing a middleman could be trouble, and if Jack could explain away our connection, I'd remain Nadia Stafford, ordinary citizen. I glanced down at the gun in my right hand and the knife in my left. Well, relatively ordinary.
"You've probably figured out that your hitman is dead," Jack continued. "He made a mistake, taking that job without doing his research. You, however? You made an even bigger mistake by sending him out there, and I'm trying to figure out what you are. Terminally stupid or actually suicidal?"
"What?"
"Should I use smaller words?"
I choked back a laugh.
"Do you know who frequents Ms. Stafford's establishment?" Jack asked. "A certain family from Jersey."
"What family?"
"A nice one with two kids and a dog. What the hell kind of family do you think I mean?"
"I know that. I mean, which one?"
"Do you really expect me to answer? Either you know, which would be the suicidal explanation. Or you had no idea what you were really being hired to do, which would be the stupid explanation. I'd strongly suggest you cop to stupid."
"Look, the job was simple. Find out if this Stafford woman was the one in the photo and if she was, kill her."
"Why?"
"How the fuck--?"
Jack stepped on Roland's shoulder this time, just enough to make him yelp. "I said courteously. That is not courteously. In most cases, a client will provide at least an excuse, true or not. What did this one tell you?"
"Nothing. Only that he wanted her dead."
In other words, he wasn't the usual kind of client who got the middleman's number from a friend of a friend. He understood how the business worked and that you did not need an excuse.
"All right," Jack said. "The question remains. Why target Ms. Stafford? My client believes it has something to do with a get-together planned at her lodge. If your pro didn't know what was really going on, and you don't know what's really going on, then I'll require the name of your client. Along with contact information."
"I don't have it."
Jack set his boot on Roland's back. The big man tensed, but Jack didn't put any weight on it. He just left his foot there.
"Let's try that again," Jack said. "Bear in mind that as you know, I'm not an amateur or a fool. You'd never accept a job without some information on the client."