Double Play (Nadia Stafford 3.5)

"For him? Her? You? Can you use a few more words, Jack? If Dee's in trouble--"

"It was all a trap. My job in Ireland. Taking Quinn. Getting Dee to go after him. It's connected. I'm overseas. Kidnap Quinn. Lure Dee out. Grab her. Get me to take a job."

A moment's pause as she pieced that together. "All that to hire you? Whatever happened to picking up the phone? Oh, wait. I know. Someone is inching toward retirement, shutting down all avenues of contact so he can play Grizzly Adams in the middle of nowhere with Jane."

"Tarzan."

"What?"

"It's Tarzan and Jane. Not Grizzly Adams."

"Do you actually want my help or do you want to test my pop culture knowledge first?"

"Getting old. Gotta check."

"Fuck off, Jack. The point is--"

"Point is you're wasting time. Giving me shit. Yeah, that's always fun. But save it. This job? Wouldn't have taken it. Even before Dee. Cillian says it's cartel shit."

Evelyn let loose a few creative curses. She also stopped hassling him. She was the one who'd counseled him to keep his distance from cartels. The mob had rules and codes of conduct. Sometimes fucking stupid rules and codes of conduct. But they had honor. If the cartels had honor, it didn't extend to people like Evelyn and Jack.

"Need you to call Dee," he said. "Tell her--"

"No."

"Don't pull your shit. Not now. Call Dee. Warn her. Find out where she is--"

"So you can run to her rescue?"

"Doesn't need rescue."

"Exactly, which is why you are going to stay the hell away from her. You want to blame yourself for this? Fine, but don't compound the problem by running to her side. She's a helluva lot more careful than Quinn. That's the advantage to being a woman. We don't go striding into danger, King Shit, thinking we can handle all comers."

Jack snorted a laugh.

"You got something to say, Jack-o?"

He didn't answer. She was right about Dee and Quinn. However, as a generalization, the rest was bullshit. Evelyn herself was the one who'd stride in, guns blazing, while Jack hung back and assessed. Not as much a gender disparity as a difference in personality.

"You're right," he said. "About Dee."

"Good. So she'll make it tough on them, which means they'll need to keep her under surveillance, which means you cannot show up or, being a cartel, they're liable to get pissy and just shoot her to punish you for screwing up their plan."

"Fuck."

"Yes, fuck, Jack. At the very least, they'll realize their scheme is ruined and Quinn will have outlived his usefulness. Maybe you wouldn't be too broken up by that, but you wouldn't be dancing on his grave either. More importantly, Dee would blame herself. Because she's good at that, kind of like someone else I know. Dee won't want Quinn dead, so it's best not to let Quinn die, right?"

"Yeah."

"Slow down and think. I know you aren't being reckless--otherwise, you'd have called me from Ireland or, worse, called her. But for you, this is panic. Just stop and think it through. All the way through."

He shifted the receiver from one hand to the other, trying to squelch that roiling in his gut that said he was already moving too slowly, that Nadia was in danger and goddamn it, he was only a couple hundred miles away and--

He inhaled sharply. Panic. That's what he was feeling. The last time he'd even come close . . .

He squeezed his eyes shut and swore he could still smell the smoke.

He'd gone to get cigarettes. His shift at the mechanic's had ended, and he'd walked halfway home before remembering the cigarettes. His brother, Tommy, was out, and he didn't like Jack's brand, and it wasn't like he could run and grab a pack himself. Not after he'd nearly lost his leg in the mission that got their two other brothers killed. The mission that made Jack tell the guys in charge to go fuck themselves. He'd warned them their plan wasn't safe but who the fuck was he? Some kid whose only fucking talent was