Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)

Dougie followed our exchange, gaze slightly narrowed, as if not sure whether to be offended by my casual tone or take it as a sign that the situation wasn't as dire as it seemed. He opted for number two. He asked Jack, "You a cop, too?"

Jack looked at me.

"My throw-down tipped him off," I said. "Apparently, he didn't know his assigned target was a former law-enforcement officer."

"Fucking idiot," Jack muttered.

"He's not too bright," I said. "Did I tell you how he got me into the woods? He convinced me to help him find his lost dog."

Jack snorted. "How old does she look to you? Twelve?"

Dougie's eyes narrowed as he looked up at me. "She tricked me. Fucking bitch--"

Jack shot him in the leg. When he screeched, Jack grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the ground.

"Shut the fuck up." He lifted Dougie's head as blood surged from the man's broken nose. "Didn't I warn you not to piss me off? Calling her names is going to piss me off."

"You crazy . . ."

Dougie trailed off, watching Jack's emotionless face. He seemed to decide that crazy wasn't quite the word he wanted. He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze.

"What's the job?" Jack asked.

Dougie was having trouble focusing. "Wh-what?"

"The job. This." He shook open the page with my information. "What were you supposed to do?"

"Just . . . uh, find her. Get a look and see if she was the woman in the other photo. Which, obviously she's not, so I'll say there was a mistake and--"

"Stop babbling."

His teeth clicked shut.

"And if she was this woman in the photo?" Jack said. "What were you supposed to do?"

"Tell the guy who hired me. That's it."

"So you were only supposed to confirm whether Nadia Stafford was the woman in the photo. Which required a gun, handcuffs, and fake ID."

The man decided not to answer, instead shifting and wincing, trying to find a less painful position.

"Who hired you to check her out?"

"I don't know. That's not how I work. I have this other guy, like an agent, who takes the, uh, job requests."

"A middleman? Who?"

"He's just a guy. It's not like you can look him up in the Yellow Pages. Hell, even I don't know his--"

"--his real name. Yeah, I know. I'm asking what he goes by."

Dougie eyed Jack. I could see the wheels turning, hoping this was just idle curiosity. Knowing if it wasn't, that meant Jack might recognize the middleman's nom de guerre, which would mean Jack wasn't just some petty criminal I'd brought along for backup. One should hope the guy had figured that out by now.

"He goes by Roland. All I have is a phone number and even that changes--"

"Roland? Out of Pittsburgh?"

Sweat rolled down Dougie's cheek. "Maybe. I only know it's a Pennsylvania area code."