Wild Justice (Nadia Stafford 3)

"An explanation," Roland said. "For my missing employee."

The bodyguard's face screwed up. Roland didn't enlighten him. He just turned to peer over the edge of the roof.

"Any sign she wasn't alone?" he asked.

The bodyguard shook his head. "It's just her. She saw you coming out of the bar and went on ahead. She knew where you'd parked. Looks like she was going to take you out from up here."

Take him out? From over a hundred meters with a handgun? Someone didn't know his weapons well enough. Two people, it seemed, as Roland nodded.

"Search her," he said. "Check for any sign she has friends."

That's why I'd tossed the radio. My special Felix phone had another nifty feature--it didn't retain any record of calls or texts. Also, it looks like any other plain-Jane cell. The bodyguard checked it and said, "Burner phone. Seems like she hasn't even used it yet."

"Toss it."

I winced as the bodyguard literally tossed it, sending it thumping across the roof.

"She was definitely watching you," the bodyguard said, pulling out my binoculars. "You think she was the woman who called about the job?"

Roland shook his head, as if he wasn't dignifying such a stupid question with a response. Obviously Mark Lewiston had given me Roland's contact information, and I came here to . . . well, apparently to shoot him, according to their theory, though I'm not sure how that would have helped. Revenge maybe? Or figuring if Roland was dead, his client couldn't send anyone else after me?

Roland leaned over me again and said, "Who are you?"

"You already know."

"I don't think that"--he pointed at my gun--"is the sort of weapon a nature lodge owner uses for vermin."

"Depends on the vermin."

No sneer. No smile, either. His expression remained neutral, brow furrowed as he studied me, far more interested in this mystery than in the fate of his hitman.

"You didn't do your research before you sent Mark Lewiston after me," I said. "You might know what I do for a living these days, but you didn't dig further. You would have if I was a man."

A flicker of disconcertion, followed by a headshake. "In my experience, it's rarely worth the effort to conduct a full background search. That's for the movies, my dear."

"Oh, this wouldn't have required more than ten seconds on the Internet. A cop who shoots an unarmed perp point-blank makes the news."

He winced. The world was changing fast, and old-timers like Roland didn't often keep up.

"She was a mark, right?" the bodyguard said. "She killed whoever you sent after her and then came after you?"

Again, Roland deemed this perfectly obvious and only walked to the edge, scanning the surrounding landscape again.

"Okay, so yes," the bodyguard said. "Which means we should finish her off. Collect the payment."

Shit, not a complete idiot. I'd foreseen this, though, as soon as Roland made me. I'd just hoped the cavalry would have shown up by now. Since I wasn't answering my radio, they'd be looking. I only hoped they didn't call my cell. And, while hoping that, it would be even more helpful if I could figure out how to avoid being killed.

"What's a hitman's cut?" the bodyguard asked.

"Less than I'd pay you. Pulling a hit is about more than pulling a trigger, and she's done most of the work for you by showing up . . ."

Yes, let's bicker about money. Perfect. As they hashed it out, I flexed my foot. The bodyguard hadn't found the knife strapped to my calf. I sent up a silent thank-you to Jack for insisting I bring it, but even as I did, I wasn't sure how much good it would do when my hands were bound. I measured the distance to the edge. I could make it. With my hands tied, it could be a nasty landing, but--

They agreed the bodyguard would get 10 percent of the hit price for shooting me. I flexed my hands behind my back, ready to push up, hoping the move would startle him enough--

"You can't do it here," Roland said.

"Why not? No one to see us."