Jack was on the move again, sliding through the forest as he made his way to Evelyn. When he reached her, she typed out a note for him on her phone to avoid speaking.
They're looking for something. That's all I know. Chatter is just macho bullshit about sisters they want to screw. Seems the gals are holding out for wedding rings.
Jack grunted. Picking off one of these two would be tougher, given how much they were talking and how close together they walked. Jack surveyed the situation. Then he took Evelyn's phone and tapped out his plan. She adjusted it, of course, not because it needed adjusting but because she had to put her fingerprints on it. Jack let her. He didn't play the pissing game with Evelyn--or with anyone else. No fucking time or energy for that bullshit. As long as the core plan hadn't changed, she could have her tweaks.
Jack slipped off. He'd take the long route around. The tougher route. The one better suited to the younger guy, which was a bit of a laugh, all things considered but, hell, kinda nice to be "the younger guy" once in a while.
He had to dart across open patches without being seen or heard. He managed it easily enough, and gave Nadia credit for that. In the early days, he'd meet her out in the forest and sneak up on her. He'd pretended, of course, that the subterfuge was accidental--that's just how he moved. And it was, in a way, but part of it had been a game, too, surprising Nadia in her own element, the forest. Also, yeah, some ego there too. Showing off, though he'd never admit it.
It'd taught him how to move better in the woods, which stood him in good stead now. He was about to cross the last patch of open ground, near what looked like a broken-down hunting blind, when one of the men turned and Jack ducked fast. His hand shot out to steady himself against a tree and it touched something slick. He looked to see blood spray and flecks of a substance that would make most people look closer, wondering what it could be. But no one who made a living shooting people in the head would ever ask that. It was brain matter.
Jack saw the sheer fucking quantity of the shit--on the tree, on the undergrowth. That much didn't come from a normal bullet to the head. This was from a shotgun.
Shotguns were for thugs who enjoyed their work, liked to make a fucking mess. Jack might not be one to claim he had standards, but using a shotgun was just fucking disrespectful. It didn't only make a mess--it killed slower and . . .
And Nadia did not use a shotgun.
He grabbed the tree again to keep himself steady because Nadia did not use a shotgun. Which meant . . .
It meant nothing. Maybe she took it from the thugs chasing her.
That's when he saw the body. An outstretched hand on the ground. A man's hand with a wedding band. His gaze traveled from that wedding band to the perfectly manicured fingernails to the Bulova watch to the suit jacket cuffs.
Jack eased to the side to get a better look. It didn't help much--the guy had been shot in the face and, fuck yeah, that was just not the way to do it. Really wasn't. From what Jack could see, the guy seemed Hispanic, but the thug kid Jack shot had been in jeans and a leather jacket. From the glimpses he'd caught of the other two, they were similarly dressed. What was with the suit?
If he had to hazard a guess, he'd say the guy had been shot by the thugs. Nadia wouldn't do this.
But who the hell would the thugs have shot if not Nadia? The suit screamed "Federal Agent." Someone from the Marshals office tailing Quinn? Fuck, they really didn't need that.
Jack continued to close in on his target, pausing only to text Evelyn a warning.
Body. Looks fed. Marshals?
He'd never known Feds to travel solo, and he considered changing his plan in light of that, but the woods were silent. If that was indeed a dead agent, his partner would have been on the phone the moment the shot pellets hit and by now the woods would be crawling with Feds. More likely Jack just had to worry about stumbling over a second agent's body.
He moved in behind his target and waited for Evelyn's signal. It came as a shot as the second of the thugs went down and Jack's target wheeled toward the noise, his gun rising.
"Stop," Jack said.
The thug, of course, did not stop. Not until Jack put a bullet through his knee. He went down screaming, the pain apparently enough to make him temporarily forget he was armed. Jack fixed that by knocking the guy's gun from his hand. Then he kicked the injured knee, setting the guy both screaming and falling. Another kick convinced him to stay down.
Evelyn showed up a moment later. The guy lifted his head, saw her and seemed to decide that the sight of a little old lady meant he really shouldn't be giving up so easily. He started to rise. Evelyn shot him in the side.
"By the way," she said as he writhed in pain. "I didn't miss your heart. That comes next. Unless you tell us what we need to know."
The thug swore in Spanish. Evelyn waited him out and then replied in the same language. Jack focused on the guy's body, watching for any sign he was going to bolt and ignoring the urge to try to figure out what they were saying, even when he heard the words for "woman" and "brown hair," meaning they were talking about Nadia.
He kept his ears attuned to the sounds from the surrounding forest. When he heard a soft groan, it came from his left, past the old hunting blind. The undergrowth rustled. Evelyn didn't hear it and kept questioning their captive, her voice sharp. Jack motioned that he'd heard someone and backed off in the direction of the noises.
As he approached, the noises stopped. He could make out a figure nestled in a thick patch of undergrowth and bushes. The figure half rose, carefully and quietly, and said, "Stop right there."
When he heard the voice, he did the exact opposite, jogging forward, his gun lowered.
He could see more of her then--the auburn curls, the heart-shaped face, the stubborn chin, and even if he couldn't see the rest, his memory imprinted it. Hazel eyes. Freckles over her nose. Thin scar on her neck. And dimples, though she definitely wasn't smiling. He was. He was grinning like an idiot and--
"I said stop," Nadia said. "One more step, and I'll--"
"It's me," he said. Then added, because it seemed prudent, "Jack."