"Don't mind them. They're fine."
To have Scout and Rex on the property with guests, they need to be perfectly behaved. They're trained to warn of intruders with growls only, and then keep their distance. They're friendly enough, but they'll only approach strangers when I give the signal.
I checked the time again--9:02--cursed under my breath and stepped out. I still couldn't see the man's face, but despite the suit, I could tell he wasn't some salesman who'd wandered over from the lodge. He was fit and trim and his right hand rested awkwardly--a man accustomed to having a sidearm within reach.
Law enforcement.
I took a deep breath, plastered on a cheerful lodge-hostess smile and ducked under a tree branch. Then I saw his face.
Diaz.
I don't know his given name. He very likely was law enforcement, but he moonlighted for the Contrapasso Fellowship, a secret organization of law enforcement officers, lawyers and judges who looked at failures of justice and said, "I could fix that." So they did. Vigilantes of the highest order. They'd been trying to recruit me for a while and had successfully recruited my ex, Quinn, a US Marshal.
"Nadia," Diaz said. "I'm sorry to approach you here. I know--"
"You sure as hell know," I said, bearing down on him. "This is my home. Contrapasso may know more about me than I like, but you are supposed to at least pretend otherwise. You do not show up--"
"It's Quinn."
I stopped. "What?"
"It's Quinn. He's disappeared."
2 - Jack
It'd been thirty years since Jack had left Ireland and now, crouched on a rooftop overlooking Dublin, he was counting the hours until he could get the fuck out again. Which wasn't what he'd expected. Yeah, thirty years ago he couldn't wait to wash the dust of the city from his boots. But he'd been a kid then. Twenty years old, hating everything about his country, hating what it'd done to his family.
No, hating what he'd done to his family. He could blame the politics, and what it'd done to four young men who'd wanted better than the dirt-poor lives of their parents. Boys who'd wanted what they thought the world owed them. But the world didn't owe them fuck all. You make your choices. You make your mistakes. And sometimes, those mistakes lead to a boat bound for America with no plans to ever return because the sight of those green hills reminds you of what you did. Of the fact that your family lies cold in their graves and it's no one's fault but your own.
Yet the boy at twenty isn't the same as the man at fifty, and Jack had started looking back on Ireland with something he wouldn't quite call nostalgia, but definitely a yearning for lush emerald hills and sooty old cities. Back when he and Nadia had become friends and she'd talked of travel dreams, he'd often thought of saying, "How about Ireland?" But he hadn't, of course. Fuck no. Even when he'd invited her to Egypt, he'd cancelled, buying a hot tub for her lodge instead. Because that's what people did, didn't they? Bail on a trip and replace it with a hot tub? Yeah, it'd been a fucking long time since he'd done the friendship thing.
He still couldn't believe she'd let him move past friendship. Kept waiting to return from a job and find his bag at the door, some higher power correcting a miscalculation that had awarded him a prize meant for a guy who hadn't spent his life as a hired killer. Instead, the only thing waiting for him was Nadia herself, jogging out to meet him, grinning like he'd returned from a three-year tour of duty.
His phone buzzed, a reminder that in minutes, he could make his daily check in. He smiled, something he did much more readily these days, but still really only for one person.
He paced along the roof, as close to the edge as he could get without casting a shadow below. Tomorrow, he had to meet an old friend at the cafe across the street, to discuss a hit while sipping cappuccinos or some shit.
Fuck, he was getting old. Starting to sound like a crotchety old man, muttering about the good old days, when if you wanted someone killed, you met in a seedy pub and talked business in a dark back room.
The truth was he didn't mind cappuccinos. Better than some of the swill they passed off as beer. He was just cranky today. He'd been supposed to meet Cillian this afternoon, only to have him call and reschedule for tomorrow, which put the entire fucking job a day behind and left him with busywork like this.
He checked his phone. Three more minutes. He surveyed the street, squinting against the early afternoon June sun as he searched for something interesting to tell Nadia. Know what I saw today? What I heard today? Learned today?
His gaze traveled along the narrow road. Nope. I got nothing.
He exhaled and resisted the urge to pull out a cigarette. He'd been cutting back for years, with no real intention of quitting. It was his outlet for stress and his one vice. Well, his second vice if you counted murder as his first, and he was well aware most people did, but that was work. He was down to a couple of cigarettes a week and at the lodge, he didn't even need those, though he still smoked them because they were shared with Nadia, and that meant something to him. Those shared cigarettes had been their first step from colleagues to friends, when he offered her his cigarette, seeing that ex-smoker hunger in her eyes. A simple, small act of intimacy that had felt as huge as inviting her into his bed.
Maybe he'd mention that when he called. Something about grabbing a couple of cartons. His brand was still Irish, and it was a bugger to get in Canada. Yeah, he'd tell her that. Not exactly scintillating conversation, but she liked it when he added something, even if he'd be happy spending an hour listening to her talk.
His phone blipped the second alert, but he was already dialing. It was an untraceable number, one that'd reroute a few times before ending up at an equally untraceable phone. Jack didn't understand the technology, but he trusted Felix, the guy who set it up for them.
The line connected. One ring. Then a soft click, and he closed his eyes and waited for her voice, for the reminder of what he had waiting for him. Nadia. The lodge. The chalet. That chalet was important. So fucking important. It meant he wasn't just shacking up in Nadia's bedroom at the lodge. They were building a home together, literally, and he still wasn't sure it meant the same to her--was as permanent for her--but it was a start in that direction.
Nadia. A home. A life.
The phone rang again.