Double Play Read Online Free PDF Page B

rebooked me on the first morning one, and I found a hotel for the night. I woke in the middle of the night to a text from Jack.
    Fucking tech. All fine. Home as planned.
    After a few years of knowing Jack I’ve become fluent at text shorthand, because that’s the way he talks most of the time. From this message, I interpreted that he was having trouble placing outgoing calls on his phone. He didn’t like texting—it left a permanent record of a conversation—so he’d only make this one exception. I wouldn’t hear from him again until he got home “as planned.” But I hadn’t thought he’d set a date for his return. The last time we spoke he hadn’t gotten his job details.
    I puzzled on that until I decided I was overthinking it. He’d said he expected to be a week at most. Evidently, that was still all he knew. He’d make contact when he landed.
    Knowing not to expect a call didn’t mean I wasn’t hoping for that nine a.m. check-in. My flight was due to land at 8:30. A delay in takeoff meant we were still descending at 8:56. I turned on my phone early and, yes, felt guilty about it, despite knowing it wouldn’t send the plane into a tailspin. I got service at 8:57. By 9:08 we were unloading. No call from Jack. I sighed, pocketed the phone and prepared to disembark.

6 - Jack
    Jack took Cillian three blocks before finding a suitable building to shove him into. The section of Dublin they’d met in was an old one, mostly empty, with sporadic attempts at “revitalization.” He took three blocks to choose a spot because he was trying to figure out what the fuck he was going to do next. A rare bout of indecision, rising from the pounding knowledge that he’d fucked up. Fucked up so bad.
    He’d spent a year telling himself he couldn’t make a move on Nadia, that on the very offside chance she actually reciprocated, he couldn’t endanger her by advancing their relationship. Then he’d told himself as long as he took precautions—scrubbing his list of anyone who might be even a remote concern—she’d be fine. But that didn’t help against those who were trying to get
on
his list, did it?
    As he walked, he kept telling himself the same thing he’d told Cillian.
Stop whining. Give me something useful.
Yet all he could think about was how to contact her. Anything he did would be risky. But he had to warn her. Had to.
    Do you?
    Of course he did. Fuck, what kind of stupid question . . .
    Except it wasn’t a stupid question. Because Nadia wasn’t stupid. Yes, she’d go after Quinn. But that didn’t mean blindly chasing leads into a trap. She cared about Quinn. But, fuck, Nadia cared about
people
, in a way he admired, even if he couldn’t fathom it. He’d seen her do something dangerous because she’d been focused on saving a victim, and he’d given her proper shit for it, in a rare fit of temper. But even then how much danger had she actually been in? Minimal. He just didn’t like her taking risks.
    Nadia knew what she was doing. And Quinn was not some helpless victim. Like Nadia, he could take care of himself.
    Moral of the story, Jack? Chill the fuck out.
    Jack prodded Cillian to a building. They walked in and Jack squinted against the near darkness.
    “Back there,” he said.
    “Here’s good. There’s some light and—”
    “Back there.”
    Cillian’s shoulders slumped and he made his way to the back room Jack had noted. He paused in the doorway, looking around, and Jack had to give him a shove inside. The second room was darker, filthy and full of crates and debris. The condition of the room wasn’t the issue. It was what that room said—that it made a really good place to dump a body.
    “How’s it going down?” Jack asked.
    “What?”
    “Letting Dee know Quinn’s gone. How’s that happening? Can’t just wait around. Hope she figures he’s missing. Not fucking happening. Not on this timetable.”
    “Uh . . .”
    Funny what a difference time and perspective makes. Thirty years ago,