it. But you two are just Contrapasso lackeys, so since we have some idea what’s going on here, we’re going to leapfrog over your heads.”
Evelyn took out Haskell’s cell phone. I reached for it, but she pretended not to notice and placed the call herself. She did have more contact with them, and where I’d have dialed a number in Haskell’s recent call list, she dialed one from memory.
“Edgar?” she said. “Evelyn. I’m with Dee and Jack. I’m sure you know what’s going on, so I’ll skip to the update. Diaz is dead at the hands of the people who took Quinn. We have Haskell and his partner. If you want them back, you’ll give us everything you know about Quinn’s kidnapping, and then back the fuck off before you lose more agents. Understood?”
She listened for a few moments and then said, “You do that. We’ll call in two hours for an exchange: your agents for your intel.”
Jack had the hostages sit back-to-back while Evelyn and I watched him. Then he jogged off, presumably to get bindings. And, yes, he did return with those, but he secured the men as fast as possible and then opened the first aid kit he’d brought back.
He didn’t ask me to remove my jacket and shirt. Didn’t tell me to either. That was implicit. I did, and he cleaned my wound and dug out the shotgun pellets. Evelyn grumbled that I was obviously in no danger of bleeding out and we really needed to move before more thugs arrived. It was a half-hearted complaint, stopped by a single look from Jack.
I added my protest, more fervently. My injuries, far from life-threatening, should not take precedence over a speedy escape. But, well, having someone care enough to make sure I was okay before we went another step? It meant something. I’d spent a lot of years being that person for others—strangers even, at the lodge—while feeling as if I didn’t deserve the same in return. So I appreciated it . . . though I still did hurry the process along, well aware that I didn’t want us facing
more
danger because I enjoyed being fussed over.
The bullet wound was tissue damage, nothing serious, as gunshots went. Jack had Evelyn take a look to confirm his diagnosis. Then he bound it and tried to check my head, but I insisted that was fine and we got our hostages up and moving. That’s when his phone vibrated. He cursed and waved for us to watch the hostages while he took a phone from his pocket. Someone else’s phone.
“No,” he said when he answered. “I don’t fucking have him, all right? I told you I couldn’t do it in two hours. I left a message through his answering service, and I’m expecting a call back any minute now. If you give me a number—”
Pause.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Fucking paranoid bastards. Fine. Have it your way. Call me back in an hour.”
Pause.
“Two hours then. Fine by me.”
Pause.
“Yeah, yeah. If I don’t have him, you’ll kill me and my dog. Too bad I don’t have a dog. I’ll have him by then, okay? He might be busy, but he’s not going to ignore my message.”
I didn’t look to Evelyn for an explanation. Jack was using full sentences and had dialed his faint Irish accent up to eleven, which meant he was impersonating someone. Likely connected to the job he’d been doing overseas. He’d explain later.
We relocated Haskell and his partner about a kilometer deeper into the forest. They’d be safe there—any thugs wouldn’t hunt that far past the bodies. When they glowered over their gags, I reminded them that we’d tried to play fair and they blew it. They would suffer some discomfort for a few hours. They’d survive. Probably.
We got my overnight bag from my rental and wiped down the steering wheel and doors, though it’s not as if that’s a serious issue with a rental car. If it was, I’d have worn gloves. Then we left the car where it was. Wouldn’t be the first time, which is why we use credit cards that aren’t linked to our aliases.
Next we headed to
Evelyn took out Haskell’s cell phone. I reached for it, but she pretended not to notice and placed the call herself. She did have more contact with them, and where I’d have dialed a number in Haskell’s recent call list, she dialed one from memory.
“Edgar?” she said. “Evelyn. I’m with Dee and Jack. I’m sure you know what’s going on, so I’ll skip to the update. Diaz is dead at the hands of the people who took Quinn. We have Haskell and his partner. If you want them back, you’ll give us everything you know about Quinn’s kidnapping, and then back the fuck off before you lose more agents. Understood?”
She listened for a few moments and then said, “You do that. We’ll call in two hours for an exchange: your agents for your intel.”
Jack had the hostages sit back-to-back while Evelyn and I watched him. Then he jogged off, presumably to get bindings. And, yes, he did return with those, but he secured the men as fast as possible and then opened the first aid kit he’d brought back.
He didn’t ask me to remove my jacket and shirt. Didn’t tell me to either. That was implicit. I did, and he cleaned my wound and dug out the shotgun pellets. Evelyn grumbled that I was obviously in no danger of bleeding out and we really needed to move before more thugs arrived. It was a half-hearted complaint, stopped by a single look from Jack.
I added my protest, more fervently. My injuries, far from life-threatening, should not take precedence over a speedy escape. But, well, having someone care enough to make sure I was okay before we went another step? It meant something. I’d spent a lot of years being that person for others—strangers even, at the lodge—while feeling as if I didn’t deserve the same in return. So I appreciated it . . . though I still did hurry the process along, well aware that I didn’t want us facing
more
danger because I enjoyed being fussed over.
The bullet wound was tissue damage, nothing serious, as gunshots went. Jack had Evelyn take a look to confirm his diagnosis. Then he bound it and tried to check my head, but I insisted that was fine and we got our hostages up and moving. That’s when his phone vibrated. He cursed and waved for us to watch the hostages while he took a phone from his pocket. Someone else’s phone.
“No,” he said when he answered. “I don’t fucking have him, all right? I told you I couldn’t do it in two hours. I left a message through his answering service, and I’m expecting a call back any minute now. If you give me a number—”
Pause.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Fucking paranoid bastards. Fine. Have it your way. Call me back in an hour.”
Pause.
“Two hours then. Fine by me.”
Pause.
“Yeah, yeah. If I don’t have him, you’ll kill me and my dog. Too bad I don’t have a dog. I’ll have him by then, okay? He might be busy, but he’s not going to ignore my message.”
I didn’t look to Evelyn for an explanation. Jack was using full sentences and had dialed his faint Irish accent up to eleven, which meant he was impersonating someone. Likely connected to the job he’d been doing overseas. He’d explain later.
We relocated Haskell and his partner about a kilometer deeper into the forest. They’d be safe there—any thugs wouldn’t hunt that far past the bodies. When they glowered over their gags, I reminded them that we’d tried to play fair and they blew it. They would suffer some discomfort for a few hours. They’d survive. Probably.
We got my overnight bag from my rental and wiped down the steering wheel and doors, though it’s not as if that’s a serious issue with a rental car. If it was, I’d have worn gloves. Then we left the car where it was. Wouldn’t be the first time, which is why we use credit cards that aren’t linked to our aliases.
Next we headed to
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