Made to Be Broken

Chapter Forty-four

I set out, feet smacking the pavement, trying to jar free the ball of rage crystallizing in my gut.

Evelyn had set me up. This was a real hit that had nothing to do with the adoption murders.

I forced myself to consider the possibility it was a mix-up, that Honcho said he had a job for her new protégé and she'd jumped to the conclusion it was "the job." But Evelyn would never be that sloppy. Oh, I was sure she'd claim a mix-up, but Honcho had already said the "job" he had in mind was long-term, serial hits, with re-con and researching work. This was not that job.

Could Honcho have tricked Evelyn? Tossed her protégé a separate hit to test me while he worked out the other one? And risk pissing off one of the biggest names in the business? Never.

Evelyn had set me up.

I thought I was a real hitman? Well, here was a real hit. And what was I going to do about it? Run crying to Jack? If I even mentioned it to him, he'd do it for me. How she'd laugh at that – the ultimate proof that I was a wannabe hiding behind the big guns. A little girl letting the men do her dirty work.

I inhaled the icy air, feeling it scorch my lungs and gulping more, dowsing the rage.

Evelyn set me up to prove her point. Now what the hell was I going to do about it?

Would I kill an unknown mark to prove I was a badass hitman? I rubbed my face and swallowed more cold air. I wasn't a badass hitman. Never claimed to be. Never wanted to be. What was wrong with being what I was? If Evelyn despised me for it, why did I care?

I didn't care enough to prove her wrong. But to let Jack kill someone so I could keep my hands clean? My stomach churned with disgust.

What was the alternative, though? Refuse the hit? Evelyn would never let me back out and tarnish her reputation.

Again, what was the alternative? I did it or I didn't. Kill an innocent -

Maybe he wasn't so innocent?

I shivered. So that's how I was going to play this? Tell myself someone wanted this guy dead so he'd probably committed a crime?

I took a slow, deep breath, clearing my head. I couldn't decide anything in the next five minutes. I'd get the details, investigate, and hope an answer would come – fast.

Back at the park, the client was off the phone and checking his watch with little lip purses of irritation as if I was the one now keeping him waiting. As I strolled over, he cast a pointed glance my way.

"My wife expects me home by six and I have an hour commute."

"Really? Then I'd suggest you don't answer your phone again. Actually, in general, I'd suggest you don't answer it again."

I smiled, but something in that smile made him inch back, perhaps reconsidering the wisdom of treating a contract killer in the same way he'd treat a filing clerk temp.

"I presume you have a name for me?"

"I have an address and a photo. That's all you need."

His inflection turned the last words into a question, though I knew that wasn't what he'd intended, and I considered pushing the matter, but his lips were pursed, prissily, like an IRS flunky questioning a mobster's tax return. Act tough and he might back down… or he might get his back up. While I longed to hold the upper hand, if he had the address and my mark was the lone occupant, getting a name should be easy enough.

"Please tell me you at least have his schedule," I said.

"What?"

"If you want it done tonight, that means I don't have time for surveillance, meaning I can't get a feel for his daily routine."

"I want him killed at home, in his bed. He's in town, so he'll be there."

"All right, but understand that if he isn't there, in his own bed, alone, I can't do it. If I know his schedule, I can follow him from his workplace and ensure – "

"No, he'll be home. Alone. He doesn't have a girlfriend."

I thought of pointing out that this didn't preclude nighttime companionship, but the twitching of his lips warned me I was pushing him past nervousness into anxiety.

"So, presuming he's at home and alone – "

"He will be."

I met his gaze. "Please stop interrupting me. Now, presuming he's there, you want him eliminated, using a method of my choosing – "

"I need the house – " He stopped, flushing. "I'm sorry. I didn't meant to interrupt, but this is critically important. I need the house torched."

"Torched?"

"Burned to the ground, with him in it."

I stared at him until he wriggled in his seat like a three-year-old needing to go potty. "That's a joke, right?"

"Of course not." His voice started squeaking again. "I have very specific requirements and I'm paying a lot of money to get what I want."

"Did you clear this with Honcho?"

His mouth set in that prissy line. "I don't need to tell him the details."

"Because he presumes you have the sense to request something that can actually be done."

"It can be done. I've heard – "

"Even with notice, I can't burn a house 'to the ground.' Ignoring that small fact, though, you're asking for an elaborate scenario that will take time and research. I don't go to a job prepared to honor all possible requests. I'm a hired killer, not the Piano Man." I paused, as if considering. "But if you give me a few days…"

"It has to be tonight."

Damn.

He went on. "Do it however you need to, but you must torch the place."

"And by 'torch the place,' do you still mean 'burn it to the ground,' because I don't think you're following me on that one. It can't be done."

"Why not?"

I sucked in a groan. This was like being back in my cop days, dealing with an irate citizen, accusing me of laziness and incompetence because I wasn't combing his BMW for hairs, prints, and DNA after someone smashed the window and swiped the laptop he'd left on the seat.

"Burning a house 'to the ground' takes an incredible amount of work, material, and, most important, time. It cannot be done in a residential neighborhood. The minute someone sees smoke, they're calling the fire department. I'm presuming you want something destroyed, so let's do this the easy way – tell me what you want removed."

That prissy line again, but before he could refuse, I held up my hand.

"I'm not asking what information you need destroyed, just what items I'll find them on. Files? Com puter drives? CD?"

It took another ten minutes of wrangling before he finally agreed that torching the entire house might not be necessary. Then he handed me the photo and address, plus a contact number I was to call when I'd finished, so I could deliver the "proof."

I walked for a block, sloughing off the "hardened killer" facade and sliding back into myself. Then I called Quinn.

"Hey there," I said, hoping the poor connection would account for any tremor in my voice. "How are you guys holding up? Both still alive?"

"So far, though I've been on blind dates that were more comfortable. Fifty-seven minutes of awkward silence… and yes, I was counting."

"I take it Jack's not there right now?"

"He escaped about ten minutes ago, claiming he needed a cigarette, but he left his jacket behind, with the pack in it. Do you need him?" The scrape of chair legs against a hard floor. "I can probably track – "

"No," I said quickly, then hoped it wasn't too quickly. "I was just calling to check in and say I'm not coming back just yet. You guys can take off, and I'll catch up with you later."

"Something wrong?"

"Nothing serious. Seems I sprouted a tail."

"Shit."

"I'm not worried. Someone's just being careful, checking out the new hire."

He started giving me tips on how to lose a tail, which only made the lie cut deeper. I let him go on for a minute, then pushed in with, "Actually, I'm thinking maybe I should play this out. Let him follow me and see I'm just doing my research, as expected."

"Anything we can help with?"

"Maybe later. For now, I've got it covered. I'm going to shut off my phone, though, just in case. You guys can go your separate ways, get some dinner, relax. I'll call you…" I paused as if checking my watch and working out the timing. "Around nine, and we'll see how things are going then."

"Oh, speaking of calls, you got one – on the cell number you gave that agency. Jack took it. A guy there wants to speak to you two as soon as possible. It sounded like they took the bait."

Great. If only they'd done that a few hours ago…

"Dee? Still there?"

"Um, yes. Sorry. So what did Jack do?"

"He took the name and number. He said it wasn't the guy you two talked to, but it's one of the employees. Alex… Andrew… Anyway, we're going to check out his employee record again when we get back."

"Go do that then. I'm not sure how well this will play out. We may still need to make that appointment."

"All right. We'll wait for your call. Take care of yourself. If you need anything…?"

"I'll let you know."

There was no logical reason to turn off my phone if I was being tailed, and I only hoped they'd presume I thought it best and not question that. If I left it on, Jack would call the minute he got the message, and I'd never fool him as easily as I had Quinn. So off it went and, with it, my safety net disappeared.