He must have seen me already, but I knew Jack’s order had nothing to do with being overprotective. As the female half of the duo, I made the better target. And if I didn’t play “good victim”? I’d humiliate this thug, as Evelyn and I had done to Bert at the motel, and that would lead to the same result—we’d have to put the boots to him and intimidate him into giving up whatever information Jack hoped to gain.

While that thought didn’t bother me, Jack was my boss, the senior partner. I didn’t want to disrespect him by challenging him, not on this.

As for staying put, though, that was another thing. Jack might not be accustomed to working with a partner, might not understand a partner’s duties, but I did.

I crept forward, watching my step. The undergrowth was thick here, and I nearly stepped on a shallow puddle coated with ice.

Jack had stopped halfway to the parking lot, waiting in the bushes. A few minutes later, the thug returned, walking at a brisk clip back to the home. As he passed, Jack swung out, silent as a wraith, came up behind him and barrel pointed at the base of the man’s skull.

“Turn left and walk,” Jack said.

The man gave a tight laugh. “Into the woods? So you won’t have as far to drag my body? I ain’t making it easier for you.”

“I wanted you dead? Be there already. Got a message for Boris.”

“And you want me to play delivery boy?”

“You don’t want to? Fine. I’ll use the next guy.”

The thug let Jack steer him into the woods—on the opposite side of the trail. I crept as close as I dared, waited until they had their backs to me, then darted across the open path.

Jack stopped in a clearing. I found a spot ten feet away, with a good sight line. He made the thug kneel, hands on the back of his head, then trained his gun on the guy’s skull base. I aimed mine at the thug’s right shoulder—a disabling shot.

“You said you got a message for Boris,” the guy said.

“Houston.”

“Wha—?” The thug tried to look over his shoulder at Jack, but a gun poke stopped him.

“That’s the message. Houston.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Boris knows. Tell him this is my business—”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Houston. He’ll know. And my business? No concern of his. His business? No concern of mine. Got it?”

“Got what? That’s not a message. It’s code or some—”

“Repeat what I said.”

The thug sighed but, with prompts, repeated it.

“Good,” Jack said. “Boris comes after me again? I’ll know you fucked up the message.”

Jack let the thug go, then slipped into the woods to make sure he left.