“I don’t have time for tough-guy games, intentional delays, or unintentional hesitation. Let’s try this one more time, or the next punch does more permanent damage. Sound like a plan?”

“Yes,” Jimmy blurted out the second his tormentor had finished speaking. “And it’s Jimmy. Jimmy Donovan.” There was no point in hiding. The operation had gone catastrophically sideways, and the odds were no longer in their favor, at least from where Jimmy was sitting.

“Good. I believe you. Now, let’s get down to brass tacks, as they say. And just so there’s no misunderstanding between us—I do not want to hurt you. I really, really don’t. It’s not who I am anymore, but if you force me, I’ll go back there in the blink of an eye,” the man said, and leaned in close to Jimmy’s face, as if emphasizing his point by proximity.

Jimmy felt the man study him, and he saw the whites of his eyes inches away, the irises black orbs of merciless accusation. Tell him whatever he wants. The only thing you shouldn’t give him is Griffin’s name, because if you survive this stranger and this night, Griffin will kill you for talking, no questions asked.

“I understand,” Jimmy said, the words sounding more like “eh undersand” through the swollen nose.

“I thought so. Let’s begin, and I’m cutting right to the chase. What are you guys looking for?”

A simple question with a simple answer. “A laptop. Specifically, a Dell 5500 series government laptop.”

There was a slight pause, as if the man were processing the information.

“What’s on it that makes it valuable?”

“A list,” Jimmy said, preparing for what came next and already fearing it.

“What kind of list?”

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “He’s not telling us. I swear to God on my mother’s soul. Please believe me,” he implored. Jimmy’s heart pounded harder, dread forming in the pit of his stomach, bracing for the blow he expected to come next. He shut his eyes and waited.

“Who’s he ?” the man whispered directly into his ear.

The closeness, the intimacy of it, startled Jimmy so badly that he jerked on the floor, straining his arms, sending bolts of pain shooting down his shoulders.

Here you go. Time to play your only card. “Barrett. Barrett Connolly. He’s the man running this operation.”

“Would this person have dark hair and eyes that occasionally flickered with crazy?” the man asked.

Well, that’s one way to put it. In fact, Jimmy had thought the same thing the first time he’d met Barrett. The Irishman was cunning, lethal, and nearly certifiable. He’d made a mental note to never land on Barrett’s bad side, but in the end, while the thought of Barrett coming after him made him nervous and uneasy, the thought of Griffin hunting him flat-out terrified him.