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Cillian had been almost twice Jack’s age and to Jack, he’d seemed the ultimate ball-busting, take-no-prisoners tough guy. The reality? Cillian was a third-rate thug, a big fish whose small pond dried up years ago. A complete fucking moron who’d gotten where he’d been through brute strength and brass balls, and when one failed, the other took over.
    Cillian had no idea how these guys planned to lure Nadia in. Apparently, he really
had
just figured she’d magically realize Quinn was missing. This was, of course, the same guy who believed an antihistamine pill was slow-release cyanide.
    What was that old saying about never meeting your heroes? It also applied to not
re
-meeting them thirty years later.
    Of course Jack didn’t drop it at that. He kept asking. He shattered Cillian’s kneecap. And fuck if he didn’t feel bad about that. But he had to be sure he was getting honest answers, and he’d always found that rather than threaten to do a thing, you should just do it.
    “Fine,” Jack said. “Forget their fucking plan. Which you should have asked about. Due diligence.”
    “You—you broke my goddamned knee,” Cillian heaved between gasps of pain.
    “Yeah, but at your age? Probably need it replaced. Easier now.”
    “You’ve lost your soul, you know that? All those years of killing, and it’s gone. Just gone. What would your brothers think? Or your parents?”
    There’d been a time when invoking his family’s memory would have hurt. Hurt like hell. But Jack hadn’t lost his soul. Yeah, he’d misplaced it for a while. Lacking a soul meant you knew the difference between good and bad, you just didn’t give a shit. But Jack knew and, in this case, he felt bad. However . . .
    “You fucked me over,” Jack said. “Did nothing to deserve it. All about you. What you wanted. So now it’s about me. What I want. To protect Dee. Who’s only in this mess because of us. Your backstab. My carelessness.”
    “But she’ll be fine. That’s what you aren’t understanding here, Jack, that if you just do what they ask—”
    Jack walloped his pistol against the old man’s busted knee and then shoved his jacket over Cillian’s mouth to stifle his screams.
    “That’s a no,” Jack said. “Suggest it again? You’ll need both knees fixed.
If
I give you the antidote.” He checked his watch. “Thirty minutes left. You feeling it yet?”
    Cillian swallowed and nodded.
    “Useful information,” Jack said. “That’s the key. What’s the timetable?”
    “Uh, I keep you busy for a couple days doing recon work. They contact me as soon as they have her, and that’s when I give them an address and they move in to talk to you.”
    “You have contact info?”
    Cillian nodded. “But you can’t just call—”
    “Give me everything. I’ll decide what to do with it. When are you due? To contact them?”
    “They’ll call when it’s clear on their end.”
    Which meant no one expected to hear from Cillian.
    “How’re they making contact? Your phone?”
    Cillian nodded. Jack patted him down and took the phone.
    “They Irish?” Jack asked.
    “Fuck, no. They’re from—”
    “We’ll get to that.”
    What mattered right now was that, not being Irish, they’d only expect to hear an older man with an Irish accent when they called.
    “Contingency plans?” Jack said, and when Cillian’s face screwed up, he couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t know the word or because he didn’t understand the concept. Both seemed equally likely.
    “Backup plan? If they don’t get her? If I refuse your job? If I refuse theirs?”
    Cillian blinked, and Jack fought the urge to sigh.
    “Start with the first,” he said. “If they don’t get her?”
    “I . . . I don’t know. I suppose, then the plan fails and they’ll just kill that Quinn fellow.”
    Jack considered that, maybe longer than he should. But, no, Quinn’s death would not be a positive outcome. It would upset Nadia.
    “If I refuse your job?” he