Read Those Who Wish Me Dead for Free Online

someone bleeding. He was not a man who handled frustration well. He’d understood for a while now that he might have made a mistake with this alliance, but for all their strange quirks and bizarre behavior, the Blackwell brothers were good. They did professional work and they did not make mistakes and they kept a low profile. They were cold and they were cruel but he understood men who were cold and cruel and in the end all he cared about was whether they were good at their jobs. The Blackwell brothers were that, if nothing else. His patience for their attitudes, though, was fading fast.
    “That kid,” he said, “is a problem for me too. All of this comes back to me in the end, you better remember that. Better remember who pays you for your work.”
    “The lectures again,” Patrick said, and shook his head. “You hearing this?”
    “I am,” Jack said. “Appears to be questioning our level of understanding. Yet again.”
    “Shut the fuck up,” Ian said. “That shit, the talking-like-I’m-not-here shit? End it. I’ll lay this out for you once, okay? The kid is not with WITSEC. If he ever is, I’ll know about it. He’s not right now. So your job is to figure out where he is. And do it fast.”
    “There were rumors afloat,” Jack said. “You recall those, Patrick?”
    “Negotiations with prosecutors. Are those the rumors you’re thinking of?”
    “Well, it wasn’t the Cubs’ possibilities before the trade deadline. So it must have been that, yes.”
    Ian was listening to them and wondering why in the hell he hadn’t driven away as soon as he saw the truck. He’d always been in control of these two, in theory at least, but he’d never felt that control. Now he was seeing the mistake in this association. A wise man didn’t rent attack dogs; he raised them himself. Why? Because he’d never be able to fully trust them otherwise.
    “Listen,” he said, “I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about, with the rumors and bullshit. Nobody wants this done more than me. The parents know where the boy is, you can count on that.”
    “Does the mother talk to us, Patrick? What do you think?” This from Jack.
    “Anyone will talk to us with proper encouragement. Or so we’ve found over the years.”
    “True. But do the parents say what we need them to say in the course of our conversation?”
    “A far more difficult question. They have, after all, nothing but the boy. In such circumstances, even the most persuasive approach may not be effective. It would depend upon the depth of their affection.”
    “My point exactly. The parents also have watchers now. Law enforcement support, a prosecutor who is determined to use that boy as a critical witness and who probably has conned them into believing the boy can be kept safe, and all the boy has to do is simply appear in court. You might remember that we were told by Ian here to leave the scene without the boy, that we couldn’t waste time on a kid who, quote, ‘might not even have seen a thing.’ And that allowed the parents time to seek help. I would say, and you may correct me if you feel it’s necessary, that the parents are a very poor opening option.”
    “I would concur,” Patrick said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Ian. Lord, they were pale eyes. Ian hated their eyes, their stupid verbal games, their general demeanor. Even when you tried to piss them off, you couldn’t. He hadn’t succeeded in rattling those flat monotones yet.
    “Then find another option,” Ian said. “That was your job. Go do it. Get the hell out of my house and do it.”
    “For how much?” Jack said.
    Ian stared at him. “For how much? ”
    “Yes. What pay rate, Ian?”
    “You expect me to pay you to kill a witness you left alive? Pay you to clean up your own damned mess?”
    “The mess,” Jack said, still looking at the floor, “occurred while we were already in your employ. This mess is part of a previously existing mess. One that you paid us to clean up.