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Spike’s eyes narrowed. “It’s supposed to be the husband.”

“If that’s a fucking cop with him...” Viper let that hang.

If the cops were involved now, this whole thing could go down the drain.

“Fuck.” Spike got even more jumpy.

The two in the SUV climbed out and walked toward them. One of the guys did look like a manager of some office job or something, in his long coat over slacks, and a matching knit cap and scarf to keep him warm. His shoes were not suited for the cold, rugged outdoors.

The other guy was a bit more rugged in jeans, work boots, a heavy flannel, down vest, knit cap, and gloves.

“That’s far enough,” Viper said, making the two stop five feet away from them.

“Are you Spike?” the office guy asked.

Spike spoke up. “You Rich?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s your friend?” Viper asked.

“Who the fuck are you?” the friend asked.

“Your worst nightmare,” he answered because in many ways he could be and was in this situation.

Rich held a hand up toward his friend. “Let me handle this.”

The friend rolled his eyes but shut up.

Rich looked to Spike. “I didn’t want to come alone with all this money.”

Viper wondered, why not? He was here to pay tohave his wife killed. If he got robbed, that was the least of his worries.

Spike took charge. “First things first. We’re going to pat you down, check for weapons and wires. Arms out.”

Viper hoped they were unarmed and not cops. That’s the last thing he needed right now.

Rich complied with Spike’s order readily.

The friend eyed him.

Viper glared. “You got a problem?”

The friend reluctantly held his arms out.

Viper patted him down a little rougher than necessary, just to make sure the guy understood Viper could take him and not to try something stupid.

Spike stepped back from Rich and folded his arms over his chest. “Now let’s talk specifics.”

Rich glanced at his friend, then back at Spike. “I want you to do what you said you’d do.”

“Which is?” Spike asked, being very helpful to Viper because he’d like to know very much what exactly Rich wanted done to his wife.

“You have to make it look like an accident.”

“What did you have in mind?” Spike asked. “You want her to trip down the stairs? Crash her car? Slip in the shower and conk her head?”

“Any of those things are fine, so long as it’s quiet and she’s dead. I don’t want to know how.”