The Collected (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) (7 page)

“I know, and I’m sure that’s exactly what he had planned to do.”

“Then where is he?” She looked up at him. “Why isn’t he here?”

He knew those weren’t really the questions occupying her thoughts. They were only masking the what-ifs.

What if he’s in trouble?

What if he’s hurt?

What if he’s dead and never coming back?

“Let’s go inside,” Orlando said, putting an arm around Liz’s shoulder.

Liz let herself be pulled away from her brother, and they all entered the house. Orlando guided her to the couch, and the two of them sat down.

Quinn glanced around the room. Everything looked pretty much the same as when he’d last been home. There were a few different books in the bookcase, and a dark gray hoodie draped over one of the chairs, but that was about it.

Liz had left the blinds drawn across the back wall. He walked over and pulled them open, letting the late afternoon sunlight flood in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.

As he walked back, he said, “Liz, we’re going to have to ask you a few questions. Are you up for it?”

“Of course,” she said quickly. “Whatever you need.”

He smiled, hoping to relax her a bit. “When you first came into the house, did you find anything unusual?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Nothing.”

“Have you moved anything?”

“Some soap in the bathroom.” A pause. “A glass in the kitchen. That’s it. Oh, and I lay on Nate’s bed for a little bit. But I didn’t put anything away, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“The gym?”

“I only looked in. I didn’t touch anything.”

Quinn looked around. “Where are your bags?”

“Just one bag, a carry-on. It’s down in Nate’s room. I can go get it if you want.” She started to stand.

“It’s all right,” Orlando said, putting her hands gently on Liz’s shoulders and easing her back down. “It’s not important.”

Quinn knelt in front of his sister. “You’re doing good. This is helping. Now I need you to do me a favor.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Orlando and I are going to check around the house, see if Nate left something that’ll help us contact him. I’d like you to stay right here. All right?”

“I…I can help,” she said.

“I know you can. But it’ll go faster if only Orlando and I do it. We know what we’re looking for.”

She stared at him, her eyes pleading for something to do.

“He’s right,” Orlando said calmly. “The most important thing right now is to let us do what we do best.”

Liz took in a deep breath. As she let it out, she nodded. “Okay. You’re right. I just…” She pressed her lips together for a moment, then said, “I’ll wait here.”

“Thank you,” Orlando said.

“If you need me, though, let me know.”

Quinn gave her arm a gentle squeeze, and rose to his feet. “We will.” As they walked out of the living room, he whispered to Orlando, “Downstairs first.”

Though Nate had basically taken over Quinn’s house, he had not claimed the master bedroom. It was still occupied by Quinn’s furniture and belongings.  

Nate’s room was the largest of the guest bedrooms. The only addition to the furniture that had already been there—the bed, dresser, and two nightstands—was a small wooden table in the corner Nate must have been using as a desk. On top of the table were a laptop power cord, a pad of paper, and a pen.

Quinn ran his fingers over the pad, checking for indentations made by the pen. Nothing, just as he had expected. Nate had been trained better than to do something that stupid.

“Where does he keep his computer?” Orlando asked.

Quinn shook his head. “Don’t know.”

“What about when you were living here?”

“I never asked him. That was his business. Maybe he put it—”

“Please tell me he wouldn’t have taken it with him.”

“Absolutely not. He would have taken a field computer.” Leaving your main computer at home base, and taking ones you could afford to lose when you traveled was standard procedure. Something both Quinn and Orlando did without a second thought.

“What about data backup?” she asked. “Was he using your system?”

“He was before, so I assume he still is. You want to try to see if you can access his backup while I search for the computer?”

She was already headed for the door before he even finished speaking. “If you find it, bring it up.”

“Really? I thought maybe I’d just sit down here and play Solitaire on it for a while first.”

She paused in the doorway. “Solitaire? You couldn’t have said something like Halo? Or
Call of Duty
? Or even, I don’t know, Tetris?”

“Weren’t you on your way to do something?”

She grunted a “huh” and disappeared into the hallway.

The first thing Quinn did was run his fingers underneath the desk to make sure there wasn’t a hidden compartment. He then methodically searched the rest of the room for potential laptop hiding spots. He removed drawers from the dresser, checked the mattress and box springs, and even looked for any structural changes his former apprentice might have made to the room, but he came up dry.

Next, he entered the small walk-in closet. Inside were shirts and jackets and sweaters and several boxes filled with the stuff Nate had moved in from his old apartment. Quinn looked through each box, patted down the clothing, and felt along the shelf that ran around the top. Still no computer.

Though he was frustrated, he was also pleased that Nate hadn’t just left it someplace easy to find.

Okay, then. Where?

He scanned every corner of the closet, and did the same in the bedroom.

Not in here, apparently
.

He thought for a moment. If it were him, he would have simply used one of the three secured safety boxes he’d built seamlessly into the walls. One was in his bedroom, one in the gym, and one upstairs just off the living room. Even if someone were able to figure out where they were located, and dislodge the small wall portions covering them, there was still each safe’s door. If the correct code was not input on the touch screen the very first time, the contents would be flash fried, rendering anything inside—especially a computer—worthless.

Quinn had only shown Nate the hiding place upstairs, and had never given him his code. He probably should have done that. Nate was the one living here now, after all. It would have made sense for him to stick his computer in a space that was designed to protect it.

Quinn walked into the hallway, and looked first one way, then the other.

I’m Nate. So I’d put my computer
…

He looked left again, back toward his room and the stairs.

I’d put it
…

He swiveled his head to the right, toward the gym.

I’d put
…
it’s not possible, right? I mean, he couldn’t have.

Quinn stared at the gym, walked down the hall, and went inside. The safety box in this room was along the baseboard, behind the stationary bike. He pushed in and up on the molding in exactly the right spot, and the board popped away from the wall. Underneath was the safe door with the touch screen embedded in the middle. A tap of his finger brought the screen to life. He input the first number of his code, and immediately stopped. The number had turned green. This was the fail-safe. Since it would only allow a single input before destroying everything inside, the numbers would appear in a specific color. Red meant everything was fine, but if they were green, you were inputting the wrong code.

Son of a bitch
, he thought. Nate had actually found the box
and
changed the code somehow.

After fifteen seconds of no additional numbers being input, the screen reset. This time Quinn tapped in the emergency master code, a string of digits that would open the box one time only. When the door swung open, he reached inside. There were half a dozen passports from different countries, all with pictures of Nate; several small bundles of cash, also from different locations; and a GLOCK 9mm pistol. But no computer.

Quinn went into his bedroom, and quickly discovered that Nate had taken over that safe, too. This one held some documents, and another pistol, but still no computer.

Returning upstairs, he jogged past the living room, and stopped where it transitioned into the kitchen. Orlando was at the breakfast table, her own field laptop open.

“Did you find it?” she asked.

Quinn lowered himself to his knees. “Still looking.”

“Find what?” Liz said from the couch.

“Nate’s computer,” Quinn said, then realized that was one question he hadn’t asked. “You haven’t seen it, have you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Quinn opened the baseboard, and input the master code.

Bingo
.

He pulled Nate’s computer out of the safe. “Got it.”

Orlando looked up, surprised. “Don’t just sit there. Bring it here.”

As he carried it over, he made a mental note to discuss with Nate how he had managed to find the other two hidey-holes and gain access to all three without rendering them useless. His protégé was getting good, maybe too good.

Orlando set to work on Nate’s laptop. It took her nearly fifteen minutes to get through the security, which, by the frown on her face, was obviously longer than she’d thought it would have taken.

Quinn watched from behind as she looked through a list of recent files, then opened his email.

After several minutes, she said, “There.”

Quinn scanned the message on the screen. A job confirmation for a cleaner named Quinn. He knew Nate had been using his name, but it still felt…odd.

“It says the project should have finished yesterday morning.”

“No location,” Orlando pointed out. “But it couldn’t have been too far away if Nate was going to be back in time to meet Liz today. If I know him, I’m sure he planned on returning last night so he wouldn’t chance being late picking her up.”

Quinn nodded, knowing she was right.

The message was signed P, and the sender’s email address was just a string of letters and numbers.

“P,” Quinn said to himself. “Are their any other emails?”

Orlando sorted the messages by sender. There were three more. Two were also signed P, but one, the very first message Nate had received, had a name.

Pullman.

“That doesn’t sound familiar,” Quinn said.

“I think I’ve heard it before,” Orlando told him.

“You have?”

“Give me a second.”

She switched back to her own computer, her fingers flying over her keyboard. After about forty-five seconds, she said, “Yeah. This has got to be him.” She typed for a few more seconds, then smiled smugly. “And I’m right. Again. That email address traces right back to his location.” Another keystroke and a picture appeared on the screen.

Quinn leaned forward to get a better look. The image was of a man around forty with receding brown hair and pale skin.

“Who is he?” Quinn asked.

“Mr. Timothy Pullman is a broker who works out of Chicago.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Mid-level jobs usually, with the occasional stretch to something a little more ambitious.”

“You have a number?”

She smiled. “I do.”

__________

T
HEY DECIDED ORLANDO
would make the call. Quinn was conferenced in on his phone, his mic on mute.

“Mr. Pullman?” Orlando said.

“Who’s calling?”

“My name’s Newsome. I was given your number by a mutual acquaintance. That is, if you
are
Mr. Pullman.”

“And which acquaintance would that be?”

She let a few seconds of dead air fill the line. “Are you or are you not Mr. Pullman? I’d rather not waste my time.”

This time Pullman paused. “Fine. I’m Pullman. So who’s this person who’s giving out my number? And what do you want?”

“Good. So I’m talking to the right person. I was given your number by a cleaner named Quinn. He’s actually why I’m calling. I hired him for a job that he was supposed to show up for two hours ago. He’s not here, and I haven’t heard from him, so I’m calling— ”

“I don’t know anyone named Quinn.”

Orlando and Quinn exchanged a glance.

“This was the number he gave me as a backup in case I needed to get ahold of him.”

“Sorry. Don’t know why he would have done that. I can’t help you.”

“Maybe he’s using a different name. Have you hired a cleaner recently?”

“Lady, I don’t talk business with people I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this much. I haven’t run an op in over two weeks. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to go.”

He hung up.

Orlando immediately jumped on her computer, and a few minutes later, she and Quinn were booked on a flight to Chicago.

CHAPTER 10

N
ATE’S HEAD BOUNCED
against the wall, jolting him awake.

His eyes flew open, but once more, the only thing he could see was the black cloth bag over his head. He braced himself, thinking someone was going to shove him into the wall again, but instead, he realized he was rocking back and forth, the room he was in moving.

What the...

He tried to concentrate to figure out what was going on, but his thoughts would only hold for a moment before wandering off again.

As the swaying slowed, he could feel his consciousness beginning to slip away. He fought to hold on. He knew it was important. He knew he had to—

The black nothing engulfed him again, but not before he registered one last detail—the sound of a large engine winding down.

CHAPTER 11

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

T
HE PLANE LANDED
at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport at five fifteen a.m. Within thirty minutes, Quinn and Orlando were heading into the city in the car they’d arranged for ahead of time from a local contact. Waiting for them in the backseat was a bag of items they couldn’t bring with them on the plane—two SIG SAUER P226 pistols, extra preloaded magazines, lock picks, duct tape, and a syringe filled with liquid sleep.