The Unwanted (56 page)

BOOK: The Unwanted

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"I also thought you'd like to know about the children who'd been . . ." Peter seemed to be unable to finish the sentence.

"What about them?" Quinn asked.

"All but one survived. The doctors say he had a heart condition that just couldn't handle the stress of being kept drugged for so long, followed by all the excitement at the school."

"He?"

"A little boy. That's all I know."

Quinn paused as an image of the boy on the gurney squeezing his hand pushed everything else aside. Though he didn't wish death on any of the children, he hoped for his own sanity that this boy was one of the living.

"One last thing," Peter said. "You remember the man you caught in the apartment building in New York before you discovered the DDNI's body?"

That seemed like years ago to Quinn. "Al, right?"

"Al Barker," Peter said. "I was able to have one more conversation with him before the Feds showed up. I brought a picture of Hardwick with me that I'd taken from the NSA website. When he looked at it, he identified him as Mr. Monroe."

"Monroe?"

"The landlord who owned the building. Remember?"

"What the hell?" Quinn said. Hardwick had
owned
the building where Quinn had found the DDNI?

"I think we've been played," Peter said. "I think we might have just done what the LP wanted us to do. But no one will believe me anymore. I'm out of the game. I just thought you should know so you can keep an eye on your back. Since you're still in good standing, they'll be concerned about you. You're one of the few out there who know they exist and can cause them a problem."

Quinn let it sink in for a moment. Even if they had been set up, there had been no choice. Quinn had to do what he'd done. The alternative would have been a disaster. "What are you going to do now?" he asked.

"Get drunk," Peter said.

The line went silent for several seconds before it was replaced by the dead air of a disconnected call.

Nate sat behind the wheel of Quinn's BMW, his brand-new prosthesis pressing down on the gas pedal. They were heading south toward L.A., having retrieved the now-dusty car from where they'd left it in the Alabama Hills.

"You still want me to take you straight to the airport?" Nate asked.

Quinn glanced at the clock on the radio. By the time they reached the city, there would be less than two hours before his flight.

"Yeah. Straight there." Tonight he'd be sleeping in a hotel in Minneapolis, and tomorrow, after a long drive north, he'd be having dinner in his parents' kitchen.

Quinn stared out the passenger window at the upsweep of the Sierra Nevadas. After a moment, he looked over at Nate.

"I've been thinking," he said.

"Yeah? What?" Nate asked.

"I was thinking maybe you'd like to move into the guest room of my place."

Nate stared at the road ahead, his expression impossible to read.

"I'm not going to be around that much," Quinn said.

"Where are you going?"

Now it was Quinn's turn to stare out the window. "San Francisco."

A smile cracked on Nate's face.

"I guess I'm kind of asking you to watch my place for me," Quinn said.

"What about my training?"

"Your training won't stop."

Nate looked skeptical. "Don't jerk me around. I'm just going to be a glorified house sitter, aren't I?"

Quinn didn't answer for several seconds. When he finally did, he said, "No, Nate. You're going to be a cleaner."

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Help with this novel has come from various sources, some old, some new, and some I'm sure to forget to mention. Thanks to Jon Rivera, Helene Cariou, Lorena Philp, Jim Hardwick, and Tammy Sparks. All have provided assistance and support in abundance. And to Kelly for the same and more.

A huge thanks also to the sanity squad: Robert Gregory Browne, Bill Cameron, and Tasha Alexander. Not only did they help me focus, but they also gave valuable feedback and suggestions throughout the writing of this book.

And to team Quinn at Bantam Dell in the U.S.: Sharon Propson, Sharon Swados, and Nita Taublib. And at Preface in the U.K.: Rosie de Courcy, Trevor Dolby, Ben Wright, Paula Hogben, Nicola Taplin, and all the rest. And, of course, my agent, Anne Hawkins. But most of all, thanks to my wonderful editor at Bantam Dell, who makes everything I do better, Danielle Perez.