Authors: Brett Battles

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Crime

The Deceived (47 page)

BOOK: The Deceived

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Tasha thought a moment. “It’s possible. I’ll try to check it out. Thanks.”

Quinn’s eyes were drawn to a river taxi passing slowly by. When he looked back at Tasha, he asked, “Why are you being so open with me about this?”

“Because—” Tasha stopped herself as the waitress appeared and set their drinks on the table—a Tiger beer for Quinn and a gin and tonic for Tasha.

Once she was gone, Tasha started again. “Because I want you to come work for me. You know at least a little about what’s going on, and there are only a few people I can trust.”

Quinn took a drink of his beer, then set the glass back down. “I don’t do exclusives.”

“You’re an excellent tracker. You found Jenny when we couldn’t. You’re smart, and you adapt quickly.”

Quinn took another drink, then stood up. “I’m not a tracker. I’m a cleaner. Sorry.”

She looked him in the eyes. “I need you. This is more important than any rules you think you might have.”

Quinn said nothing for several seconds. Finally, “If I’m available, we can talk.”

As he started to walk away, she said, “So that’s not a no?”

He didn’t turn back.

Orlando stayed for nearly a week, going with Quinn to the clinic during the day, making love with him at night. In many ways, they were the best few days of Quinn’s life, and in many ways, when it came to Nate, they were the worst.

One night at dinner, Orlando said, “I have to go.”

Quinn knew it was coming. Her son needed her. “I understand,” he said.

“Do you?” she asked. “Do you know how hard it is for me to leave you now?”

Just as hard as it will be for me to see you go,
he thought. But he only nodded.

“Maybe... maybe I can bring Garrett to L.A.,” she said.

“No. Don’t. I’ll come to you. I just...I need to get a few things settled first.”

She leaned across the table and touched his face with her hand. “We’ll be waiting.”

It was another two weeks before Quinn and Nate were able to leave the island.

“I’ve lined up some appointments for you back home,” Quinn said to Nate as they flew back to Los Angeles.

“What kind of appointments?” his apprentice asked.

“With a doctor, and a prosthetic clinic.”

“Oh.” Nate turned back to the magazine he was looking at. Five minutes later, he said, “This doesn’t change anything. I can still do this job.”

It was still too early to have this conversation, and it was definitely the wrong place. “Let’s see what they say,” Quinn said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nate said. “But I’ll prove it to you.”

“Okay.”

“Is that an ‘okay shut up’? Or an ‘okay you’ll give me a fair chance’?”

“It’s an ‘okay we’ll see.’ ”

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy his apprentice, but he let it drop.

Early October was already cold in southern Wisconsin. Not midwinter cold; there was no snow on the ground. But at night, water would freeze, and in the morning, grass would crunch underfoot.

Quinn usually hated the cold. But for this trip, it seemed appropriate.

The graveyard was a small one just on the outskirts of Madison. The plot Quinn had purchased was in the back, near a stand of trees. Out of the way. Inconspicuous. Perfect.

The hole was already dug, and the casket was suspended above it when Quinn arrived. He asked the two cemetery workers standing nearby if they wouldn’t mind giving him a few minutes alone. They nodded in understanding and walked toward the small chapel at the front of the facility.

Two days after Quinn and Nate arrived in Los Angeles, Quinn had taken another drive out into the desert. Finding Markoff ’s temporary resting place had not been difficult. Neither had digging up the remains.

Now he was in Markoff ’s home state, giving his friend the burial he should have had from the very beginning. Nate had offered to come, but Quinn had left him in Los Angeles. When Quinn had called Derek Blackmoore, the old spy runner had also wanted to attend, but his recovery from the severe beating he’d had was slow and painful. So Quinn was alone. Somehow, though, that felt right.

Quinn closed his eyes and recited the Lord’s Prayer. He didn’t know if it was even the right prayer to say, but it was all he knew, and even then, he didn’t know it well.

When he was through, he looked at the box again, then took a step back. “I guess this’ll have to make us even,” he said. He turned and began walking back to his car.

As he drove toward the Dane County Regional Airport, he pulled out his cell phone.

“Are you asleep?” he asked when she answered.

“No,” she said.

Though it was the middle of the night in Vietnam, Orlando had known what he was doing today, and had insisted he call her when he was through.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said. “Quiet. It’s a beautiful area, not like where he was.”

“How are you?”

Quinn thought for a moment before answering. “I’m okay. Better now, I guess.”

“Good,” she said.

The air between Middle America and Southeast Asia went silent for several seconds. But it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was as if each knew the other was there and that was enough.

“When do you go back to L.A.?” she asked.

“Tonight. Nate’s got an appointment with a doctor tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tell him I’m thinking about him.”

“I will.”

“Quinn?”

“Yes?”

A pause.

“When are you coming to me?”

A CKNOWLEDGMENT S

FIRST AND FOREMOST, A SPECIAL THANK-YOU TO MY

editor Danielle Perez for her insights and dedication; to Nita Taublib for her enthusiasm and support; to Irwyn Applebaum for everything he does for writers and publishing; and to Chris Artis, Sharon Swados, and the rest of the Bantam Dell team for their tireless efforts. In addition, thank you to my wonderful agent Anne Hawkins, who has always been there for me.

I’d also like to acknowledge a group of people who have helped me in various ways—from research to reading drafts to just being there as I threw out ideas. They include, but are not limited to: Bruce, Suzie, Brooke and Jessica Lambert, Darren Battles, Richard Weideman, Catherine White, Rick Von Feldt, Tammy Sparks, Kathy Karner, Theresa Imbach, Jon Rivera, Dawn Butler, James and Barbara Battles, Derek Rogers, Brian Perry, Donna Kuyper, Stephen Blackmoore, Spike Koplansky, Alison Perkins, James Vandersea, Bobby McCue, Linda Brown, Phil Hawley Jr., Bill Cameron, Sean Chercover, Tasha Alexander, John Ramsey Miller, John Gilstrap, and Robert Gregory Browne.

As always, any errors can be attributable to only one person. When I find out who that is, I’ll let you know.

ABOUT THE A UTHOR

BRETT BATTLES lives in Los Angeles, where he is currently at work on the third book in the Jonathan Quinn series. His website is
www.brettbattles.com
.

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