He turned and walked back into the kitchen. Once Nate had joined him, Quinn explained what he wanted, then handed over his cell phone. He had already punched in the number for Guerrero’s Houston office, so all Nate had to do was hit Send.
There was a brief delay while the call connected and someone answered. After a moment, Nate said, “Yes, good morning. This is Dan Riley from Overnight Advantage Delivery. I’m not sure if I have the right number or not, but I’m hoping you can help me.” Nate listened, then smiled. As he spoke, his voice took on the tone of a confiding friend. “Here’s my problem. Some people just shouldn’t be allowed to fill out shipping information by hand. I tell ya, the packing slip I’m looking at right now is a mess. About the only thing I can make out is the name of the addressee and most of the phone number. You’re the third person I’ve tried.” Again he waited while the person on the other end spoke. “Let me see. The name on the package is...Jennifer Funtes or Fentes.” Pause. “Fuentes? Yes. That’s it. So I do have the right number. Great. The most annoying part is it’s person-to-person. I had no idea what I was going to do if I didn’t find her. Is she in today?” This time, the person spoke for several seconds. Nate let out a few grunts of subdued surprise, then understanding. “That’s too bad. Do you know when she’ll be back?” The look on Nate’s face foreshadowed his words. “So you have no idea, then.” A pause. “I wish I could. But she’s got to be the one to sign. I guess we’ll try to track down the sender and see what he wants to do.”
Quinn looked at Nate, waiting. His apprentice set the phone on the counter. “The lady said Jennifer Fuentes mainly works out of the
D.C. office, but that according to the staff schedule, she’s on a leave of absence. The lady wasn’t sure when she was coming back. I guess I could have pushed more.”
“No,” Quinn said. “You did fine. Pressing more could have drawn attention.”
“Is Jennifer the girl in the photo?” Nate asked.
Quinn had started to turn away, but paused, the question taking him by surprise. “What?”
“The photo you took off the body yesterday. Was it Jennifer Fuentes?”
Quinn stared at his apprentice for a moment. It wasn’t like what Nate was asking was such a mental stretch. Still, it wasn’t something Quinn was eager to discuss.
“You knew the guy, too, didn’t you?” Nate asked. “Markoff, right?”
“Drop it.”
“I’m just trying to understand what we’re doing.”
“This isn’t a job,” Quinn said.
Nate shrugged, then opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice. “Seems a little like a job.”
“We don’t have any clients right now.”
Nate retrieved a glass from the cabinet, then filled it with juice. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve taken on a job without a client.” He lifted the glass and took a drink.
Quinn drew in a slow breath, checking his emotions. “First,
After a moment of silence, Nate said, “And second?”
Quinn looked away. He had planned on saying that second, he decided what information Nate got and what he didn’t. But Nate didn’t deserve that. Quinn knew sometimes he kicked into harsh instructor mode too readily.
“Second,” he said, “yes. She’s the girl in the picture. She goes by Jenny, not Jennifer. And you’re right about the body, too. It belonged to... someone I knew. A guy named Steven Markoff.”
Quinn expected Nate to probe more, but his apprentice just smiled and downed the rest of his OJ. When he was through, he asked, “What next?”
Quinn shook his head and started walking toward the living room. Then, more to himself than to Nate, he said, “I wish I knew.”
CHAPTER
QUINN KNEW HE SHOULD JUST FORGET ABOUT HIS DEAD
friend, buried now in the desert. Forget about finding Jenny and telling her. She could live in her ignorance. In time, she would realize something had happened anyway. Quinn didn’t need to be the messenger.
So easy. So simple.
But not possible.
“We’re only part of the big plan,” his old mentor, Durrie, had said in one form or another on nearly every project they worked on together. “A small part. We’ll never see everything. We’ll never know everything. And it’s better that way. When you’re done, you’re done. Walk away and forget. You won’t last long if you don’t.”
Quinn couldn’t help hearing Durrie’s voice in his head. The son of a bitch’s teachings had been solid. He’d given Quinn all the knowledge needed to get a good start in the business. So it was only natural that Quinn, even all these years later, measured much of what he did against what he’d been taught.
But Durrie himself had been a troubled man who had spiraled into a dark place he was never able to pull himself out of, a place that eventually led him into a direct confrontation with Quinn. When Quinn had been forced to kill him in Berlin the previous winter, it had silenced Durrie’s voice for a time. But the advice, both good and bad, was back now, and Quinn was oddly comforted by it.
This particular piece of advice fell into the bad category. At least with Quinn’s current problem.
Quinn had to find Jenny. He owed Markoff that much.
