Again, Durrie’s voice, “Get the fuck out of there. Just walk back down the street, get into your car, and go back to the airport. You should have never come here in the first place.”
He knew it was too late to make the last flight back to L.A., but he could catch an early plane and be back by late morning. Tomorrow he could try to find Jenny through other channels. But he didn’t move.
His hunch was that Steiner had been right. The home belonged to Jenny. And something very odd had been going on there.
He looked up and down White Magnolia Lane. The street was quiet.
He slid from behind the Jeep and crossed the road at a spot where the glow of the streetlight had dropped off to darkness. At the base of the driveway, he paused long enough to make sure he was still unobserved. For a brief second, he thought he sensed someone nearby, but it quickly passed. Perhaps it had just been an animal. Maybe a possum out on its evening prowl. Still, he gave it an extra minute before moving forward.
Once he reached the front door, he placed an ear against the wooden surface, straining to hear even the faintest of sounds. As he expected, only silence. He pulled the pair of leather gloves out of his back pocket, donned them, then tried the knob. It was locked. He cursed under his breath, annoyed that he’d left his set of lock picks in his bag back in the rental’s trunk. He considered retrieving them, but that seemed needlessly risky.
Perhaps there was another way in.
He left the porch and started making his way around the house, inspecting each window he passed. His hope was that one would be unlocked, but everything was shut tight.
When he reached the side of the house, he was greeted by a six-foot-high wooden fence. If there was a gate, he couldn’t see it. He put his hands on top, then jumped up, extending his elbows so that he was suspended halfway above the barrier.
Like the front yard, the ground on the other side was also grass. Quinn swung his right leg up, catching his foot on top. From there, it was easy to swing the rest of his body up and over the fence.
Though he could only see a portion of the backyard, he could tell it was large and lush. Directly ahead of him, along the side fence, was an old wooden gardening shed. Since the bushes and trees appeared to be well maintained, he guessed the shed was put to a lot of use.
For several seconds, he waited, half expecting someone to appear around the corner of the house, but there was no one. He turned his attention back to the house.
Unlike out front, not all of the curtains were closed here. He peered through the first few windows he passed. Though dark, he could still make out the interior. Bedrooms. Perhaps used for guests or as an office. But in their current state, it was impossible to tell. Each was a disaster—papers and clothing scattered across the floor, pieces of furniture dragged haphazardly from their original locations, pictures pulled from where they’d hung. It even looked like holes had been punched into the walls.
Before he could move to the next window, his phone vibrated in his pocket. The pattern was distinctive, letting him know it was Nate on the other end. He was about to let it go to voice mail when he realized why his apprentice was calling.
“Yes?” he said, answering the phone and keeping his voice as low as possible.
“You missed your check-in,” Nate said.
“Sorry,” Quinn said. They had prearranged a time for him to call, but he’d been focused on the house and had forgotten. “Everything’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Nate was looking for the specific phrase that would let him know Quinn was okay.
“No issues,” Quinn said.
“You had me worried there,” Nate said. “I was seconds away from calling in backup.”
“Sorry,” Quinn told him. “Things are a little more complicated here than I expected.”
He worked his way up to the back corner of the house and peeked around. More yard. He almost expected to see a gazebo in the center, but there was none.
“Quinn?”
“I’m in the middle of something right now,” Quinn said.
“Then call me back when you have a minute,” Nate said. “I’ve got something.”
“Hold on.” Quinn eased around the corner and approached the next window.
The room beyond looked like it was the master bedroom. He chanced turning on his flashlight, twisting the beam into a tight spotlight to cut down on the chances light might spill through to the front of the house.
“You figure out the code from the container?” he asked as he looked inside.
“No,” Nate said. “I haven’t a clue.”
“You’ve gotten nowhere?”
“It doesn’t fit into any of the standard codes.”
Quinn played the light across the back wall. There were three exits to the room. One to the hallway, another to what looked to be a bathroom. The third was closed.
“So?” Quinn asked. “Try a little harder.”
In the room was a bed, queen size with an ornate white wooden frame. An armoire was across the room, also white but simpler in construction. It had been twisted away from the wall and sat at an odd angle. Next to it was a matching makeup table, also moved from its logical home. Quinn couldn’t see a dresser, but there was something under the window below him that could very well be it.
