[Quinn 02] - The Deceived

This room had also been tossed—clothes and books and makeup and shoes thrown around randomly. The mattress was stripped bare and had been sliced open, the gaping wound spewing coils and cotton batting. The walls had also been attacked. It looked as though someone had taken a crowbar every few feet and torn holes into the surface.

“I was thinking maybe I could call a little help in on this one,” Nate said.

“You shouldn’t need any help.”

Even with all the chaos, it was evident this had been a woman’s room. There was no trace of a man anywhere. No men’s clothes, no men’s shoes. Nothing that would have pointed to a husband and wife sharing the space.

Quinn knew that wasn’t proof the house was Jenny’s, but it did reinforce what he was thinking. The family he’d met earlier had been a

decoy, meant to confuse anyone coming to look for whoever lived there, and to cover the destruction that was going on inside. “You know,” Nate said, “Orlando could probably figure this out in seconds.” Quinn turned off the flashlight. “Orlando’s not the one I asked to

figure it out, is she?” “Yeah, but I could call her. She won’t mind.” “No,” Quinn said. There was a back door leading to the kitchen and a sliding glass

door that opened onto what appeared to be a family room. Both were

locked. “Did you get a port of origin on the ship?” Quinn asked. “I did.” A bit of confidence returned to Nate’s voice. “Shanghai.” “Interesting.” “Not what you were expecting?” “I wasn’t expecting any place in particular,” Quinn said. Actually,

Shanghai made sense. Most West Coast shipping came from Asia, and Shanghai was one of the busiest ports not only on the Pacific Ocean but in the entire world.

There was a smaller window just beyond the sliding glass door. Frosted. A bathroom. And it was open. The gap was only a few inches, no doubt to equalize the moisture buildup anytime someone took a shower, but even if it was locked in place, Quinn would be able to force it open.

“I sent some photos to your e-mail,” Quinn said as he peeked through the window into the empty room beyond. “See if you can get a good image of each subject. You remember how to run the enhancement software, right?”

“You ask me that every single time.” “Well, do you?” “Yes. I remember how to use it.” With one hand, Quinn popped the screen out. “Good. After you

get that going, I need you to run a plate for me. You have a pen?” “Yes.” Quinn recited the license-plate number from the Volvo. He doubted it would net anything useful. With people this detailed, if the car wasn’t

stolen, the plates were.

“That it?” Nate said.

“No,” Quinn said, then gave Nate Jenny’s address. “I want a comprehensive ownership history. You’ll probably have to dig a little.”

“Got it,” Nate said. “I take it you haven’t found your friend yet.”

Quinn’s jaw tensed. “Not yet,” he said.

As his hand began pushing the window open, there was a sudden movement behind him in the bushes near the back fence. Just as he started to turn toward the noise, he felt a click from under the window frame, like it had just run over some sort of . . . switch.

He took three quick steps away from the window, but that was as far as he got before the house behind him exploded.

CHAPTER

QUINN FOUND HIMSELF FLAT ON THE GROUND, HIS

chest aching from the impact. His cell phone had flown out of his hand and lay smashed in several pieces a few feet away.

He glanced over his shoulder. The house was filled with smoke. Whatever had exploded had been toward the middle of the structure, large enough to cause a lot of damage, but small enough not to bring the whole thing down. Through the now glassless windows he could see the flicker of flames. There would be little time before fire crews and police arrived on scene. He needed to get out of there, fast.

He pulled himself to his feet, then paused.

The noise at the back of the yard. The shock of the explosion had almost made him forget. He looked toward the rear fence but there was nothing.

Forget it, he willed himself. He had to get out of there. That was priority one.

Only which way? By now people from the neighborhood would have started gathering on the street out front. If he left the same way he’d arrived, he’d be spotted for sure. The immediate assumption would be that he caused the blast. He couldn’t risk that delay.

As he began scanning the backyard for an alternate exit, the bushes moved again. No possum, he realized, unless it was at least five feet tall. It was a person; he could just make out its shadowy form between the branches.

Quinn ducked down, reaching for a gun he wasn’t carrying, then swore silently to himself. Staying low, he ran quickly over to the garden shed, putting it between him and whoever it was sharing the yard with him. He chanced a look around the side. Nothing, except the vague forms of plants and grass almost indistinguishable in the half-light of the growing fire.