From the distance came the first faint sounds of sirens. Quinn started to pull back behind the shed when suddenly two hands shot up above the plants, grabbing for the top of the fence.
Quinn didn’t even think. He rushed toward the movement.
The person who’d been hiding was almost over the top by the time Quinn got there.
A woman, he realized. She was thin, agile, and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Like Quinn, she was dressed in dark clothing.
He lunged forward, his hand grasping at her foot. But his hesitation had cost him. His fingers brushed the sole of her shoe, unable to grab hold.
There was a thud on the other side of the fence, followed a second later by a groan.
Quinn pulled himself up and over the barrier, landing on his feet.
The woman was already heading across the yard toward a house that could have been a clone of the one that had just been destroyed. There were no lights on inside. Either no one was home, or the place was empty. The explosion would have drawn the attention of any occupants.
The woman was favoring one leg, slowing her progress.
“Jenny?” he called out. But the woman didn’t stop.
Quinn sprinted across the lawn. In the distance, the wail of emergency sirens was nearing.
When he was only a few feet away, he said in a low voice, “Stop.”
The woman did just the opposite, moving faster toward the house.
Quinn closed the remaining distance and grabbed her just below the shoulders, pulling them both to a halt.
She flailed against him, trying to break free, but he held tight. As he turned her to face him, he realized he was wrong. She wasn’t Jenny. The height had been right, and the hair was close enough to his memory of Jenny’s, but the face belonged to someone else.
“Please,” she said. “Let me go. I didn’t see anything, okay?” She winced in pain, but she didn’t cry out.
“What were you doing back there?” Quinn asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Maybe watching to make sure the bomb got me?”
“No. Please, just let me go.”
“You were trying to kill me, weren’t you?” Quinn said.
“Please. I just want to leave.”
“Who are you?”
As she started to speak, a jolt of pain crossed her face. She began to lean down, but Quinn’s grip held her in place.
“I twisted my ankle,” she said. “Just let me check it.”
“Slow and easy,” he said.
As he released his grip, he moved behind her, keeping a hand on her back just below her neck. The sirens were closer now. Perhaps a minute away, no more.
The woman rubbed her ankle for a moment, then one of her hands slipped under the cuff of her pants. Quinn reached down and grabbed her wrist just as her hand reemerged. She was holding a small pistol. By the looks of it, a .22. Not a lot of firepower, but at close range enough to kill.
Quinn wrenched the weapon from her grasp.
“Give that back,” she said.
He slipped the gun into his pocket.
“Fine. Keep it. I don’t care,” she said. She turned her head toward the sound of the sirens, then looked back at Quinn. “Can I go now?”
Quinn knew they had very little time before they’d be discovered, but he didn’t move. “Who are you?”
“Does it matter?” she said. “Look, they’re going to arrest both of us if they find us here. I didn’t have anything to do with the explosion, and I know you didn’t either or you wouldn’t have been standing so
close when it went off. Right?”
Quinn didn’t reply.
“Can we just get out of here?” she asked.
“Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Actually, it does.”
He grabbed her by the arm and started pushing her across the yard toward the front gate.
Quinn found an old Ford Bronco parked on the street with its doors unlocked.
