[Quinn 02] - The Deceived

it over.

Quinn donned his modified windbreaker and stowed his gun. He then pulled out his computer and got onto the Internet. Within moments, he was on the Sandy Side Yacht Club message board. He found the original message from Jenny, with his posted reply. There was now a third message.

Quinn clicked it open. It was from Jenny. Code word: Los Angeles. The message was an eleven-digit number, followed by a time and day.

4:00 p.m. GMT Saturday

Quinn quickly calculated the time difference between Greenwich Mean and the west coast of North America: 9:00 a.m. Tomorrow. The eleven-digit number before it had to be a phone number. Quinn wrote everything down on a piece of hotel stationery, then folded it and put it in his pocket.

As he was shutting down his computer, Tasha came through the door. She was dressed in the same sweatpants and T-shirt they’d picked up for her the night before. Her hair, still damp from the shower, was pulled back in a ponytail.

“Good sleep?” Nate asked.

“Fine,” she said. She looked at Quinn. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I’ve arranged for a place where you can stay,” Quinn said. Orlando had used one of her local contacts to find an out-of-the-way location for Tasha to lie low. It was in the mountains on the way to Lake Tahoe to the east, someplace no one would ever think to look.

“What?” Tasha asked, surprised.

“They won’t be able to find you. It’ll be safe.” Quinn walked over to the closet. From the inside pocket of the suit he’d been wearing earlier, he removed a map, a house key, and a valet ticket.

“I thought I was staying... with you. Help you find Jenny.”

He walked over to her. “There’s a car downstairs,” he said, handing her the ticket, then the map and key. “The route is traced out on here. You won’t have any problems. It’s a safe house. Stocked with food. You won’t have to leave. It’ll only be you.”

She looked at him for several seconds, her brow furrowed like she didn’t completely understand. “Why can’t I stay?”

“It’s out of the question.”

She looked at Quinn, then Nate, then at the front door, then back again. She seemed almost panicked. “I’m staying,” she said. “You need me.”

“You’ll get in the way and get one of us killed.”

“I won’t!”

“This is not a negotiation,” he said. “You’re leaving. We’ll drive you there ourselves if we have to.” She stared at him, her eyes pleading with him to reconsider. But

when he said nothing, the desperation on her face began to wane. “How...how long?” Quinn sighed inwardly, relieved. “A couple weeks would be best. It

should be okay by then.”

“A couple of weeks?” She had a pained look on her face again, only this time it seemed more for show than anything else. She knew she’d already lost the battle. Quinn could see that, too.

“You know what these people can do. So, yeah. Two weeks.”

Her gaze moved from his face to a point on the floor near his feet. He let her absorb the new reality for a moment, then said, “It’s time to go.”

“What about Jenny?” she asked, obviously stalling. “I’ll find her.” He paused, then added, “I’m already in contact with

her.” Her eyes grew wide. “You’ve talked to her? You know where she is?” “You don’t have to worry about her anymore. Go lay low. This will

all be over soon.” “But...I—” “This isn’t a choice,” Quinn said. “Get your purse and let’s go.” She hesitated, looking like she wanted to push back one more

time, but after a few seconds, she turned and walked back into the bedroom.

Nate had sat unmoving through the entire conversation, his eyes glued to a rerun of Three’s Company. As soon as Tasha left the room, he held up the remote and changed the channel.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Quinn said. “Oh, I’m not comfortable,” Nate told him. “You could have given me a heads-up you were going to do that.” “I’m going to take her down to the car. Wait ten minutes, then

meet me in the lobby.” As soon as he finished speaking, Tasha came back into the room. “How will I get ahold of you if there’s a problem?”

“There’s not going to be a problem,” Quinn said. “How do you know that?” Quinn hesitated, then walked over to the desk and tore a corner

off one of the remaining pieces of stationery. On it he wrote one of his many dummy phone numbers. Calls to any of the numbers would be rerouted to his cell phone.

“Here,” he said, handing the paper to her. “But only if you have no

choice.” She put the scrap into her purse. “Wait,” she said. “I’ll give you mine, too.” She walked over to the desk and ripped off another strip of paper.

She wrote something on it and handed it to Quinn. “Promise me you’ll call me every few days to let me know what’s