“Not those guys,” he said.
“No?”
He knew she didn’t really want to know the truth, so he just shook his head, and he guided her away.
“WE SHOULD HAVE HEARD FROM THEM BY now,” Quinn said.
He and Orlando were at opposite ends of the street, watching Annabel Taplin’s apartment building. They had their comm gear on, so were in constant contact.
“You told him to get Liz out of town, so that’s what he’s doing,” Orlando said. “He’ll call in as soon as he can.”
“I know, I know.”
A large vapor cloud formed in front of his face as he let out a breath. The weather had taken a decidedly colder turn that morning, and even with a muffler wrapped around his neck and the collar of his jacket flipped up, Quinn was freezing.
“We should have just staked out her office again,” Quinn said. It was almost 8 a.m. and so far no sign of Annabel. Perhaps the building
“Why don’t you go grab some coffee,” Orlando told him. “I can watch things here.”
“I’m fine. I’m just …”
“Annoying me?”
“Sorry. I’m fine.”
“Keep it up and I’m sending you home.”
Seven minutes later, movement in front of the building made him forget the fact he was losing feeling in his cheeks. “Is that her?”
Orlando was positioned closer. “It’s her.”
“Finally,” he said. “I’m heading for the station.”
They had made the assumption that Annabel would use the Russell Square Underground station like she had the night before. Quinn headed there first, while Orlando kept Annabel in sight in case she went somewhere else.
If Annabel stuck to her script and did a reverse of her trip home, she would go one stop to Holborn, then switch to the Central Line. So Quinn went straight to the platform and found a spot against the wall halfway down, blending into the rush-hour crowd.
He glanced up at the display screen hanging from the ceiling. The next train was due in three minutes, with another five minutes later. He then turned so he could see the platform entrance, and waited.
Annabel arrived just as the sound of the first train began rumbling through the tunnel. She walked through the crowd, passing within five feet of Quinn, before stopping, her eyes never straying in his direction.
Orlando showed up a few seconds later. She eased her way through the other commuters and into position directly behind Annabel. The train whooshed into the station with a sudden roar, and the waiting commuters acknowledged the arrival by pushing themselves closer together.
As the train slowed to a stop, there was a pause, then the doors slid open. As one, the crowd lurched forward. Annabel entered the car and grabbed ahold of one of the poles. She turned back toward the door just as Quinn entered.
He didn’t even try to hide.
The look on her face was at first blank, then confused, as if she recognized him but wasn’t sure from where. Then, almost as quickly, her eyes went wide.
Quinn raised a finger to his lips as he reached out with his other hand and grabbed the same pole she was holding on to.
Her eyes darted around. “You’re fine where you are,” Orlando whispered into her ear. She was beside Annabel, pressing up against her.
Annabel looked at her, then glanced down at where their bodies made contact. Quinn knew she was feeling the barrel of Orlando’s hairbrush against her ribs. An adequate substitute for a concealed gun under the circumstances, though ultimately less lethal.
“Hello, Annabel,” Quinn said.
“What do you want?”
“We’ll get to that when we’re alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’re not?” He gave Orlando a quick glance, and she shoved the barrel of her faux gun hard into Annabel’s ribs. “Next time I tell her to pull the trigger.”
“What?” Annabel said, a nervous smile on her lips. “You wouldn’t.”
He stared at her, his face completely blank. “Try me.”
Her smile faded quickly.
