Quinn spent thirty minutes walking the rest of the street, checking alternative routes in and out, and reacquainting himself with the neighborhood. Besides the hotel, Charlotte Street was lined with four- and five-story buildings with offices and flats on the upper floors, restaurants and shops on the ground level.
Cars were parked in most of the available spots, but actual traffic was light due to the way this part of Soho was laid out. Charlotte Street was a one-way road ending at Percy Street, where traffic that needed to continue south would have to go west first, then turn left on Rathbone Place. To make things even more confusing, the northern section of Rathbone took a jog to the west before heading north again and paralleling Charlotte. Quinn considered the complicated layout an asset; in his business, the more escape options, the better.
Once he was satisfied, he sat at a table outside a coffee shop a half block away. He’d ordered a cup of the house blend, black, but he had yet to take a sip when the cab carrying Orlando arrived.
As she got out, she subtly scanned the neighborhood, then pulled her bag out of the back seat and tipped the cabbie. The moment he drove off, she retrieved her cell phone. Quinn’s own phone was sitting on the table. He picked it up just as it started to ring.
“You here?” she asked.
“Just having a coffee down the street.”
“Caffe Nero?” As always, she had researched where she was going. Quinn guessed she probably knew the names of
“Like you didn’t know that already.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She picked up her bag with her free hand. “Bring me a latte.”
The flat was on the second floor. The door was open a crack, so Quinn nudged it with his hip and stepped across the threshold. Orlando stood just inside, looking fresh despite the transatlantic flight. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of glasses, rectangular in shape and framed in blood-red plastic.
She looked at him for a moment, then reached up and touched his face.
The warmth of her skin temporarily pushed away all thoughts of Wills’s death, of the Russian woman, of the danger facing both his sister and his mother. He leaned forward and kissed her with more love and tenderness than he’d ever felt for anyone else in his life.
She moved into him, her body pressing against his, letting him know she was there, that she loved him, too.
“Come inside,” she whispered. “Unless you want to give the neighbors a show.”
He smiled again, then stepped into the apartment, Orlando closing the door behind him.
“Is that my coffee?” she asked.
Quinn had almost forgotten he’d been holding the cup. But even as he’d been hugging her, he’d kept it upright, spilling nothing.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed it to her.
She raised it to her mouth, testing its temperature. When she seemed satisfied, she took a drink. As she did, Quinn plopped down on a chair in the living room and took a look around.
Besides the utilitarian armchair he was in, there was a well-worn couch, two cloth-covered cubes that served as either ottomans or coffee tables, and a shelving unit with a TV and various knickknacks spread around. As far as exits, other than the front door, there were two: a hallway to the left, and a doorway leading to a small kitchen on the right.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Orlando asked.
He did another scan of the room.
She sat on the couch. “You’re stalling.”
“I’m not stalling. I’m trying to get my thoughts in order.”
“You’ve had thirty minutes to get them in order while you waited for me.”
“Wills is dead.”
Ever the pro, there was no change in her expression. “What happened?”
“Shot. This morning.”
“You know this for sure?”
“I was kneeling next to him when he died.” He told her about the assassin, Wills’s attempted last words, and finally the Russian.
“That’s not all,” he said.
“There’s more?”
“She mentioned the name Palavin,” he said. “She thought I knew where he was, and demanded I tell her.”
“Did she say why she was looking for him?”
Quinn shook his head. “I didn’t have a lot of time to press the point. But I don’t think she wanted to use the information to drop in for tea. She doesn’t like him. And by ‘not like’ I meant she seems to hate him.” He paused. “I know I told you to put him on the back burner, but maybe you should see what else you can find out about him.”
“Absolutely.”
“There was something else,” Quinn said. “Mercer was there, too. He was getting into a cab on the street near where Wills’s man had been shot.”
