steel door off to the left. From Quinn and Orlando’s position, they could see both.

With Wills dead, Taplin was Quinn’s best chance at getting information. His biggest fear had been that she was still in New York. But Orlando was able to learn that a U.K. citizen named Annabel Taplin had returned to London the night before. Which meant there was a very good chance she had returned to work that morning.

When they got there, it was already lunchtime. Quinn had hoped they might spot her going out to eat with some of her colleagues, but no luck. And, as the afternoon turned to evening with no sign of Annabel among those heading home for the day, he began to wonder if she had come in at all.

Orlando picked up the cup of coffee she’d been drinking and took another sip. Quinn, who had been nursing the same beer for over an hour, reached for his glass, but then decided against it. Instead, he pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Toilet,” he said, walking away.

“Thanks for the information,” Orlando called after him.

He headed across the pub and down a small hallway to the public toilets. He didn’t really need to use them; he just couldn’t stand sitting around any longer.

The men’s room was a single stall and one urinal. Tucked in behind the door was a sink with a mirror above it. It had obviously become a tradition to put stickers on the walls and mirror, most touting bands.

Quinn turned on the cold water, then wiped some of it across his face. He felt the need to do something. Anything. This waiting was killing him. Usually he could be on a stakeout for days before he’d feel the need to get things moving. But never before had it been his own family who was being threatened.

He stared at himself in an open spot on the mirror between a sticker for the Arctic Monkeys and a throwback for Stiff Little Fingers, but didn’t like what was looking back. There was something in his eyes that he had never seen.

Fear.

He couldn’t deny it. It was staring right back at him.

Fear that he wasn’t in control of what was going on. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to make the problem go away. And most of all, fear that because he’d put his family in the line of fire, something would happen to them.

He had to make this right. And once he did, he could never again assume that Liz and his mother were safe. For so long he’d been able to keep their existence a secret, but that secret was gone now, gone forever.

Quinn grabbed a towel and dried his face. What all this meant about his future was something he was going to have to deal with once he’d taken care of his current nightmare. He was nowhere near in the right frame of mind to think about it now.

His phone began to vibrate. It was Nate.

Finally.

He hit Accept, then headed back into the pub.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“We’re safe,” Nate said. “We found a room near—”

“Hold on,” Quinn said, cutting him off.

Orlando was no longer sitting down. She was standing near the door, waving him to hurry over. He took the phone from this ear, then pushed his way through the growing crowd.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The woman on the sidewalk across the street. About thirty feet left of the main entrance. Is that her?”

Quinn followed her gaze. Though the sun had gone down, the streetlamps provided more than enough light to see.

“It’s her,” he said. “Go.”

Orlando headed out of the pub.

“Sorry,” he said into the phone. “Where are you?”

“A small hotel near Sacre Coeur.”

Outside the pub, Quinn could see Orlando cross the street and fall in about a half block behind Annabel. The MI6 woman had no idea who Orlando was, so the plan they had worked out was for Orlando to follow her, and Quinn to follow Orlando a couple of blocks back, using the GPS tracker in his phone. That way there would be no chance Taplin would spot him.

“Did they check your ID?”

“Of course not,” Nate said, his tone a little pissed off. “We wouldn’t be here if they did.”

Quinn grimaced. That was basic training stuff. A dumb question to ask, but his objectivity was a little blurred at the moment. “How’s Liz?”

There was a pause, then when Nate spoke again his voice was lower. “She’s a little freaked out. But that’s understandable. I’m actually surprised she’s still functioning at all.… She has been asking a lot of questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“About you. About what you do … what I do.”

“What have you told her?”

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