[Quinn 03] - Shadow of Betrayal

was a deal, and Quinn had made her keep it.

If Tucker’s and Quinn’s roles had been reversed, he wasn’t so sure he would have been as honorable as the cleaner had been. Honor, he knew, was mostly bullshit anyway.

The other man had to be Quinn’s assistant. What the fuck was his name? Tucker realized he wasn’t sure he had ever heard it. Didn’t matter anyway. Quinn was the important one.

But in reality, their presence didn’t change anything. Tucker seriously doubted Quinn and his team even knew about Yellowhammer. How could they? Even if they had been able to get to Marion and talk to her, they would have learned nothing, because she knew nothing. Tucker was sure of that now. He believed her story about the African girl. Playing the part of the good Samaritan, she had unintentionally gotten in the way. That had been all there was to it.

They’d been hunting her not so much to get the child back, but because they were worried she’d known more than she did. She’d been a potential leak that needed to be stopped. Tucker’s fault, really. He knew that. The army colonel he’d hired in Cote d’Ivoire had been too heavy-handed. Tucker had told him a less direct approach was best. Fewer questions that way. And much more cooperation. But the man had gone in with a whole squad, acting all tough and demanding. Stupid.

Tucker closed his laptop and leaned back in the chair. The only thing that stopped him from giving the order to get rid of the Dupuis bitch at that moment was the what if floating in the back of his mind. What if Quinn had actually made it this far? What if it was one of the cleaner’s team poking around outside the fence? Or better yet, what if it was Quinn himself who had tripped the motion sensor?

Tucker liked to believe he was always thinking ahead and preparing for all the different possibilities. Covering his own ass just in case. If Quinn somehow got the upper hand—which Tucker thought very unlikely—Marion Dupuis could then become a bargaining chip. Tucker could play to Quinn’s honor again, giving him the woman and walking away clean. Or better yet, he could use Dupuis to trap the cleaner, then threaten to kill the woman if Quinn didn’t tell him everything he knew. It would be an interesting experiment to see how far Quinn’s honor went.

Tucker couldn’t help but smile at the possibility.

Marion was getting worried. She’d been locked in her dark cell for hours without another visit from the Australian or the old man with the creepy eyes. From the little experience she’d had, that was unusual. Until now, they hadn’t let her go for more than two hours without another round of questioning.

She kept time by pacing the cell and brushing the fingers of her hand along the wall, letting them guide her so that she wouldn’t run into anything. She slowed her pace so that it took a full thirty seconds to make one circuit, then began counting laps, one minute for every two, an hour for every 120.

A couple of times she lost count and had to estimate, but she didn’t stop until she reached 800. By her estimate over six and a half hours. But it wasn’t her legs that stopped her. It was her fear.

Six and a half hours and no visitors?

No one had even come to see if she needed to use a toilet. She didn’t. She hadn’t drunk enough liquids in the last twenty-four hours to warrant that.

Something must be wrong, she thought. Could they have decided they didn’t need her anymore, and were just going to let her die?

Maybe everyone was gone. Maybe there was no one left here but her.

She started breathing faster as her fear took a sharp turn toward panic.

Without even realizing it, she began circling the room again, hoping to reassure herself that she’d get out of here. Somehow. But it didn’t work. She knew her life, the life she wasn’t ready to give up yet, was almost over.

No. Not just her life, she reminded herself.

“God, please,” she said out loud. “Please watch over Iris. Don’t let them hurt her. Please. Don’t let them.”

CHAPTER

27

“DAMMIT,” NATE SAID.

Quinn looked up. They had been trying to move into a position with a better view of the guardhouse. Nate had been on point, fifteen feet in front of him. He was still there, but instead of standing, he was on the ground. Quinn raced forward, his eyes darting around as he knelt down next to his apprentice.

“Are you hurt?” Quinn asked.

There was a pause. “I tripped on something,” Nate said. “A bush, I think.”

Quinn tried to give Nate a hand up, but Nate said, “I’m fine.” Then pushed himself to his feet unaided.

Nate was about to start up again, but Quinn stopped him. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

In the distance he had heard a scrape. Like a shoe slipping on rock. But the sound didn’t come again.

“What was it?” Nate asked.

“I think someone’s out there.”

“A guard?”

“Must be.” Quinn thought for a moment. “Go around the right side of that hill.” He pointed at a mound of rock rising ahead of them another fifty feet. “I’ll go left. Let’s meet back here in ten minutes.”

Nate nodded.

“And Nate,” Quinn added as Nate was about to leave.

“What?”