“Okay I’ll take you home.”
She stared at him a moment longer like she wasn’t sure she should believe him or not. After several seconds she said, “Tell us about the meeting.”
Quinn hesitated. It was possible there was no bug in the room; in fact, Quinn thought that very likely. The facility was supposed to be neutral ground, a safe house where no one asked what your business was. If word ever got out that that trust was compromised, then business would disappear. Worse, really. Someone would eventually show up to deal with the double-cross. Still, Quinn wasn’t interested in taking the chance.
“Not here,” he said.
“Then get me the hell out.”
Before leaving the medical center, they made arrangements with the head of security to dump the stolen car someplace it wouldn’t be found for a few days. By the time they headed back to Quinn’s place in his BMW, the sun was starting to set.
On the drive, Quinn told Orlando and Nate about his meeting with Hardwick. There was one thing he did leave out, though. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, his thinking that given Orlando’s current condition, she didn’t need any more stress. She could learn about Leo Tucker’s involvement later.
“Yellowhammer?” Orlando said. Her voice was low and sleepy.
“That’s what he said.”
“He didn’t tell you where it was?”
“Here in California somewhere. Said we should be able to find it easy enough.”
“Does the name mean anything to you?”
Quinn shook his head. “You?”
“No.” She paused.
There was a momentary lull.
“I’ll check it out when we get to your place,” Orlando said.
Quinn gave her a quick sideways glance. She was leaning against the passenger door, her eyes half- closed.
“Nate can do it,” Quinn said. “You’re going to bed.”
“That’s sweet, Quinn. But I don’t think I’m going to be in the mood.” Even in her near-semiconscious state, she was able to crack a smile.
“Oh, God,” Nate said. “My ears. I didn’t really need to hear that.”
• • •
Quinn’s house was built against one of the many slopes of the Hollywood Hills. The top floor was at street level and contained the living room, dining room, and kitchen in an open format that made it feel almost like one room. The floor below, following the incline of the hill, contained the bedrooms and a gym.
As soon as he got Orlando settled in the master bedroom, he returned upstairs. Nate sat at the kitchen table using Quinn’s laptop to try and get a line on Yellowhammer. Quinn didn’t want to disturb his progress, so he grabbed his phone and walked to the other end of the living room.
He stood in front of the plate glass window that made up the whole rear wall of this level, and looked out on the city. The L.A. basin glowed white with millions of individual lights, some moving, some stationary, but all adding to the visual mix of the city.
He took a deep breath, then looked down at his phone and called Peter.
“I expected to hear from you hours ago,” Peter said, irritated.
“I had a man down.”
“Jesus,” Peter said. “I saw the news. The shooting at the museum. Who?”
“Orlando.”
Silence. “Is … is she okay?”
“She’ll be sore for a while, but she’ll live.”
“What happened?”
Quinn gave him the rundown of the fun at the museum. “I’m willing to bet it was the same people who hired the assassin in Ireland.”
“I think you’re right,” Peter said. “Tell me about the meeting.”
“You mean the meeting with the guy from the
More dead air.
“How long have you known?” Quinn asked.
Still no response.
“Peter, how the hell long have you known?”
A chair in the kitchen screeched against the floor. Quinn glanced over and caught Nate looking at him before his apprentice could look away. Nate grabbed an apple off the counter and returned to the laptop.
“Not long,” Peter said.
