Becoming Quinn

that she had none, not close anyway. She was an only child whose parents had died in a private plane crash somewhere back east. There might have been aunts or uncles or cousins, but Berit had never talked about them.

She had been from Atlanta, a big city where the name Davies wasn’t exactly unusual. When he checked an Atlanta phone book at the Phoenix public library, he’d found over forty listings. Dutifully, he had called them all, but none of those who answered had ever heard of Berit.

For two days he staked out her townhouse, finally breaking in through the back patio door when he began to worry that she might be inside and hurt. He’d been smart enough to use gloves, but the instructions he’d found on the Internet on how to pick a lock had not accurately described how hard it was. It took him nearly thirty minutes to get the door open, and when he was through, he’d made enough scratches on the locks to leave no doubt what he’d done.

What he found inside confused him even more. Though her place was nearly as neat as it always was, it was evident that some things were missing. Clothes and toiletries, mainly — things someone would take if they had to leave in a hurry. There were even indentations on the bedspread that could have been created by a suitcase or a bag.

Had she really left? Had Sergeant Stroop been right?

As much as Jake had thought not, he couldn’t refute what his eyes were seeing. Someone had been here, and taken the things Berit would have taken with her. Even her running gear was gone.

But if he was wrong, then why was her phone under a car at the impound yard? That aside, why hadn’t she tried to get a hold of him at some point? She knew he was on thin ice. She would have wanted to know what happened, at the very least.

For the next several days he kept searching and calling people, but nothing brought him any closer to knowing where she was. Even the few contacts on the force who would still talk to him knew nothing more than that she was on extended leave.

By the second week he’d run out of leads, and was left with visiting the places he knew she liked to go. By the start of the third week, he stopped doing even that, and began to accept that she had indeed left town. Why, he couldn’t even begin to imagine, but apparently, given her lack of communication, it wasn’t his business. She was probably distancing herself from his problems, and there was no way he could blame her for that.

For the first time since he’d been fired, he started to think about what he was going to do now about his life. He’d been away from his home in northern Minnesota for five years now, and while Phoenix had been the place he’d spent the most time, it was no longer home. In fact, it probably never had been.

He needed a fresh start. A new place. New people.

California, he thought. He’d always wanted to live on the coast.

He called his landlord and gave his thirty-day notice. As for where in California he’d end up and what he would do when he got there, he could figure that out later. For now, it was just good to know he was moving on.

But then the next day his phone rang, changing his plans.

“Am I speaking with Jake Oliver?” a male voice asked. In Jake’s estimation the man was probably middle- aged, and sounded like he was used to being in control.

“Who’s this?” Jake asked.

“Robert Usher,” the man said. “Are you Jake?”

“Yeah. Why?” Jake had a sinking suspicion this was some sort of sales call. He poised his thumb above the disconnect button, ready to hang up.

“I got your number from one of the officers at your old job.”

Unconsciously, Jake moved his thumb away from the phone. “Who?”

“Officer Haywood.”

His former partner? They hadn’t exchanged a word since Jake’s suspension.

“What is it you want, Mr. Usher?”

“I have a potential job opportunity for you. That is, if you’re looking for work.”

Usher’s words surprised him. “What kind of job?”

“I’m recruiting investigators for my firm, Usher International.”

Jake was taken aback. “I’m…not an investigator.”

“Don’t undersell yourself, Mr. Oliver. I’ve heard that you have an aptitude for it. Your position would, of course, be as a junior investigator to start, but I’m getting ahead of things. First we’d like you to come out and interview. Are you interested?”

“Come where?”

“Houston, Texas.”

Jake looked out the window, staring at a nothing. An investigator job? Sure, it was with a private firm, but did that matter? He knew he could do the job well. So, hell yes, he was interested. Texas was fine, too. It fit right in with his criteria of being out of the cold zone he’d grown up in.

“Mr. Oliver? Are you still there?”

“Sorry,” Jake said. “Still here.”

“So, can we set up an interview? Or…”

“Yes. I would love that. I’m definitely interested.”

“Fantastic. I know this is kind of short notice, but would you be available tomorrow? We’d fly you out, of course.”

Tomorrow was quick, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Great. My secretary will call you with details in a little while. Until then, have a great day, and I look forward to meeting you in person.”

“Yeah. I look forward to meeting you, too.”

* * *

“Yes. I would love that,” Oliver said. “I’m definitely interested.”

Durrie pulled the headphones off and set them on the table. He didn’t need to hear any more. The plan was on. The rest of the details he already knew.

The truth was, he was pissed. Taking the kid out was a borderline call at best. Yes, his continued pursuit of the woman had been an issue, but as Durrie had predicted and pointed out, Oliver had started to lose interest when the trail of information dried up. The only question was whether his interest would return in the future.

Durrie had argued that, with the right encouragement, Oliver would put it behind him and not look back. What he kept to himself was that he felt Jake Oliver’s death would be as much a crime as the woman’s had been. The kid had raw skills and instincts that were better than a lot of operatives who’d been in the business for years. Besides picking out Larson and Timmons from the crowd at the hotel, the stuff the cop had noticed at the Goodman Ranch Road site, the connections he’d made, the path he had followed — the true path — had all been brilliant. Then finding the phone at the impound yard?

Durrie had nearly thrown a fit over that. How could Larson not have remembered that the woman had dropped her phone? The job had been riddled with screwup after screwup, every single one traceable back to Larson.

And every single one uncovered by the kid.

That morning when they saw that Oliver had the phone, Larson had wanted to kill him at the first opportunity. Durrie had to practically tie the assassin down to keep that from happening. The thing that really saved Oliver’s life was the fact that having two missing rookie police officers from the same substation at the same time would create a much larger problem. Questions would be asked, and where the answers led could be dangerous for some very important people. Durrie had been forced to make the same argument day after day until finally Peter took Larson off the assignment.

The decision to finally remove Oliver had been Peter’s alone.

“We just can’t take the chance,” Peter had said. “He’s resourceful. I don’t buy that just because he’s stopped looking into things now means he’s giving up forever. One month from now, one year, ten — it could still be a