“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.”
“Mercer? The guy from Maine?”
“According to Wills, Mercer was working directly for him. He’d also been on the Los Angeles gig. He must have been part of Wills’s protection.”
“Didn’t do a very good job,” she said.
“No, he didn’t.”
She mulled it over, then said, “What about the woman? You sure you lost her? No chance she followed you here?”
Quinn frowned. It was a question he’d often asked, usually of Nate. “No one followed me.”
“Let’s step back. Why were you meeting with Wills in the first place?”
There was so much she’d missed while she’d been getting Quinn’s mom settled, then flying to Europe. Quinn explained to her what had happened in Paris, and about the photo Julien had shown him that had to have been taken by Annabel Taplin.
“That’s why I came to London,” he said. “Last night I arranged a face-to-face with Wills for this morning so I could ask for his help. I thought he could use his contacts to get me in touch with the right people at MI6. We were supposed to meet at the park.”
“Do you think you were a target, too?”
“No. He was killed several minutes before the time we’d agreed to meet.”
“The Russian woman? You think she was the one who wanted him dead?”
“She tried to
Orlando’s brow wrinkled in the way it did when she was trying to figure something out. But when she let out an exasperated expulsion of air, Quinn knew she had no more answers than he did.
“Mom emailed me,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I take it everything went well.”
“It did,” she said. “She took to Steven right away. I think the only thing we have to worry about is if he eats so much he’s too lethargic to notice anything.”
Quinn surprised himself by laughing a little. “I know my mother. That’s actually a possibility. Larson and Nolan?”
“They’re in position outside the farm, ready to move if your mom goes out. They’re taking shifts so that the house is watched around the clock.”
“Thank you,” he said. The words seemed inadequate.
She looked at him for a moment, smiling, then she pulled out her computer and booted it up. “I take it Nate and Julien are keeping a watch on Liz’s place?”
“Better than that. Nate’s actually staying with her.”
“
“I stepped out of the room for a few minutes, and by the time I came back, he had her asking him if he wanted to sleep on her couch.”
“Really?” she said, her eyebrow raised.
“Really.”
“Good for him. Told you he’s almost ready.”
“He is.”
She gave Quinn a mischievous smile. “What if he doesn’t stay on the couch?”
“That is
“Why not? They’re close enough in age, and your sister’s cute, and smart, too. What’s she studying again?”
“I don’t even want to think about this.”
“Art history, wasn’t it? Didn’t Nate study history in school? Seems like there’d be some common ground there.”
“Stop it,” Quinn said.
“You’re no fun,” she said, scowling.
Her computer chimed. She looked down at her screen, then clicked on something.
“It’s a message from Romy,” she said. Romy specialized in information gathering and worked out of Eastern Europe. “She says someone’s been asking about you.”
“The same person who was looking into my background?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. It was a direct inquiry, asking about you by name.” Orlando looked up. “She says the guy doing the asking is a Russian based out of Moscow.”
“He have a name?”
“Goes by Stepka.”
“Never heard of him. You?”
“No.”
“He’s in Moscow now?”
“Apparently.”
“Do we have someone there who can pay him a visit?”
“I think I can arrange that.”
“Do it. And if he—” His phone vibrated, stopping him.
But there was no name on his display, only BLOCKED. He held it out to Orlando.
“I thought the software update you gave me was supposed to decode blocked numbers.”
