When they were finally done, he said his goodbyes, then forced himself to walk leisurely through the suite and into the hotel corridor. During the full ten minutes it took him to reach the street, he refrained from doing anything that would seem out of character. There was just no way to know if someone might be watching him, someone who may have realized he actually had a connection to the target.
One thing was for certain-the Office had no idea Quinn even knew Mila. Peter would have never given Quinn the assignment.
Mila, what the hell did you do?
As he moved south down the Strip, he worked through all of his options. Being the professional he was and with his outstanding reputation, he knew he should ignore the fact that he’d learned the target’s name and just do the job he was hired to do. He wasn’t the guy pulling the trigger, after all. In his capacity, he could at least see to it that her remains were treated with respect.
But as noble as that might be, it rang hollow when considering he was in position to stop it from happening at all. Doing so, though, could mean putting his own life in danger, not to mention jeopardizing his career. If he did intervene, he would have to be exceedingly careful.
Are you really considering this? You’ll have to pull it off without screwing up everything else. Is that even possible?
Though he currently had no answers to those questions, he realized there was one thing he could do. Granted, if he did nothing else, it would be a passive-aggressive approach to solving the problem. But it was a start, and hopefully he would come up with a more definitive plan prior to Mila’s arrival at Planet Hollywood.
He ducked into a casino and found as quiet a spot as possible near some unused slot machines at the back. Even though it was after midnight in Europe, he made the call anyway.
“ Oui,” a deep baritone voice said.
“Julien, it’s Quinn.”
“Quinn, my friend. Comment ca va?”
“I’m fine. Thanks. Are you free right now?”
“You have a job for me?”
“I do.”
“I have something I’m supposed to do that starts on Sunday.”
“Can you get out of it?”
Julien was quiet for a moment. “I suppose. Is this a good job?”
“I’m sure you won’t want to miss it.”
“Where?”
“Las Vegas.”
“Vegas? I have not been there in many years. I like this idea. When do you need me?”
“Tomorrow, as early as possible.”
“Tomorrow for me? Or tomorrow for you? It’s already Saturday here.”
“Tomorrow for me. Today for you.”
“I don’t know if I-”
“Find a way, Julien,” Quinn said, his tone dead serious. “I need you here.”
The humor that normally ran through Julien’s voice vanished. “Let me see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
Quinn hung up and made a second call. “Jergins? This is Quinn.”
“What’s up?” the team leader asked.
“I’ve been giving it some thought, and I think I’m going to bring in a man to help out. It’ll just keep things smoother.”
“Sure. Do you have a name?”
“Not yet. I’ll make some calls.”
“All right. As soon as you know who it is, let me know. Peter wants a listing of all those involved.”
Having zero intention of actually doing that, Quinn said, “No problem.”
CHAPTER 16
ROME, ITALY
It had been a quiet night outside Julien’s apartment building. Quinn had taken the second shift, the hardest because it split sleep time in half, or it would have if he had actually fallen back to sleep when he returned to the room. Eventually, he gave up trying and went out for a long walk around the city.
When he returned, Nate was dressed and about to head down for the breakfast that came with the room.
“You going to go relieve Daeng after you eat?” Quinn asked.
Nate gave a hesitant nod, and said, “I have someone I need to meet first.”
“Oh? Who?”
“If you haven’t noticed, we’re a little equipment shy. I thought it’d be good to gear up a bit.”
Of course, Quinn thought. “Bianchi?”
“No. He’s out of the business.”
“What?”
“Heart attack.”
“Dead?”
Nate shook his head. “Just scared the hell out of him apparently. He left the city and moved in with a daughter somewhere in the south.”
In the past, Quinn would have been up on news like this, but during his exile, the world had moved on. “Who took his place?”
“Several players have stepped up, but none to Bianchi’s level. The guy I’m seeing is named Nicholas Giacona. I used him once before. Seems okay.”
I used him once before? Quinn was surprised. Nate had apparently been busy while he was gone. “You want me to come along?”
“Sure. You can help carry the bags.”
The taxi dropped them off two blocks from their destination. The area was crowded with cafes and shops and other businesses, but at this early hour, it was only the cafes serving breakfast that were open.
“It’s up this way,” Nate said.
Though he’d been to Giacona’s place only the one time, he remembered the route well. He led Quinn to the end of the block, through a narrow alley, then half a block down the next street before stopping in front of an unmarked door next to a butcher shop. On the wall near the jamb was an intercom. Nate pushed the button.
“ Si?” a male voice said through the box.
“ Buon giorno,” Nate said. “I have an appointment.”
“ Signor Quinn?”
“ Si,” Nate said quickly, fighting the urge to look at his mentor.
The door buzzed and he pulled it open. On the other side was a scuffed-up hallway that ran the length of the building. There were several doors along it, all closed.
As they neared the back, Quinn said, “Are you going to explain that, or-”
The door at the very end opened, and a fiftysomething Italian guy with a goatee and salt-and-pepper hair looked out. “Quinn. Good to see you again.”
Nate picked up his pace, and extended his hand. “I appreciate you getting up so early, Nicholas.”
As they started to shake, Giacona noticed Quinn for the first time. “Your friend, who is he?”
“This is Jonathan. We’re working together.”
Giacona eyed Quinn for a moment. “If you say he’s okay, fine.”
“He’s okay,” Nate said.
