CHAPTER 8
A sound, a smell, then nothing as Nate passed out again. Over and over, the sequence repeated.
A constant droning, like an air conditioner in the background.
Black.
The overpowering smell of sweat.
Black.
A door slamming.
Black.
A vibration.
Black.
Voices, talking to him but making no sense.
Black.
Then the prick of a needle in his arm.
And black, deeper than before. Oh, so deep…
CHAPTER 9
Los Angeles
Between them, Quinn and Orlando had seven messages on their phones when they deplaned in L.A.
Each was from a freelancer who had worked with Quinn and Nate in the past. All had received calls from Nate within the past week, checking on their availability, but to a man they had been previously booked and therefore unavailable. The most disturbing part was the bookings. While two of the men had actually gone out on jobs, the other five had been put on paid holds for projects that ended up not panning out, so they had basically earned their fee for doing nothing.
“I don’t like this,” Quinn said as they waited for the shuttle that would take them to the rental car lot. “We need to know who hired them.”
By the time they had their car and were driving away from LAX, they’d finished calling everyone back. Though the contact name changed from job offer to job offer, the descriptions of the projects the men had been put on hold for were remarkably similar. Calls to the two men who’d actually gone out on assignments confirmed another suspicion. They, too, had been contacted about being put on hold, but had turned the offers down because of their prior commitments.
It was clear someone had purposely tied up the people Nate would have normally hired.
Quinn took La Cienega north toward the hills. Just after they passed Wilshire Boulevard, his phone rang.
He checked the display before putting the call on speakerphone. “Daeng?”
“Have you heard from him?” Daeng asked.
“Nothing yet.”
There was a pause before Daeng spoke again. “Something’s happened here. I’m not sure if it’s connected, but it might be.”
“In Bangkok?”
“I believe I was tricked into returning home.” Daeng explained about the message he’d received that turned out to be untrue, about the man who had sent him the false information being murdered, and about the guy calling himself Thatcher who had been looking for Daeng just before all this had happened.
Quinn’s concern had already increased after learning about the other freelancers. Now, it skyrocketed. “Any idea who this guy was or what he wanted?”
“No. Haven’t been able to find out anything else about him. I’d be willing to bet he’s not even in the country anymore. A friend did get a picture of him, though. It’s not very good, but it’s better than nothing.”
“Send it to me.”
“Hold on.” Daeng was quiet for several seconds. “On its way.”
Before Quinn could even reply, his phone beeped with the incoming message. “If anything else comes up, let me know right away.”
“Screw that. I’m flying back,” Daeng said. “On my way to the airport right now. My ticket’s for L.A., but if you think I should go somewhere else, tell me.”
Quinn was pleased to hear it. Though he hoped Daeng’s help would turn out to be unnecessary, it would be nice if he were close, just in case. “L.A.’s fine for now. Call when you land.”
“Will do.”
As soon as the line went dead, Orlando took the phone from him and accessed the photo Daeng had sent.
“I don’t recognize him,” she said.
“Show me.”
She held the screen out so Quinn could take a quick glance.
As Daeng mentioned, the profile shot of the bald man in question wasn’t the best. Quinn took a second look, and finally shook his head. “Me, either.”
“I’m going to send this around, see if any of our regulars know who he is.”
Quinn nodded but said nothing, his dread growing by the second.
It was strange pulling up to the gate of his house after more than eight months since the last time Quinn had set foot inside. In some ways, it felt like the place didn’t even belong to him anymore.
Orlando jumped out and punched the code into the keypad, triggering the gate to roll open. Before Quinn could even pull the car to a stop in front of the house, Liz hurried out the door.
She looked drawn and pale, her eyes bloodshot.
The moment he climbed out of the car, she rushed over and threw her arms around him, her head pressing against his shoulder. Momentarily caught off guard, he hesitated then returned her embrace, telling himself she was only looking for comfort, not trying to show him any affection.
“Have you heard from him?” she whispered anxiously.
“No,” he told her. “But we’ve been checking with a lot of people. I’m sure we’ll find out where he is soon.”
“He was supposed to meet me at the airport. He was supposed to be there waiting.”
“I know, and I’m sure that’s exactly what he had planned to do.”
“Then where is he?” She looked up at him. “Why isn’t he here?”
He knew those weren’t really the questions occupying her thoughts. They were only masking the what- ifs.
What if he’s in trouble?
What if he’s hurt?
What if he’s dead and never coming back?
“Let’s go inside,” Orlando said, putting an arm around Liz’s shoulder.
Liz let herself be pulled away from her brother, and they all entered the house. Orlando guided her to the couch, and the two of them sat down.
Quinn glanced around the room. Everything looked pretty much the same as when he’d last been home. There were a few different books in the bookcase, and a dark gray hoodie draped over one of the chairs, but that was about it.
Liz had left the blinds drawn across the back wall. He walked over and pulled them open, letting the late afternoon sunlight flood in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.
As he walked back, he said, “Liz, we’re going to have to ask you a few questions. Are you up for it?”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “Whatever you need.”
