The Collected

but he knew he had to. “What about other bodies? Any found around the same time but not officially connected together?”

“No. Nothing reported.”

Despite the fact it didn’t mean much, Quinn was relieved by the answer. “All right. Let’s start at the beginning. Who was your client?”

“The man I talked to went by the name of Mr. Brown.”

“Did this Mr. Brown belong to a particular organization?”

“He never said. But he used the right passwords to prove he was legit. And the payments appeared on schedule.”

“How was contact handled?”

“Over the phone.”

“You never met him in person?”

“No.”

Playing something he knew was more than just a hunch, Quinn retrieved his phone and accessed the photo Daeng had sent him. He showed it to Pullman. “Do you recognize this man?”

At first Pullman shook his head, then he stopped and squinted. “I’m not sure. He looks kind of familiar.”

“Familiar how? You’ve met with him? You’ve talked to him?”

“I don’t know,” Pullman said defensively. “It ain’t a great picture. Could be hundreds of people who look like that.”

True enough, but the fact that Pullman hesitated in saying no outright made Quinn more convinced that what happened to Daeng was connected. He put the phone away.

“Your client. I assume you have a number for him.”

“Yes, but…” He paused. “It’s disconnected now.”

“You’ve called it?”

“A few dozen times since yesterday.”

“Give me the number.”

Pullman’s gaze flicked past Quinn, across the room. “It’s in my phone over by my computer.”

“I’ll get it,” Orlando said.

While she did that, Quinn said, “Where did the job take place?”

“Monterrey, Mexico.”

“This Senator Lopez-is he really a senator, or is that just a nickname?”

“Really a senator.”

“In Mexico?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about the job and what happened.”

In fits and starts, Pullman began telling what he knew.

“Wait,” Quinn said before he got too far. “Quinn’s assistant. What was his name?”

“Uh, Burke.”

Quinn had never heard of the guy. “Do you know how he got the job?”

“I…recommended him.”

“You?”

“Well, actually, the client did. I just passed the name along.”

That was also disturbing. “All right. Let’s go back to the job.”

Pullman told them the rest, finishing up with learning that the Mexican authorities had discovered the body, and that he could no longer reach his client.

“What’s your password?” Orlando asked.

“My what?”

“Password. For your computer.”

“Why?”

Quinn raised the gun.

“Uh, uh, it’s Jessica36b.”

“God, that better not mean-” Orlando stopped herself with a disgusted groan. “Never mind.”

Quinn could hear her disconnecting the man’s laptop and shoving it into her bag.

“What are you doing?” Pullman said. “That’s mine. I need that.”

“It was yours,” she said.

“But my work. Everything’s on there!”

“I’m sure you have a backup somewhere,” Quinn said. He stood up. “A little advice. You might want to lie low for a while.”

“Hold on. Are you going to leave me like this?”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Instead of unwrapping the tape, Quinn pulled out the cylindrical container, unscrewed one end, and slipped the syringe into his hand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Pullman protested.

Quinn stuck the needle into the broker’s arm.

“Hey! What the hell?”

“You’re going to have a nice headache when you wake up,” Quinn said. “You’ll want to take some aspirin and drink plenty of water. But the good news is, you won’t have to worry about that for another twenty-four hours, at least.”

“What did you…give…me?” The man’s voice was already losing strength.

“Sweet dreams, Mr. Pullman.”

CHAPTER 12

Nate’s eyes shot open as he gasped for air.

Before he could even register that he was soaking wet, another wave of water slammed into him.

He gasped again.

Close by, someone laughed.

He twisted his head toward the noise, and saw a big man with scraggly blond hair and a goatee, a foot long and braided. He grinned at Quinn, an empty bucket in his hand.

“You up now. Good,” the man said. “No fall back asleep, okay?”

The man wagged a finger at Nate, exited the room, and shut the door.

It wasn’t until he was alone again that Nate realized the bag was no longer over his head.

He turned to look around to get a sense of where he was, but had to stop and squeeze his eyes shut as a wave of nausea swept over him. Nearly half a minute passed before he could open his eyelids again.

This time, when he scanned the room, he kept his movements slow to prevent another attack. He was in a space that couldn’t have been more than ten feet square, enclosed by stone walls broken only by the single door. No windows, he realized, and no drain in the floor. Which meant this wasn’t the same room he’d been in when he met the bald man.

He turned his attention to the metal chair he was sitting in, and quickly discovered that it was attached firmly to the concrete floor. Straps across his chest and lap held him in place. In addition, cuffs around his ankles were connected to the chair’s legs.

Apparently, his captors hadn’t realized that his lower right leg was artificial. Of course, without patting down the area where it met his stub or taking his pants off entirely, there was no reason why they would. The limb was wrapped with a synthetic exterior that created the look and feel of a real leg.

Missing this detail was a mistake he hoped they didn’t rectify. His leg was more than just a means of helping him get around. If he could get to the secret compartment in the calf area, then he might have a chance.

The other partially good news was that even though his wrists were still cuffed together, they were now on