The Collected

in Pacific Beach. The Otter House. Small place. Eighteen rooms.” She looked up. “I could call her if you want. She’ll talk to me.”

He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “No. She needs time to think.”

Orlando frowned.

“What?” he asked.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re hoping this might break them up. You think it’s better if she’s not involved with someone in the business.”

“Don’t you think that, too?” he asked, surprised.

“I am involved with someone in the business.”

“Yeah, but you’re in it also.”

“You can’t decide her life for her.”

“Who says I am? I’m not telling her to leave him. I haven’t told her their relationship is a bad idea. All I’m saying now is that we give her some time for herself.”

“And if she comes back and still wants to be in a relationship with him?”

“That’s her choice.”

“You’ll support it?”

He paused for a moment. “Yes.”

“If you honestly mean that, fine.”

“I do.”

“Then fine,” she said, though the look she gave him was less than certain.

CHAPTER 21

Quinn rose at five a.m.

Careful not to wake Orlando, he put on a clean T-shirt and pair of gym shorts, checked his phone and was surprised to see there was still no return call from Peter. It was already eight back in DC, and Peter-who not only stayed up late, but woke early-would have certainly listened to Quinn’s message by now.

He headed upstairs, and tried calling his old employer again, but was once more sent to voice mail.

“Peter, this is an emergency. I need to talk to you right away.”

He hung up and thought for a moment. Peter had given him a number once for use only in an emergency and Peter could not otherwise be reached, but that had been before the Office had disbanded. Quinn wasn’t even sure the number worked anymore.

He found it on Peter’s phone in the notes section of contact page. He punched in the number and listened, fully expecting to receive a “this number has been disconnected” message.

One ring. “Hello?” A woman’s voice.

“I think I might have the wrong number,” Quinn said, almost sure of it. “I’m looking for Peter.”

“Who is this?” There was a surprised tone to the voice, a voice Quinn realized he recognized.

“Misty?”

“Tell me who this is or I’m hanging up.”

“It’s Quinn.”

Dead air for a second. “Quinn? How did you…how did you get my number?”

“I didn’t know it was your number. Peter gave it to me a few years ago in case of an emergency.”

“Typical. That man…” He could almost hear her shaking her head.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of him, but he hasn’t responded. I thought I’d give this number a try, but I don’t suppose you’ve seen him lately.”

“Not for a month or so.” Misty had been Peter’s assistant back in the Office days, and one of the few people Peter fully trusted. Since the end of their organization, she had been shuffled off to a far less interesting government job, while Peter had been labeled a consultant and stuck behind a desk. “When did you call him?”

“Last night, probably around midnight your time, and again just before I called you.”

“And you left messages?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not like him. He should have called you back by now. Are you sure you have the right number?”

Quinn read off the number he had for Peter.

“That’s it,” she said, sounding concerned. “Let me check and get back to you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No. I do.”

Quinn knew it didn’t matter who was officially paying her salary, Peter would always be her boss.

“I appreciate it.”

“I’ll call you right back.”

Quinn put on the coffee, and made a bowl of instant oatmeal. He’d only taken two bites when his phone rang.

“I can’t get through to him, either,” Misty told him. “I’m about to head into work, so I’ll swing by his place first and see if he’s even home.”

“If you don’t mind, that would be great.”

It was forty minutes before she called again.

“Quinn, something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Her words came out in a rush. “He didn’t answer his door. I know the code to his place, so I let myself in.”

“Slow down.”

He could hear her take a few deep breaths.

“He’s not here. But his bed’s not made, and his glasses are still on his nightstand. He needs those these days.”

“Maybe he has a second pair.”

“His alarm clock is hanging by the cord over the edge of the stand, and the picture of his wife is on the floor, the glass broken.”

Wife? Quinn didn’t even know Peter was married. “What about her? She’s not there, either?”

“Who?”

“His wife?”

“She’s been dead for ten years.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

A pause. “There’s more.”

“What?”

Another moment passed before she spoke again. “Some of the things on his dresser are knocked over.” She hesitated. “It looks like there was a struggle. Quinn, what could have happened?”

Quinn made her go through the entire apartment, looking for anything unusual. Other than the disorder in the bedroom, though, nothing else stood out.

“Can you take the day off?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Good. I want you to stay there. I’m going to send someone to you who will give the apartment a thorough going over. Don’t touch anything else, just sit down and wait.”

“No problem.”

“Give me the address.”

Once he finished with Misty, he called Steven Howard.

“It’s Quinn.”