He gave up, and used his foot again to work out the boundaries of the room. Five paces wide and seven deep. Against one wall was a thin mattress on a steel cot secured to the ground. This was the extent of the furnishings. There wasn’t even a toilet, just a drain on the floor in the back corner.
He half-lowered, half-dropped onto the bed, wondering where, exactly, he’d been taken. He’d initially assumed the police would hustle him off to a holding facility not far from where he’d been captured-Reynosa, most likely-but the helicopter ride lasted much too long for that. When they finally landed, Nate figured they’d been in the air almost two and a half hours, which was also confusing. That was way more time than necessary to fly him back to where the mess had started in Monterrey.
This was the third time in his life he’d been put in a cell. The first was in college, with campus police breaking up a party that had grown out of hand, and Nate acting the tough guy and taking exception to their tactics. Looking back, their detention cell had been a joke. Even with just half of what he knew these days, he could have easily escaped.
The second time had been in Berlin. That cell had been located in the US embassy, his temporary incarceration understandable since he’d driven up to the gate with several boxes of deadly, virus-tainted mints. But he’d known it was going to happen that time. It had been part of Quinn’s plan, and the next day Nate was out again.
This time was nothing like the others. This time he had done the one thing no cleaner should ever do. Get caught.
At the very least, the police would connect him to the badly burned body in the back of the van. That would probably be more than enough to get him put away forever. Thankfully, even if he got as far as being sentenced to life, it was unlikely he’d ever serve any of it. Once he was able to make his phone call, he’d get a hold of Pullman, and wheels would be set in motion that should end in his release. And if Pullman failed, Nate could always call Quinn. He was sure his old mentor would figure something out. Until then, though, he would have to deal with these jackasses and their fists and gun butts and whatever else they wanted to use on him to prove how tough they were.
He lay back on the cot and closed his eyes, thinking he might as well get some rest. Though he couldn’t see his watch, he knew it had to be right around one p.m., and his last sleep was the hour-and-a-half nap he’d caught the previous evening before he and Burke headed out to the staging point. A little shut-eye now would not be a bad thing.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the same voice that had guided him down the hall earlier barked, “
Nate shook himself awake, and swung his legs off the cot. Before he could stand on his own, two men grabbed his arms and pulled him up.
“Gee, thanks,” Nate said. “I couldn’t have done that without your-”
He sensed motion a half second before a fist slammed into his gut. His body wrenched forward, trying to double over, but the men at his sides dug their fingers into this biceps, keeping him upright. They forced him across the room and slammed him back against the wall.
Another punch, this one only a inch away from where the previous had landed. Again the men kept him from moving.
A pair of slow and deliberate footsteps entered the room, stopping an arm’s length away. Nate could hear the person breathing-not labored, but distinctive. Breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold.
“So this is him,” the man said in English. An American accent. New York, it sounded like.
“
“About damn time.” The voice moved in so that it was only an inch from Nate’s ear. “You gave my Mexican friends quite a workout. You’re even better than advertised.” Pulling way, the man said, “Take the hood off.”
One of the guards undid the bag’s knot. Once the opening was loosened, the cover was pulled up, taking a few strands of Nate’s hair with it.
Standing in front of Nate was a tall, bald man in a dark suit. Like a lot of men with no hair, it was hard to tell his age. He could have been anywhere from forty-five to sixty. Neither fat nor skinny, he wore a scowl on his face that made it clear he was the one in charge.
Behind him was a hard-looking, middle-aged Mexican man in a uniform. There were two others in the room, younger men in police uniforms.
“Are you going to be a problem?” the bald man asked Nate.
Nate didn’t respond.
The bald man looked back at the suited Mexican. “Captain Moreno, I’d like a couple minutes alone with our friend here, if you don’t mind.”
There was a hint of relief in Moreno’s eyes. He looked at the two officers and nodded. “We’ll be right outside if you need us,” he said, and the three of them left, closing the door behind them.
The bald man stared at Nate, his eyes narrowing. “You’re younger than I expected.”
Nate kept his mouth shut.
“Or is it just that you have a young face?”
Alarms were starting to clang in Nate’s head, as he began to realize this was not what he’d thought it was.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” the man said. “I’m just finally glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Quinn.”
No, Nate realized. This was much, much worse.
CHAPTER 5
Los Angeles, California
As soon as the tone bonged and the seat belt light went out, Liz Oliver stood up and retrieved her bag from the overhead compartment.
For the first time in her life, she had flown business class. That had been Nate’s doing. She had told him it was an unnecessary expense, but after the nearly twelve-hour flight from Paris to Los Angeles, she was glad he’d paid the money. Usually when she arrived back in the States, she’d be totally worthless for a couple days. But here it was, just after one p.m. in California, and she felt fresh and awake and ready to go.
Another perk of business class was that she was one of the first ones off, and able to beat the crowd to passport control. Once her booklet was stamped, and the officer said, “Welcome home,” she headed straight for the nothing-to-declare exit, her carry-on the only bag she’d brought.
A ramp led out of Customs to an area where dozens of people were jammed off to the left side, craning their necks every time someone new came out like fans watching movie stars walking down the red carpet at the Academy Awards. Liz knew Nate wouldn’t be sandwiched among them, though. He’d told her specifically to continue on through the door to the outside, opposite the ramp, and he’d be right there.
Knowing she was going to see him in a matter of seconds sent a spike of anticipation up her spine as she weaved through the crowd and walked out the door. To say she was excited to see him would have been an understatement. It had been nearly a month and a half since he was able to visit her in Paris, and it had started to seem like forever. She’d had her share of boyfriends before, but it had never been like this. Despite the fact they had met each other under false pretense, she felt an intense connection to Nate, and it was obvious he felt it with her, too.
A few feet beyond the door, she paused. While there were several people around, Nate wasn’t one of them. Maybe he was at the sidewalk, or waiting at the curb with his car. She headed over. Nate wasn’t there either, and neither was his car.
She checked her watch. One fifteen. Her flight was a bit early, but Nate would have surely been tracking her flight online, and would have left home in plenty of time to meet her. He was thorough that way.
Parking. That had to be it. LAX was a crazy, congested airport. No doubt he was having a hard time finding a space.
