The Collected

She moved out of the flow of foot traffic, and kept her gaze fixed on the crosswalk that led from the parking structure. When five minutes passed without him joining her, she brushed it off as nothing. When fifteen more went by, her brows began to slide together, and a frown appeared on her face.

She pulled out her phone. No missed calls. No texts. She dialed his number but was sent instantly to voice mail. Instead of leaving a message, she decided to check inside the terminal again in case they’d mixed up where they were supposed to meet. There was no sign of him.

She called him again. This time when the beep sounded, she said, “Hey, it’s me. Where are you? I’m at the airport. Just waiting. Kinda boring here. So, um, yeah, where are you?”

Liz gave it another hour, then decided Nate had either forgotten today was the day she was coming, or something had delayed him. She didn’t want to put too much thought into that last possibility, as, given the nature of Nate’s work, it would inevitably have taken her to scenarios she didn’t want to consider.

She called him again, and left another message, the fourth. This time she told him she was going to catch a cab and she’d see him at the house.

Fifty minutes later, a taxi dropped her off in front of the gate to the Hollywood Hills home owned by her brother Jake and lived in by Nate.

Quinn, she corrected herself. He goes by Quinn, not Jake. She was still having a problem with that. Her childhood was full of wonderful memories of Jake. Until he left, at which point anger and confusion and resentment set in after he basically disappeared from the face of the earth, only to show up again when she was an adult.

Those abandoned years had been painful, a wound that never seemed able to close completely. Intellectually, she now understood why he’d done what he did, not that she would have made the same choices. But he’d played his hand as best he could, and it was what it was. She got that. She even knew now how much he’d always cared about her, but she was still having a hell of time separating the past from the present.

One thing she couldn’t ignore, though, was that if he hadn’t come back into her life, she would have never met Nate.

She walked over to the pedestrian door in the wall that surrounded her brother’s property, and pressed the intercom buzzer.

No response.

She pressed again, and received the same non-answer.

There was a numbered security pad next to the buzzer. She punched in the code Nate had created for her, waited for the click, and entered.

A driveway took up most of the area in front of the house. There were no cars present, and the door to the garage was shut.

Though the house was two stories high, the level she was standing in front of was the top, while the lower level, the one where the bedrooms and the gym were located, followed the slope of the hill down.

There was no doorbell button next to the entrance. If anyone made it that far, it would be only because someone inside had buzzed them through the front gate. There was, however, another security keypad hidden behind a moveable flap of siding directly below the porch light.

Though Nate had shown it to her and given her a code-different from the one for the gate-she had never used it before. She hunted around for several seconds before she found the right spot, then closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly how he’d said the panel opened.

In, to the left, and up, she thought.

She did as she remembered and was pleased when the lower edge of the flap popped out. Moving it all the way up, she exposed the panel. The new code was one she wasn’t likely to forget-the room numbers of the first two hotels they’d stayed in together, starting with the hotel in Paris where everything between them had begun.

Twenty seconds later she was standing inside.

“Nate?” she called out.

The silence was total, and she knew she was alone.

Just to be sure, though, she left her bag in the foyer, checked the top floor, and headed down the stairs to the lower level.

“Nate?” she said again.

The bedrooms and the room that served as the gym were all empty. She entered Nate’s room. Everything was neat and in its place.

Too neat.

Liz felt fingers slowly squeezing her heart. She walked over to his en suite bathroom. Counters clean and empty, sink and shower bone dry. She grabbed the shower towel and ran a hand up and down it. No moisture at all.

He’s not here. He hasn’t been here for at least a day or more.

She could no longer ignore the possibility she’d avoided earlier. She knew, despite his assurances to the contrary, that his job often put him in danger. It still might not be that, but…

Please, let him be all right.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, worried, unfocused eyes locked on worried, unfocused eyes.

She pulled out her phone.

CHAPTER 6

San Francisco, California

Jonathan Quinn flipped over in the water, pushed off the wall, and started a new lap. So far he’d gone up and back forty-eight times. Five more and he’d reach a mile and a half, his goal for the day.

He kept a steady pace, his smooth strokes cutting a path through the pool that instantly sealed up behind him. He tended to be more of a runner, but in the past couple of months he’d worked swimming into his routine, mainly to help strengthen his shoulder and neck after they’d been injured in an unfortunate meeting of flesh and bullet.

It was Orlando who had suggested he try it when they were still in Thailand, mentioning how it would help improve his mobility.

“Plus, you’re not getting any younger,” she’d added. “The less stress you put on your body, the longer it’ll last.”

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically. He wasn’t even forty yet, but truth be told, he could see the birthday in the not-too-distant future.

“Seriously, you’ve got to think about these things,” she told him. “I do.”

“You do? For me or for you?”

She gave him one of her patented blank stares. “Me? No. I’m not as old as you are.”

While they were staying at the temple in Thailand, Quinn had taken a boat up the Chao Phraya River every day to a hotel that allowed him to use its pool. Upon returning to the States three weeks earlier, he’d joined a gym with a lap pool not too far from Orlando’s house.

Enrolling there had been a strange step for him. The last time he’d belonged to a public gym was during his time as a rookie cop back in Phoenix. Since then, the only time he shared his workout space with people he didn’t know was at the occasional hotel while he was on a project. Going back to the same place nearly every day, seeing the same people on the treadmills and weight machines and in the pool made him feel exposed, like he was creating a habit that could be a problem later.

In his business, habits could be dangerous, but the draw of the water was enough to keep him coming back. That, and the fact he wasn’t even sure he was in the business anymore.

He reached the end of the length, executed another flip turn, and headed back for the second half of the lap.

Forty-nine, forty-nine, forty-nine, he told himself, so he wouldn’t forget which one