The Silenced - Страница 3

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“What name do you want my family to call you?” Quinn had asked Orlando before they’d left for Minnesota. “Your real name?” Orlando was not the name she’d been born with. Like most in the secret world, she’d taken on a new identity, burying who she had been.

She scoffed. “I hate my real name.” She was silent for a moment. This would be the name Quinn’s family would always know her by, so it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. “Claire was one of my father’s favorite names. He always said he wished it had been mine.”

“Then that’s what it is now.”

After the women left, Quinn said, “Sorry.”

Orlando smiled. “It’s fine.”

Quinn was just raising his beer to his lips when the back door to the house swung open and Liz stepped out. She looked around at those milling outside, then spotted Quinn. With sudden determination, she began walking toward him.

“Uh-oh,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Orlando murmured. “She’s not going to cause a scene. Not here.”

As he watched his sister approach, Quinn couldn’t help but be amazed at how the little tomboy he used to know had grown into such a beautiful woman. Not model beautiful, not put-together beautiful. Naturally beautiful, the kind of beauty not everyone noticed right away, but once they did, they would never forget. Liz could just roll out of bed, throw on a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a baseball cap, and she’d still be more attractive than most women.

Of course, the half scowl on her face wasn’t particularly helping her looks at the moment.

“Would you mind if I borrowed my brother for a few minutes?” she asked Orlando once she reached them.

“Not at all.” Orlando started to stand. “I have a call I need to make anyway.”

“No need to get up. I feel like a walk. Thought maybe Jake could go with me.”

They both looked at Quinn.

“Sure,” he said. “Here.” He handed his plate to Orlando, grabbed his bottle of beer, and stood up. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence, Liz striding out a few feet ahead of him. She guided him down the dirt road that led to the barn. The building was big and white and in need of a new coat of paint. It had been at least six years since their father had stopped actively farming, so after the animals had been sold off and the fields on either side of the house had been leased to a neighbor, maintenance of the barn had no longer been a priority.

Liz turned onto the path leading around the left side of the barn and into the woods.

Once they were among the trees, the trail narrowed, much of it overgrown from disuse. For several years when Quinn had been a kid, he had taken the path every day. When his sister, eight years younger than him, had been old enough, she had done the same.

They walked for ten minutes before Liz finally stopped exactly where he knew she would — the site of the old fort he’d built for himself. It wasn’t long after he outgrew it that Liz had made it her own. Only the fort was gone now, reclaimed by nature, the wooden walls rotted and turned to mulch. Quinn could see a few rusty nails protruding from the surrounding trees, but that was about all that was left.

“I used to think you made this for me,” Liz said.

Quinn took a couple of steps forward. The ground was covered in brush and saplings, just like it had been when he’d first chosen the spot. Back then he had cleared it, and built a wooden floor that sat a foot above the soil on two-by-four beams and old bricks.

“I guess maybe I built it for both of us,” he said.

Something caught his eye. It was black and half-buried next to a tree. He knelt down and tugged on it until it came free. It was a license plate. Black background with faded orange-yellow letters. The three upper quarters were taken up with the number, while below was a single line:

...

19 CALIFORNIA 54

He had found it in a neighbor’s barn and had taken it when no one was home. It had been in a dusty pile with several other plates from various states. He didn’t think it would be missed.

It was the only one he took, though. California. It had seemed exotic and exciting and, most of all, far from Minnesota. He remembered staring at it for hours, dreaming about escaping to San Francisco or Los Angeles or San Diego. He smiled at the realization he’d actually achieved the dream.

“What?” Liz asked.

“Huh? Oh.” Quinn tossed the plate on the ground. “Nothing. Just … nothing.”

She stared at it for a moment. “Mom’s going to need help,” she finally blurted out.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“I have to go back to Paris tomorrow. I’m already missing too many classes as it is.”

“I can stay for a couple more days,” he told her. “But after that, I have to return to work.”

As far as Liz and his mother knew, Quinn was an international banker. It was a cover he often used on the job, too. It helped explain his extensive travel.

“So I’m supposed to just stay? I’d have to take the term off.”

“Relax,” Quinn said. “Of course you should go back. Uncle Mark and Aunt Carole are going to check on Mom every day. And I’ve spoken to Reverend Hollis. He’s going to have some of the ladies from the congregation help her out until she’s feeling better.”

“That’s your solution? Get others to do it for us? Great.”

“Liz, come on. It’s going to be fine. I’ll be here for—”

Quinn’s phone buzzed. Instinctively he pulled it out and looked at the screen.

David Wills again.

Liz rolled her eyes. “Work, right?”

Quinn sent the call to voicemail and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

“You’re going to have to leave sooner than you thought, aren’t you?”

“I said I’d stay for a couple more days, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

She took a step away, looking deep into the forest. “You know, I used to think … I used to think that maybe …” She paused for several seconds. “You know, never mind, Jake. Just … never mind.”

She turned and started walking back down the path.

“Liz,” he called out.

She didn’t stop.

“Liz!”

But she had already disappeared among the trees.

Quinn ached at the distance between them, but didn’t know what to do about it.

Despite their age gap, they had been close once. Right up until he’d left home. She’d been nine then, and he knew she’d been at an impressionable point. But he’d had no choice.

He had hoped one day she’d understand. One day she’d realize he’d done it for her, and would forgive him. But so far, that day had yet to come.

His phone buzzed again, notifying him he had a message. He listened to it.

“Good news,” Wills’s recorded voice said. “I won’t need you until October third. We’re still firming up your first op location, but at the moment it looks like Los Angeles. I’ll call with more details in a couple days.”

Quinn erased the message, then stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

At least he hadn’t lied to Liz about how long he could stay.

Chapter 4

October

Their flight out of Newark International Airport, just outside of New York, had been delayed on the tarmac because of bad weather. So by the time they touched down in Los Angeles, Petra was ready to rush down the aisle and rip the aircraft’s door open herself to get out.

The minutes they’d lost had been more than just the hundred and twenty they’d spent sitting on the ground. The delay had caused them to arrive in the late afternoon, when the freeways of Los Angeles turned into parking lots.

She swore under her breath.

“What is it?” Kolya asked from the window seat next to her.

“Not important.”

Because of the near debacle in Hong Kong, and contrary to the precautions they’d taken since they’d left home on their mission, she had decided to keep Kolya close. At least this way he was with her at all times.

She knew it was a huge risk. Dombrovski had been very adamant during their training. “Never give him any means to know who you are. Constantly change your identities. Travel alone. And always assume he is looking for you.”

And looking for them he was. If Dombrovski’s own murder back home hadn’t been enough proof, losing Luka in Bangkok was. Luka had been closing in on one of their targets, Petra just ten minutes behind him. But by the time she reached his position, he was dead. Their team of four suddenly down to three.

She sent up a silent prayer that this break in protocol didn’t lead to a similar disaster.

Taxiing to the terminal at LAX seemed to take as long as the flight, but finally the plane slowed, then stopped. A second before the engines died and the seatbelt tone went off, Petra was up and moving down the aisle, bag in hand. She got to within two rows of the front door before an overweight man in an ugly brown suit stood to open one of the overhead luggage compartments, blocking her way.

She glanced over her shoulder. Kolya hadn’t done as well as she had. The boy was strong and had some useful talents, but, like in Hong Kong, his youth often denied him the experience she desperately needed him to have.

A minute later Petra was walking rapidly through the concourse. Koyla caught up to her just as she reached the escalator to the baggage claim area. As they rode down, they both scanned the crowd standing near the bottom.