Quinn knew then, and certainly learned later, that it was sound advice. And it still held true with men like the ones who’d come for him in Mountain Village. No badges, no agency authority, they had no intention of arresting him. These men had demonstrated that when they shot into a crowd of Eskimo families just to get him. These were contractors sent in with one mission, to kill Quinn and take back proof of his death.
Quinn tucked the MP7 he’d taken from the dead contractor tight against his side and dove into the willows, running for Ukka’s house, nearly half a mile away.
Ken Proctor shoved the slender Eskimo woman across the room to his partner, a stocky little Italian pug everyone called Fico.
“Take care of Mama,” Proctor snapped. He grabbed the woman’s teenage daughter by her black hair and wound it around his fist, dragging her backwards to the front door.
The terrified girl’s entire body shook so badly her teeth chattered. “Mom?” she whimpered.
“It’s all right, Kaylee girl,” James Perry’s wife said. Her voice was tight, but under control. “Daddy and Jericho will be here soon. They’ll take care of these guys, no problem.”
Fico gave her a backhand across the face, splitting her lower lip. Blood poured down the front of her shirt.
She glared back at him.
“Oh, that’s just precious,” the broad-faced Italian said. “You’re all angry at me now. Don’t go giving your little girl hope.” He leaned in and ran his tongue up the side of her cheek, then raised an eyebrow as if passing judgment on how she tasted. “Seems I read somewheres that your Eskimo men liked to loan out their women to visitors.” His lips pulled back into a cruel snarl and he prodded her with the barrel of his pistol. “Well, I’m a visitor, ain’t I? How about you show me a little of that northern hospitality I read about?”
“I don’t really think you can read.” Christina Perry wagged her head, eyes narrowed in defiance.
“Maybe you’d rather loan me your daughter.”
She spat in his face, earning her another punch. This one broke her glasses, gashing her nose in the process. She didn’t make a sound. Instead, she turned to wipe her face against her shoulder, leaving a bright swath of blood across the cloth of her kuspuk.
She sat perfectly still, panting, trying to make sense of what was happening around her — and then Proctor ran a hand down Kaylee’s thigh. Eyes flying wild, Christina jerked away from Fico and sprang toward the door.
“You are a dead man!”
Proctor released the girl and smashed Christina in the side of her head with his pistol, knocking her back onto the couch. Fico gave her another cuff across the ear for good measure, but it was a useless blow. She was already unconscious.
“Someone needs to teach these bitches a lesson on how to treat a man,” Fico said, rubbing the back of his hand where it had impacted with her jaw.
Proctor tossed his head in disgust at his partner’s inability to control a prisoner. He was frankly not surprised. The Italian hothead was just the sort of man his boss was looking for — if they could only control him. He was recruited in Kosovo after he’d been fired from another security job, and found a new home with The Oryx Group. It was a private contractor firm specializing in gray-area heavy work in the rough edges of the world.
Ken Proctor’s Special Forces training — if you left out the part about him getting booted for insubordination — made him a natural for Oryx. Fico’s coarse demeanor and general distaste for anyone who didn’t think exactly like he did made it seem like he would be a good attack dog — until his emotions got in the way. Proctor reported the erratic behavior to his superiors after Fico’s hatred of all things female had nearly cost them their last mission in West Africa. The boss pointed out that Oryx was the perfect place for misogynistic killers, reminding Proctor that if they were all well-adjusted family men, they’d be fighting for God and country instead of the almighty dollar. The problem of Fico was shoved back to him as team leader.
Proctor gave the Eskimo girl’s hair a cruel yank, taking out his frustration and trying to put Fico’s ineptness out of his mind.
“You must be losing it,” he said to his partner. “What do you think she weighs? A buck ten soaking wet? Just keep her quiet until we get Quinn, then you can teach her whatever lessons you want.”
Fico ran a hand over the unconscious woman’s knee.
“Get on with it then,” he said. “We’ll be just fine here. I’ll see to this one.”
Proctor got a better grasp on the quivering Kaylee’s hair and dragged her backwards through the front door. Once outside, he stood on the raised porch and pulled the girl in close so she was in front of him. Quinn’s dossier said he’d been a special operator, but that was with the Air Force so there was nothing to worry about. He’d probably get a call on the radio any minute that the guys down at the river had taken care of things. Still, Proctor took the precaution of using the quaking girl as a human shield.
There were two snowmobiles and two pickup trucks in front of the house, but anyone approaching would have to cross fifty meters of open ground before they made it to the vehicles.
Proctor switched on the voice-activated mike clipped to his collar, then pressed the barrel of his pistol to the back of the girl’s head. He hauled her neck back so she had to look up at the sky. Her sobs grew so violent her entire body shook and he found himself holding most of her weight just to keep her on her feet. Proctor groaned inside himself. He’d been a soldier once. How in the world had it come to pulling girls’ hair?
“Shut up!” He yanked her head from side to side, taking his frustration out on her.
“Van, Perkins,” he said, tilting his head enough the mike would pick him up over the stupid girl’s bawling. “Haul ass down to the river and find out what happened. Watch yourselves. I’m sure every house in this shithole town has a gun in it.”
“We’re at the river now,” Perkins came back. “It’s—”
Someone else spoke, causing nothing but a garbled squelch to come across the radio.
“You two stop talking at the same time,” Proctor said. “You’re stepping on each other.”
“Wasn’t Van,” Perkins came back. “He’s standing right beside me.”
“It was me,” another voice carried across the radio, low and slow.
“Quinn?” Proctor pulled the girl closer as insurance. His head snapped around as he scanned the area in front of the house.
“I borrowed Lane’s radio,” the voice said. “He was finished with it.”
“Van… Perkins…” Proctor clenched his teeth. “You two double-time it back here.”
“Too late for that,” the voice said. “I’m here… now.”
“Listen, you son of a bitch,” Proctor spat. He yanked the girl backwards so her entire body arched. “You show yourself or I’ll—”
Kaylee threw her legs out from under her, letting her dead weight yank her out of Proctor’s grasp, completely exposing him to Quinn’s shots. The first round hit him just below the nose, the second, above his left ear as he began the corkscrewing fall peculiar to those who are already dead on their feet.
“I know,” Quinn whispered to himself, mimicking Proctor’s cadence. “‘Show yourself or you’ll kill the girl…’ ” He surveyed the scene for a ten-count before rolling out from under the rusted pickup nearest the house.
Eyes on the front door, he bounded up the steps to put an arm around Kaylee and shoo her quickly off the front porch.