“It’s Morse. How quickly can you get to your helicopter?”
CHAPTER 15
“His name is Jonathan Quinn,” Donnie said over the phone.
“Why does that sound familiar?” Orbits asked.
He was sitting in his car, two blocks away from the Columbia City home where the missing girls had been found, close enough to see the frenzy of police and media and looky-loos, but far enough away not to draw any attention.
“He’s a cleaner,” Donnie said. “Pretty highly regarded from what I understand. I haven’t been able to confirm it, but one source heard he was on a job at the Edmondson house last night.”
So he hadn’t just been some random guy walking down the street.
“He was there, all right,” Orbits said. And if Quinn had been at Edmondson’s, then he either had the girl or knew where she was. “Quinn…didn’t he used to work for the Office?”
“He did,” Donnie said. “Right up until they folded.”
Orbits nodded to himself. He knew exactly who the guy was. Orbits had never directly crossed paths with him but had snooped around a few jobs Quinn did.
Excellent work each time. Quinn clearly knew how to handle the dead.
“Where is he now?” Orbits asked.
“Been trying to figure that out but got nothing so far. Except…” Donnie hesitated.
“Except what?”
“I heard Edmondson was a termination. Which makes sense if Quinn was there. The thing is, the doer was supposedly Ananke.”
“Oh, really?” Orbits hadn’t expected that.
“Again, not confirmed.
Ananke was an old…acquaintance. Orbits hadn’t actually talked to her since she’d walked in on him having a little fun at Mardi Gras with a couple of forgettable college girls. But come on, how long could she stay mad at him? It was Mardi Gras, for God’s sakes. You’re supposed to have fun there.
“I’ll touch base with her,” he said. “What about the group from California? Are they still in the area?”
“They were a few hours ago.”
“Check again and call me back.”
After Orbits hung up, he scrolled through his contact list until he reached Ananke’s newest number.
As he pressed SEND, his heart began to race. Maybe he wasn’t quite as over her as he’d thought. He was saved from making a fool of himself, though, when his call went straight to voice mail.
“Hey, kitten, it’s Ricky. Long time. Give me a shout back when you get this, okay? Later.”
He hung up, sure she’d be excited to hear from him again.
Ananke caught an early morning flight out of Seattle to Denver, picked up her car from long-term parking, and drove home to Boulder.
Her house was along a dead-end road on the western edge of the city. Under most circumstances, the lack of alternate exit routes would have ruled the place out, but the views were spectacular — hills and trees and mountains on one side, and on the other a sky that seemed to move eastward forever.
She solved the escape-route problem by also purchasing the house on the next street over and creating a private drive between them. In all likelihood, she would never have to use it, but it was good to know it was there.
After a light snack, she stretched out on her king-sized bed and fell asleep. A call woke her, but by the time she was able to grab her cell, the call had gone to voice mail. The phone number looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. She played back the message.
The second she heard, “Hey, kitten,” she froze.
Ricky Orbits. That son of a bitch.
How did he get her number? She’d changed it multiple times since she left him specifically because she hadn’t wanted to talk to the asshole again. And now he wanted her to call him back?
An image flashed in her mind, not just of Ricky on the phone but Ricky on the phone standing outside her driveway gate. He’d somehow gotten ahold of her number. Why not her address, too?
Before she realized it, she was hyperventilating. She raced to the sitting area that had the window overlooking her garage, and sighed in relief when she saw that the street beyond the gate was empty.
For someone so cool on the job, I sure lost it in a hurry.
It was that goddamn bastard. Orbits was the only one who had ever gotten so far under her skin. She had known he was a mistake from the beginning, but she couldn’t help herself. And boy, how she’d emotionally paid for it after she’d found him in all his glory with his two new surgically enhanced friends. He’d even invited her to join in.
Just the memory of it made her shiver.
Three years of scar tissue that apparently could still be ripped off at will. She didn’t want him back. God, no. She didn’t want anything to do with him.
“No, Ricky. I will not be calling you.”
After she deleted his message and his number in her missed calls list, she went to her safe, retrieved one of the many unused SIM cards she kept for emergencies, and traded it with the one in her phone. The card for her old number she cut in half and then burned in the kitchen.
When Orbits’s phone rang, he hoped to see Ananke’s name on the screen, but the caller ID read DONNIE.
“Yeah?” he answered, not bothering to keep the disappointment from his voice.
“Got something for you on the California team,” Donnie said.
“What about them?”
“They just boarded a helicopter and headed east out of the city.”
Orbits sat up, his funk forgotten. “Where are they going?”
“I have it on good authority they’ve got a location on Quinn and are on the way to intercept him.”
If the team reached Quinn first and grabbed the girl — assuming the cleaner had her — then Ricky’s bonus was gone.
“I need to follow them,” he said.
“Already got you covered. I’m texting you an address. Get there quick. There’s a chopper waiting. One of those jet kinds. Goes real fast.”
Donnie could be a little weird but he was surprisingly efficient at times. “Thanks, buddy,” Orbits said. “You rock.”
The helicopter was revved and waiting when Orbits arrived.
As Orbits climbed aboard, the pilot, a thirtysomething guy in a dark green jumpsuit, pointed at a set of headphones hanging next to the passenger seat.
“Afternoon, Mr. Orbits,” the man said. “I’m Marv Sutter. I’ll be your pilot.”
Orbits shook his hand. “Call me Ricky.”
“All right, Ricky, where are we off to?”
Orbits pulled out his phone. On the drive over, Donnie had been texting every minute or so with updated GPS coordinates of the other helicopter’s position. Orbits used these to track the aircraft’s route on a map. At last report, it was southeast of Bellevue, paralleling the only major road in the area.
“Follow the I-90 east as fast as you can.”
“How far we going?”
“You’ll know when I know.”
Orbits wasn’t the only hunter to arrive in the Emerald City looking for Danielle Chad. Four others touched down at Sea-Tac International Airport on separate flights that morning.
Each represented a different interested party. Three had the singular goal of finding the woman. The fourth, however, was operating under slightly different instructions.
The first of the other three landed at 10:45 a.m. on a flight from Las Vegas, took possession of a waiting car, and drove straight to Edmondson’s neighborhood. The second and third arrived right before and right after 11:00 a.m. They, too, had vehicles standing by. While the second took the same route as the first, the third chose to start his search with the Bellevue safe house. All three had been briefed that others might be interested in the woman, but each was sure he would be the one to find her.