“That’s not going to happen, ma’am,” Quinn said.
“You all have no idea the trouble you’re in.”
Quinn pulled his phone out of his pocket, and started the recording that was waiting to be played.
Out of the speaker came Griffin’s voice. “She hired us.”
Quinn: “Who hired you?”
“Diane Sutton.”
“The assistant secretary of state?”
“Now, but not then.”
“What did she hire you to do?”
“Clear things out of her way.”
“What exactly did that mean?”
“Eliminate Miranda Keyes.”
“By eliminate—”
“Kill her. She hired us to kill Miranda.”
Quinn switched off the recording.
“Lies,” Sutton said. “Whoever that is is simply trying to undermine me.”
“Except that it isn’t a lie. You know it. I know it. The secretary of Homeland Security knows it.”
“The secretary?”
“Darvot Consulting is no longer in business. Mr. Morten and Mr. Griffin are now in the custody of the US government.”
Her eyes lost focus momentarily as she processed what it all meant. “I want to speak to the secretary…no, to the president. I want to speak to him now.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not an option.”
“It damn well is if he wants to avoid a scandal!” she retorted. “Can you imagine the kind of circus there’s going to be if you put an assistant secretary of state on trial for this?”
“You mean for conspiracy to commit murder?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Quinn smiled. “I see where the miscommunication is coming in here. You see, Ms. Sutton, there will be no circus because there will be no trial.”
“So what? I’m supposed to resign? Is that it? No way in hell I’m going down without a fight.”
“No, ma’am. No one’s asking for your resignation.”
“Then what? Why this power play?”
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but in about an hour’s time, there’s going to be a horrible, tragic car accident.”
CHAPTER 37
Misty checked herself in her mirror once more. Everything looked as it should — her hair, her makeup, her conservative black dress. She’d thought about wearing a hat, but that wasn’t really her style. Satisfied, she headed out into the living room.
On the table near the door was the urn Helen Cho had sent her the day before. Inside were Peter’s ashes.
She had offered to wait until Quinn could come out, but he had said, “I don’t know when I’ll be free. And I kind of think this is something you should do yourself.”
It was actually a relief.
This was something she wanted to do on her own.
The drive to the cemetery went surprisingly fast, and before she knew it, she was standing in the lobby of the facility’s main building.
“Miss Blake,” William Samuels said as he crossed the room. “Would you like me to carry that?”
Misty pulled the urn tight to her chest. “No, I’m fine.”
“Very well. This way, then.”
He led her back outside to the mausoleum, and down several rows before stopping in front of a small, open crypt.
“Thank you,” she said.
He gave her a sedate smile. “I’ll be in my office when you’re done.” With that, he walked back the way they’d come.
Misty stood in front of the open door, unmoving. After several minutes, she whispered, “I wish I knew what to say. I wish I didn’t have to say anything, and you were still here.” She could feel the tears starting to build, but she pushed them back. She’d cried enough already. Now was the time to move on. “There’s so much I need to thank you for. Everything, really.” She raised the urn. “Rest in peace, Peter.”
She moved the vessel into the crypt, setting it next to the one that was already there, the one containing Miranda’s ashes.
“Rest in peace.”
Quinn sat next to Orlando, not once leaving her side since the private jet had taken off from Isla de Cervantes. She’d been drifting in and out of sleep. Sometimes she’d wake long enough to talk for a few minutes, sometimes only long enough to give him a smile. Through it all, she kept her fingers entwined in his, gripping as if she would never let go again.
“How long now?” she asked, her eyes barely open.
“Still a few hours.”
“Ugh. It’s like the longest flight ever.”
“Not even close,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’ll be home soon.”
She squeezed his hand and smiled. “Home. That sounds good.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
For a second he thought she was going to say something else, but her eyelids slipped shut again as the pain medicine she was on pulled her back under.
A few quiet minutes passed before his phone rang. Not wanting to wake Orlando, he waited until it stopped before he pulled out his cell. He could see the call had come from Helen Cho. As with the last five times she’d called, she’d left no message. There was no need, of course. He knew what she wanted, because the first time she’d called, four days earlier, she had left a message. It was still sitting in his inbox. He played it again.
“Quinn, Helen Cho. I know you’re kind of tied up at the moment, but when you get back to San Francisco, I’d like you to stop in and see me.” She paused. “I’m starting up a new agency. Something small and specialized, and I’m looking for someone to set it up and run things. After seeing how you handled the Morten situation, I think you’d be the perfect candidate. Anyway, whether you’re interested or not, come see me.”
He laughed to himself as he hung up.
“What?” Orlando asked, riding a short wave into consciousness.
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
His hesitation lasted but a split second. “Absolutely.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brett Battles is the Barry Award-winning author of eighteen novels, including the Jonathan Quinn series, the Logan Harper series, and the Project Eden series. You can learn more at his website: brettbattles.com