The torrent of water began to slow, then finally stop. After a last push to clean out the pipes, the man bent down to zip himself up.
Without another thought, Quinn slammed the door into the man’s back.
A pained grunt was followed by the sound of the porcelain lid to the toilet’s water tank being jarred loose.
Quinn slammed again, harder.
Another grunt.
As he was about to go for a third time, the door smashed back into him, sending him flying against the door frame. His left arm flailed out, looking for something solid to hold on to, but found only the light switch and inadvertently flipped it off, plunging the room into darkness.
The intruder roared as he tried to get around the door. But the cramped space and his massive size slowed his efforts. When he finally shoved past it, Quinn unleashed a right hook to his jaw.
“Merde!” the man yelled.
Quinn hit him again, this time in the soft spot just below the ribs. The intruder doubled over, and Quinn grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him out into the hall.
The man stumbled for a few feet, then fell to his knees. Quinn jumped on his back, pushing him all the way to the ground, then began releasing punch after punch to the man’s kidneys and ribs.
Suddenly someone grabbed his arm. It was Nate.
“We can’t get any info out of him if you kill him,” Nate said.
Quinn held his position for a moment longer, breathing hard, then shoved the man between the shoulder blades and stood up.
“Search him,” he said, his teeth clenched.
“Laissez-moi!” the intruder yelled as Nate patted him down.
“Gun,” Nate said, his hand at the small of the man’s back.
He removed the Glock pistol from the man’s waistband and handed it to Quinn, then continued his search. There was a knife in the guy’s boot, but that was it.
“ID?” Quinn asked.
“No wallet,” Nate said.
“Qui êtes-vous?” Quinn demanded, asking the man’s identity.
“Allez vous faire foutre.”
Quinn didn’t believe for a second his name was Go To Hell. “Qui êtes-vous?”
“J’habite ici.” I live here.
“Bullshit,” Quinn said, then shoved the barrel of the Glock into the base of the guy’s head.
“Take it easy,” the intruder said in heavily accented English.
“One chance or I pull the trigger. What are you doing here?”
“Hey, no problem. I’ll tell you. Okay? Someone asked me to look around this apartment,” the man said. “So I look around. No reason to shoot me.”
Quinn leaned back, moving the gun from the man’s neck.
“Keep your hands where I can see them and turn over,” he said. “Slowly.”
Nate released the man’s shoulders, then got to his feet.
As instructed, the man turned over and lay on his back.
The intruder had a dark beard, long and full, sticking a good five inches out from his face. Above the growth, his eyes were bright blue, and looked as surprised as Quinn felt.
“Julien?” Quinn said.
“Quinn?” the man asked.
Chapter 20
“So who is she?” Julien de Coster asked.
They were sitting around one of the outside tables at the café below Liz’s apartment building. Quinn had situated himself so that he could keep an eye on the entrance, but be shielded by Nate and Julien in case his sister suddenly showed up.
“The relative of a client,” Quinn said. Telling Nate the truth was one thing, broadcasting it to the rest of the world was something else entirely. “He was concerned she might be in danger. Since I was in the area, he asked me to check on her.”
Julien sipped a coffee and narrowed his eyes. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Of course there’s more,” Quinn said. “But you know there are things I can’t tell you.”
“I understand,” Julien said, holding up a hand. “Not my business.”
“Julien, I’ve always trusted you. You know that. But come on, you were in her apartment. I think it’s safe to say we’re working opposite sides on this thing.”
“If I’m on the other side from you, then I am obviously not where I should be.”
Quinn said nothing.
Julien took another sip. “You can consider me off the job. But that doesn’t mean someone won’t come back and take my place.”
“I’m not trying to keep you from working,” Quinn said.
Julien scoffed. “It was a throwaway job, anyway. Don’t worry about it.”
Quinn put his hand around his cup, but didn’t raise it. “If that’s the case, would you be interested in telling me what you were supposed to be doing?”
“I don’t know,” Julien said. “Backing out of the job is already not going to help my reputation, but you want me to sell out my employer? What is so important?”
“The girl’s an innocent. Her only crime is being related to someone in our world. She doesn’t deserve to be put in danger, and I’m here to make sure she isn’t.”
Julien smiled. “You are clever, my friend.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a four-by-six photograph, then laid it on the table so Quinn could see it. “She has your eyes, you know. And your chin, too.”
Quinn had seen the same picture mounted in a frame on the piano at his mother’s house. A happy Liz, smiling, and just about to board a plane to France.
“Part of my instructions was to find a photograph of the woman who lived there. This was in her bedroom.” Julien smiled. “Your sister?”
Quinn looked up, his gaze boring into the Frenchman.
“D’accord,” Julien said, holding a hand up. “I don’t need to know.” He clapped Nate on the back. “You have a very good boss here. He trusted me when it could have got him killed. I’ve always remembered that. That kind of trust is rare in our business, know what I mean?”
“I’d love to hear what happened,” Nate said.
Julien laughed again. “I am not so easily fooled. That job was long ago, but even then we should never tell stories.”
Quinn barely heard any of this, his mind still trying to come to grips with the fact that the secret life he had created was on the verge of coming completely apart.
“Why were you in her apartment?” he asked.
Julien placed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Last night I got a phone call for a job. I was told it was a simple check-and-report. I was given a woman’s name and an address. Nothing else. It’s not the kind of work I usually take, but business for me has been slow lately. Perhaps you heard about my trouble in Bern?”
Quinn nodded. Julien had been caught during an exchange operation in the Swiss capital. Though he didn’t know details, Quinn had heard secondhand that Julien had threatened to expose his employer if they didn’t get him out. A threat like that would tend to put a hold on any future employment opportunities.
Julien seemed to deduce what Quinn was thinking. “Don’t believe all rumors.”
“I never do.”
“I didn’t ask for anything,” Julien said. “The people I worked for started that rumor to cover their own mistakes. It was their fault I was detained. But what could I do?”
Quinn was inclined to give Julien the benefit of the doubt. Making those kind of threats was not something he had an easy time seeing the big man doing.
“Last night,” Quinn said, trying to get Julien back on track, “who called you?”
The Frenchman took another sip of coffee. “A broker who has used me in the past.”
“A name, Julien.”
Julien shrugged. “Charles Butler.”