“Where have you been so far?”
“Copenhagen, Berlin, Amsterdam, Brussels. And now here. Thought I’d hang around a week or so, then maybe head south for Spain.”
“I love Spain.”
“That’s what everyone says,” Nate said. From down the hall, he thought he heard the bathroom door open. “I’m thinking I want to hit Barcelona and Madrid for sure. Then maybe pop over to Portugal. I hear the coast is beautiful.”
“I still need to get there.” Liz’s enthusiasm was genuine. She seemed caught up in the idea of his trip. “When you’re in Spain, you’ve got to check out the Alhambra. You’re planning on that, right?”
“Definitely. I’m visiting as many historic sites as possible.” He leaned toward her and said in a faux whisper, “It’s how I talked my dad into funding the trip. ‘Seeing the actual locations will help me with my studies.’ ”
She laughed. “And he bought that?”
“I don’t know if he did or not, but he pretended to. Funny thing is, it’s kind of turned out to be true.”
“When did you get to Paris?” she asked.
“Just this morning. Your brother was waiting for me at Paris Nord. I was going to stay in Brussels a few more days, but my father wanted me to come here to meet Jake. He’s paying the bills, so I said okay.”
“You’re going to love Paris,” she said. “History everywhere. You could spend months here and not see it all.”
“I can’t afford to spend months,” Nate said. “I think I can barely afford to spend a week. Kind of why I’m heading to Spain. I hear it’s cheaper.”
“If you play it right, you can stretch your euro here. Are you staying in a hostel?”
“Don’t know where I’m staying yet. Haven’t had time to look.” Nate decided it was time to take a chance. “Any recommendations?”
She looked like she was about to say something, but then stopped. She shook her head. “I’ve always had a place here.”
He glanced around the apartment. “Hey, no worries. I’m sure I’ll find something.”
Again, she seemed to hesitate. “Look,” she said. “If you can’t find anything you like, you can … uh … stay here.”
“Liz, you don’t have to offer that.” It was Quinn. He’d entered the living room without either of them hearing him come in. In an instant, Liz’s face tensed again.
“He’s right,” Nate said. “I really appreciate it, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Besides, you don’t even know him,” Quinn said.
“I don’t know a lot of people in my apartment right now, Jake.” That shut everyone up.
Nate stood. “I think maybe I should leave. Find someplace to stay.”
“You’ve got a place to stay,” Liz said. “That is if you don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”
Nate glanced back and forth between her and Quinn, like he was caught in the middle of a situation he didn’t know how to read.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure,” Quinn said. “I think it’s a bad idea.”
“Are you saying you don’t trust him?” Liz asked.
“No, it’s not that. I just don’t think you should let someone you don’t know stay with you.”
“I think I can make my own decisions,” she said. She looked at Nate. “And I would be more than happy to have you stay here. Let me get you the spare key.”
She walked out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Nate caught Quinn’s eye.
“Don’t screw it up,” Quinn mouthed.
Chapter 22
Julien was sitting at a table across from the bar inside Shywawa when Quinn arrived. There was an almost-empty glass of beer in front of the Frenchman, so Quinn ordered two more before taking a seat.
“Merci,” Julien said as Quinn handed him one of the glasses. Julien finished off the dregs of his first beer, then took a healthy swig of the new one. When he was finished, he asked, “So where is your partner?”
“Getting settled in his temporary home.”
“You convinced her?”
Quinn lifted his glass and looked over the rim at his friend. “I didn’t. Nate did.”
“He is good, this partner of yours.”
Quinn smiled. “He’s not bad.” He took a drink. “Did you talk to your client?”
Julien nodded, serious now. “I told them she wasn’t home. And, like you predicted, they want me to keep an eye out in case she comes back.”
“You took the job, of course.”
“Of course. Only they wanted something else, too.”
“What?” Quinn asked.
“They wanted me to keep an eye out for you.”
Quinn leaned back. “What, exactly, did they say?”
“They said there’s an operative named Jonathan Quinn who might show up. I was to let them know if you did. When they asked if I knew you, I told them I had heard your name before, but had never met you. They emailed me a picture.”
Julien stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He pressed a few buttons, waited a moment, then turned the screen so Quinn could see.
The fact that it was a picture of Quinn wasn’t the disturbing part. He’d expected that. What unnerved him was where and when the picture had been taken. It was from the lobby of the Grand Hyatt in New York the previous day. And from the angle, Quinn knew it could have only been shot by one person — Annabel Taplin.
“Son of a bitch,” Quinn said under his breath. “I have to go to London. Tonight.”
“Why London?”
“This picture. It was taken by someone we identified as MI6. If they’re the ones who hired you, then they have my answers. If I can neutralize the cause, then the problem will go away.”
“What do you need me to do?” Julien asked.
“Exactly what we talked about. You keep the perimeter watch on my sister. Nate will handle the inside. I’ll text him to let him know I have to leave. But I’m counting on the two of you to keep her safe.”
“D’accord,” Julien said. “What should I tell my client in the morning?”
“Tell them I’m not in Paris. That way you won’t be lying.”
Julien grinned under his mountain man beard. “And when they ask about your sister?”
“Tell them she didn’t come home all night. Suggest that perhaps she has a boyfriend, and you’d be happy to track him down if they want. If they say yes, raise your rate.”
A deep laugh. “You’re good at this, my friend. Don’t worry. I’ll sell them the story.”
“Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”
Julien raised his glass in the air. “To old friends, yes?”
Quinn raised his own. “Yes.”
“And to screwing over those who try to do the same to us.”
Quinn smiled. “I’ll drink to that, too.”
Anton Nova was a surprisingly small man given his reputation. Petra had expected someone closer to six foot three than five-four. And fat, not thin.
His real name was Kirill Nikitov. Once part of the Moscow underworld, he’d been forced to leave the Russian capital seven years earlier due to a problem with someone higher in the organization. Since his exile to England, Nova had developed into the person you went to if you needed something from the ever-growing Russian community. His knowledge of the city, and of both the Russian emigrant population and the native English, was unparalleled. He was the kind of person most people made a point of avoiding unless absolutely necessary.
It had been Dombrovski who had told her that if she found herself in London, Nova could be trusted. There were other contacts in other places, too. They, like Nova, all had the same thing in common. They had all had their lives touched by the Ghost.