Chapter 36
“We should have heard from them by now,” Quinn said.
He and Orlando were at opposite ends of the street, watching Annabel Taplin’s apartment building. They had their comm gear on, so were in constant contact.
“You told him to get Liz out of town, so that’s what he’s doing,” Orlando said. “He’ll call in as soon as he can.”
“I know, I know.”
A large vapor cloud formed in front of his face as he let out a breath. The weather had taken a decidedly colder turn that morning, and even with a muffler wrapped around his neck and the collar of his jacket flipped up, Quinn was freezing.
“We should have just staked out her office again,” Quinn said. It was almost 8 a.m. and so far no sign of Annabel. Perhaps the building had been a ruse.
“Why don’t you go grab some coffee,” Orlando told him. “I can watch things here.”
“I’m fine. I’m just …”
“Annoying me?”
“Sorry. I’m fine.”
“Keep it up and I’m sending you home.”
Seven minutes later, movement in front of the building made him forget the fact he was losing feeling in his cheeks. “Is that her?”
Orlando was positioned closer. “It’s her.”
“Finally,” he said. “I’m heading for the station.”
They had made the assumption that Annabel would use the Russell Square Underground station like she had the night before. Quinn headed there first, while Orlando kept Annabel in sight in case she went somewhere else.
If Annabel stuck to her script and did a reverse of her trip home, she would go one stop to Holborn, then switch to the Central Line. So Quinn went straight to the platform and found a spot against the wall halfway down, blending into the rush-hour crowd.
He glanced up at the display screen hanging from the ceiling. The next train was due in three minutes, with another five minutes later. He then turned so he could see the platform entrance, and waited.
Annabel arrived just as the sound of the first train began rumbling through the tunnel. She walked through the crowd, passing within five feet of Quinn, before stopping, her eyes never straying in his direction.
Orlando showed up a few seconds later. She eased her way through the other commuters and into position directly behind Annabel. The train whooshed into the station with a sudden roar, and the waiting commuters acknowledged the arrival by pushing themselves closer together.
As the train slowed to a stop, there was a pause, then the doors slid open. As one, the crowd lurched forward. Annabel entered the car and grabbed ahold of one of the poles. She turned back toward the door just as Quinn entered.
He didn’t even try to hide.
The look on her face was at first blank, then confused, as if she recognized him but wasn’t sure from where. Then, almost as quickly, her eyes went wide.
Quinn raised a finger to his lips as he reached out with his other hand and grabbed the same pole she was holding on to.
Her eyes darted around. “You’re fine where you are,” Orlando whispered into her ear. She was beside Annabel, pressing up against her.
Annabel looked at her, then glanced down at where their bodies made contact. Quinn knew she was feeling the barrel of Orlando’s hairbrush against her ribs. An adequate substitute for a concealed gun under the circumstances, though ultimately less lethal.
“Hello, Annabel,” Quinn said.
“What do you want?”
“We’ll get to that when we’re alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’re not?” He gave Orlando a quick glance, and she shoved the barrel of her faux gun hard into Annabel’s ribs. “Next time I tell her to pull the trigger.”
“What?” Annabel said, a nervous smile on her lips. “You wouldn’t.”
He stared at her, his face completely blank. “Try me.”
Her smile faded quickly.
“I suggest you keep quiet and do exactly what we say,” Quinn told her. “Understood?”
Annabel started to speak, but Quinn shook his head and raised his finger back to his mouth. So she stopped, then nodded.
“Good,” he said. “My associate is going to stay right next to you like she’s your best friend. Okay?”
Another nod.
“See? Not so bad.”
As the train pulled in to Holborn, Annabel tensed.
“Hold tight,” Orlando said. “You won’t be getting off here today.”
“What do you want? I don’t know—” Annabel grimaced as Orlando jabbed her abdomen again.
Quinn leaned close, his mouth an inch from her ear. “Don’t test me.”
“Sorry,” she whispered.
They rode in silence all the way to Green Park. There, with Orlando tight to Annabel’s side, they navigated the warrens of the station until they reached the southbound platform for the Victoria Line.
“I could make a scene right now. There are cameras everywhere. You’d never be able to get away.”
“Perhaps,” Quinn said. “But you’d be on the ground bleeding out, so you’d never know if we did or we didn’t, would you?”
She bit her lower lip. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
“Who said anything about hurt?”
Orlando snickered. “Give me your phone.”
Annabel hesitated, then pulled a cell phone out of the pocket of her overcoat and handed it to Orlando. Unlike the cell she’d been carrying in New York, this was a sophisticated model that must have cost someone a bundle. Orlando turned it off and dropped it into the trash.
When the train arrived, Annabel boarded without protest. This time they rode only two stops, exiting at Pimlico, then rode the escalators up from deep below the city. As they did, Quinn’s phone vibrated, indicating a voicemail. He pulled it out, but had to wait until they reached the top before the signal strength was strong enough to check it.
“Quinn, it’s Nate. First, Liz is fine. Second, we’ll be in London at nine-thirty. I know you told me to use a less direct route, but something happened this morning and I felt the sooner we got there, the better. We’re on the Eurostar and have already passed through the Chunnel. And before you ask, yes, I got the papers Orlando arranged, so no one knows we’re on the train.” He paused. “Quinn, Julien’s dead. I’ll give you the details later. What I need to know now is what you want me to do once we arrive.”
The message ended.
“What’s wrong?” Orlando asked.
Quinn had stopped near the entrance to the station.
“Quinn?” she asked.
He glanced at Annabel, then turned to Orlando. “There’s been … a complication.”
Orlando looked concerned. “Did something happen to …?”
“They’re both fine.”
“Then, what?”
“Julien.”
She raised an eyebrow in question.
He knew he didn’t have to say anything. His expression was answer enough.
“Where are they?” she asked.
Quinn looked at his watch. It was just after nine. “They’ll be here in thirty. We’ll need to split up.”
She nodded. “Don’t worry. I can take care of our friend here.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Wait. You might want to show me where I’m supposed to take her first,” Orlando said.
“Right.” God, where was his head? “It’s not far.” He led them out of the station and down Lupus Street to the corner of Belgrave Road. “There. Two blocks up on the left. The Silvain Hotel.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the plastic keycard he’d been carrying for two days now, and handed it to her.
Quinn locked eyes with Annabel. “You’re going to go with my friend. Despite her size, she’s a hell of a lot meaner than I am. If you’re even thinking you might be able to make a break, you should reconsider. She’ll kill you without hesitating. Understand?”