“Hi Quinn!”
“Hey Merritt. Which floor?”
“Lobby.” She glanced at Quinn and smiled. “You’ll be happy to know that no more weird hot guys have come sniffing around for you.”
“That’s good news.”
“But I saw you talking to those two cuties, though…” Merritt added archly, a gleam in her brown eyes.
“Which cuties?”
“The guys… Devin and Lucifer.” She grinned at her own cleverness.
Quinn chuckled. “You like iguanas?”
“I love them! I love all animals, including the human kind. Wish I could afford one,” she added wistfully.
“A guy or an iguana?”
Merritt laughed a little too hard, like she was trying to flatter Quinn. “Either. But I meant an iguana. Also, I think Devin might be gay.”
Quinn raised her eyebrows. “Really? I didn’t get that vibe from him.”
“I could be wrong. I’ve just never seen him with a girl, and he’s cute. And I’d never care about the limp, you know?”
Quinn would never care about a limp either. But this was El Diablo, where a limp could hurt your chances in the cutthroat dating pool.
When they got to the lobby, Merritt lingered, as if hoping to talk more. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, just checking the mail. Good talking to you.” She went off to her mailbox and left Merritt to her duties, a little glad to leave Merritt’s orbit. Merritt was nice enough, and friendlier than most in that building, but there was something about her that seemed… off.
When Quinn opened her mailbox, dread came over her when she saw a large envelope inside, the same size as the previous one. Unable to wait, she opened it and pulled out the contents. It was an image of a woman, her face and torso torched and unrecognizable, like she’d been attacked with an energy weapon. When Quinn looked closely, she realized the woman had her body, her clothing, her jawline and hair.
It was a doctored picture of Quinn.
Her heart began to pound. The lobby seemed to shift and suddenly feel smaller, like it was closing in on her.
“You alright?”
Quinn jumped at the sound of a male voice. She looked up to find Devin standing there, concern on his face. She stuffed the disturbing image back into its envelope and forced a smile.
“I’m fine. I just…” Her mind went blank and she couldn’t come up with a witty lie.
“Bad news from the Federal Tax Bureau?” He smiled a little.
“Something like that.”
“Tear it up and throw it away. That’s what I do.”
Something yanked Devin back and made him stumble. Lucifer, on his leash, trying to pull Devin toward the door. He went and picked Lucifer up. “Quit being a little shit,” he said. He saw Quinn eyeing the creature and added, “You can pet him. He’s a lover once he gets to know you.”
Quinn petted Lucifer, his scaly skin warm and dry. But Lucifer strained against Devin’s arm and squirmed like he wanted out. Devin let him down. “I think he needs to go outside. Good to see you again, Quinn.” His eyes lingered on her, much like before, just a moment longer than casual.
Quinn waved. “You too.”
After they left, Quinn hurried back to her place. She took a close look at the image again. Despite knowing it was doctored, it gave her the creeps. She shook her head.
A death threat? Would Noah really take things this far?
She checked the envelope for useful information: a return address, a postage scan marking. There was nothing. She slid the image back into its envelope and stowed it away.
Later that night, just as she drifted off to sleep, her phone beeped and she grabbed it. A message, from an unfamiliar number.
Did you get your picture, Quinn? I hope so. I had a swell time constructing that image. It turned out pretty good, don’t you think?
Do not ever believe you’ll get away with killing those men.
And with violating the code.
Then, a final one.
By the way, that picture? That’s you very soon, Quinn Hartley.
Because I’m coming for you.
Chapter 9
Quinn stood at her window, staring out at the city lights and dark sky. She couldn’t sleep. She read the message again, and then two more times.
Someone was after her. And that someone knew her full name, her phone number, and where she lived.
She stood up and began to pace.
Do not ever believe you’ll get away with killing those men.
Quinn had beaten, shot, and disabled her share of enemies in her professional and personal life. But she’d only killed two: the ninjas who’d attacked her and Jones at the Lindens’. Whoever sent that message knew about that job. There were only four people there besides her and Jones that night; all four were dead.
Noah had seen her and Jones and saw their injuries, and could have put two and two together about what happened. The threat could have come from him. Or from the cops, working from Noah’s intel, looking to scare her into doing something drastic so they could nab her. If so, they weren’t working within the law, within the justice system Noah so passionately defended the other night.
Which left only one other option: the Black Jays themselves. They’d lost two comrades and wanted revenge.
Quinn hurried over to her computer. She would trace the call. An enemy of this sort would be too smart to call from a personal phone, but results could yield some clue that could help her. However, after running through the few tricks she had, she found nothing.
Quinn thought of Jones. If this enemy was after her, they might be after Jones. Was he receiving threats too? Unlikely. He was still paranoid about Noah coming back to haunt them, and he would have mentioned any threat right away.
Besides, she’d pulled the trigger on their enemies that night, not Jones. She’d killed the men. Based on Jones’s poor condition that night, Noah was the only one who would know that.
A bad situation had just become worse. Whether the cops or the Jays, she had a new enemy after her. A formidable one.
One who could end everything for her.
Quinn packed her purple wig and her jacket into her bag and left her apartment. In the lobby, Devin strolled in with Lucifer trailing behind him. He wore a Demon’s t-shirt with his slacks.
“Hey, Devin,” Quinn said.
“Quinn. Hey.”
When Lucifer approached, she kneeled down to greet him.
“Nice jacket,” Devin said.
Quinn hesitated, then remembered which one she wore. The one with the big “El Diablo” on the back. “Thanks. It’s my fave.”
“It’s very Downtown. Brings back memories.”
Quinn looked up. “You grew up Downtown?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew the answer. Underneath the nice duds and the good manners was something… world-wise. Like he’d seen the things she had.
Devin nodded. “Ocotillo. Until I was fifteen.”
Ocotillo. Not deep Downtown, which explained his cleaner, tattoo-free look. Although she wondered if his upbringing contributed to his limp.
“Do you still have family down there?” she asked.
Devin hesitated. “No.”
Something about his answer told her not to press. She felt his eyes on her, and she didn’t know whether to feel flattered or uncomfortable. When Lucifer tried to crawl up her leg, she stopped him and he gave her a little bite. Nothing painful, but enough to make her laugh.
“No biting, you bad boy,” she teased.
“Lucifer,” Devin said in disapproval.
Quinn stood up. “It’s okay. It was only a nibble. I know when to keep my fingers to myself.” She pointed at his t-shirt. “Demons fan?”
“Diehard. The first thing I did when I got a good job was buy season tickets. Even before finding an apartment in Midtown.”
“We all have our priorities.”
“You ever go to games?”
She shook her head. “No
t a baseball fan. No offense.”
“You ever been to a live game?”
“No,” she admitted.
“You might feel differently if you did…” He paused. “I was thinking about getting a coffee next door. Want to join us?”
“I’d love to, but headed out.”
Devin nodded. “Maybe some other time.”
Quinn waved goodbye and left.
After donning her wig and alternate jacket, Quinn headed Downtown. The air was filled with particulates and the sky looked grayish. It had been a particularly windy day and the news warned that dust levels were high. Several people she passed on the street were coughing and drinking from their water bottles. Quinn pulled out her mask. She hated wearing one, but it helped prevent dust inhalation, and offered another layer of disguise that made her feel safer.
And safety had become a huge issue, thanks to her new enemy.
She could have grabbed a taxi, but she wasn’t going to waste more money on taxis when she might need it to hunt down this threat. And she avoided the train, uncomfortable with the idea of being trapped in a tube with people she couldn’t escape from. As long as she walked wide when approaching any alleys, she was safest out here, on the streets in broad daylight, where she could see the enemy coming. Her hands remained in her pockets, her two friends her only solace.
When Quinn arrived at Sidewinder, Jones was already there, sitting in the corner with a root beer and an almost-empty plate of tacos. The old Jones never let himself eat out, opting to save his limited funds to support his family. Now, he could let himself have tacos, and it made Quinn happy to see.
As she approached, Jones stared for a moment, his face blank as he shoved the last bit of taco in his mouth. His eyebrows went up when he recognized her.
“I thought you wanted outta Downtown,” he said, eyeing the purple wig. “Coulda fooled me.”
“It did fool you, for a second there.” She lowered her voice. “It’s to throw off the enemy.”
“That bad?”
Quinn told Jones about the image she’d received, and showed him the message. He read it, his eyes darkening.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Yeah.” She glanced around again, making sure nobody watched them.
With a sigh, he wiped his hands on his napkin and pushed his plate way. “That Linden job is gonna haunt us for the rest of our lives.”
“You haven’t gotten any threats, right?”
“No.” He paused. “You think it’s that cop you banged?”
She sighed. “Possibly. He’s the only one who was there that isn’t dead.”
“But how’s he know who pulled the trigger? Why you and not me?”
“He saw what kind of shape you were in. It makes sense to assume it was me.”
He shook his head again and leaned back. “That’s some crooked-ass shit, with death threats and all, which would mean he’s a fucken dirty cop.” She nodded at that. “But I don’t know. Like you said, he let us skate that night. I’m thinkin’ if he was gonna do ya, he woulda done ya by now.”
“Agreed. Something about this doesn’t feel like him.”
“But that ain’t good either, ‘cause at least a cop is a devil we know. This is startin’ to look like the Jays. And we don’t know them guys.”
“I don’t know what to do, Jones.”
“You trace the call?”
“Yup. Nothing.”
After the server brought Quinn’s drink, Jones went on. “Maybe we need to talk to the boss. Tell ‘em what’s goin’ on.”
Quinn scowled. “Are you out of your mind? They’d drop me quicker than a grenade with the pin pulled!”
“You got a better idea?”
“I do.” She hesitated, knowing he wasn’t going to like it. “I can call Noah, agree to be his CI. If he helps me with my problem.”
Jones’s eyes widened. “Are you kiddin’ me? That’s a fucken terrible idea—”
“He’s got resources, Jones! He’s got resources I don’t have, and he’s less risky than the Protectorate—”
“It’s outta the question, Quinn. Don’t even mention it again.”
“What choice do I have?” she cried, feeling her frustration peak. “I—”
“There’s gotta be a better way—”
“There’s not. If it’s the Jays, we know they have the skills to nab me. Whoever it is knows where I live, my number, my full name. God only knows what else. At least Noah works within the law. He could help me.”
“At what cost? You know how cops treat their informants. Once you agree to work with ‘em, they got you over a barrel forever. Yeah, they say they’ll protect you and keep you outta jail, but in the end, when push comes to shove, them cops’ll toss you right under the train if it means gettin’ what they want. You ain’t shit to them.”
Quinn shook her head. “I know too much for him to try that crap on me.”
“Sure about that? Girl, even if he ain’t crooked, he’s got a chip on his shoulder now that he knows you’re the one thing he hates. You know as well as I do them jacker cops are all the same. They never stop until they get their man, until…”
“Until they win.” Quinn let out a giant sigh. Jones was right. There was no way she could work with Noah. Not after everything that had happened. “I didn’t work this hard to finally get to Tier One, just to get charred by the Jays. Or arrested. I’m fucking scared, Jones.”
Jones paused, deep in thought. “What if you just asked for his help?”
“What? We just agreed that’s a bad idea.”
“No. I don’t mean be his CI. Don’t give him shit. I mean… just ask for his help. Be a damsel in distress.”
Quinn crossed her arms, annoyed. “That’s insulting. Besides, he’d never fall for that.”
“The fuck he wouldn’t. Not if he had feelings for you.”
“Those feelings are dead. Trust me.” The brunette Midtowner at his place proved that.
“I ain’t buyin’ it.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause it’s the only way to explain why he let us go.”
Quinn paused at that. But then she shook her head. “Even if that were true, he’s had plenty of time to change his mind. Which is why he’s trying to lean on me. Plus, I may have pointed a weapon at him and threatened to ruin his career. So I don’t think he’s in a helping mood.”
Jones crossed his muscled arms. “Then we only got one choice.”
“What’s that?”
“We gotta find out who’s doin’ this on our own.”
Quinn hesitated, uncomfortable with pulling Jones into a dangerous situation. But two heads were better than one, and if the situation were reversed she would help Jones without question.
“Okay,” she agreed. “But you’re behind the scenes only. I don’t want this rubbing off on you.”
“Right now, we put it aside. We got a job to plan.”
Chapter 10
Quinn couldn’t believe her eyes.
It was big, blue, and filled with an obscene amount of water.
A swimming pool.
She’d heard about them, but had never seen one. And judging by Jones’s raised eyebrows and stare, he hadn’t either. Swimming pools were the stuff of myths and dreams, read about only in books. They played no part in Quinn’s life or in the city of El Diablo… unless you lived north of 90th Street and out-earned ninety-eight percent of your fellow desert-dwellers.
“Fuck me,” Jones muttered.
Quinn nodded. That about summed it up.
The pool lay quiet, turquoise with white sparkling stone, surrounded by waterfalls and lounge chairs. A solar-protected dome let light in but blocked heat and UV radiation, allowing a view of the troglodytes below who could never afford to patronize The Oasis. It was early in the morning on a Saturday, and the pool wasn’t open for business yet.
Jones, dressed in overalls and a hat, began his pool-cleaning duties while Quinn snuck inside one of the changing rooms to
put on her server’s uniform. A few well-planned words and a wad of cash allowed them to replace the daytime server and pool maintenance worker.
It was always nerve-wracking to bribe workers, even ones the Protectorate had worked with before. You never knew who would turn you down out of fear, or decide that they didn’t like you enough to take the money. But the heavily-tattooed supervisor, Benicio, took one look at Jones and nodded, pocketing the cash without argument. It was the only reason they could pull off the job at The Oasis instead of somewhere even riskier.
Quinn finished dressing and straightened her purple wig before checking herself in the mirror. As she stared at her reflection, there was something strangely comforting about her appearance, about embracing where she came from, even if only for a few hours. Besides, maybe these rich old guys would find her low-class look charming and fun.
She was betting on it, actually.
When the place opened for business, it wasn’t long before the pool and lounge area were filled with people. Wives, husbands, and lots of children, all in their swimwear. The shallow end of the pool with the slide and maze was filled with younger kids screaming and splashing, the middle with older kids playing pool games, and the rest filled with adults swimming the neat lanes or lounging on the steps or under the waterfalls that now flowed.
“Excuse me, miss,” came a nasal voice. Quinn turned to find a middle-school-aged girl in a one-piece suit and silky coverup. “Can I get a root beer?”
“Of course,” Quinn said. Quinn turned to fetch the soda from the cooler, but didn’t get far when she heard the voice again.
“Wait. Um… can I get two, actually? You can put it on the Underhill tab. It’s my father’s tab.”
Of course it was. “So that’s two root beers?”
The girl fidgeted. “Actually, my brother might want something. Joseph!” she shouted into the pool filled with kids.
Mind Thief Page 5