“What do you want, Sergeant Martinez?” Quinn said, tired of his games.
“Don’t mind me,” Noah said to Pablo. “I’m not here to cause you trouble. I just saw Quinn sneaking away and couldn’t resist the opportunity to say hello.”
“You mean like the time you drugged me and tied me up at your place?” Quinn said. She saw Jones bristle next to her, and she wondered at herself, at how her mouth sometimes worked faster than her mind.
Undeterred, Noah sat on the corner of Pablo’s desk. “Got you to talk to me, didn’t it? You know how much I enjoy our talks. And I think I recall you breaking into my place to stake it out before that, right?” He smirked. “How’d that work out for you, anyway?”
“How’d the kidnapping work out for you?” she replied.
Noah’s smirk faded.
“There’s always next time,” he said coldly.
Quinn gritted her teeth. He was enjoying this. He liked knowing he had the upper hand, knowing they had no idea what he would do next. She wanted to lash out at him, tell him to go to hell and that she would never become his confidential informant, that she would never bow down to him or any other cop. She wanted to scream at him for everything—for hunting her down, for kidnapping her. For disappointing her. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t let him know how much he infuriated her because it gave him an advantage. And she didn’t want Pablo knowing any more than he did, or he’d wind up ratting her out to some other guy offering up cash.
And the truth was, she had no idea what Noah was capable of. He probably wasn’t the one sending her the violent threats, but he was still stalking her, and if he didn’t get what he wanted he would begin to resort to desperate measures. Because underneath the confidence and that grin was a simmering intensity, one she didn’t want to mess with.
“We were just leaving,” Quinn finally said. She stepped forward, hoping that Noah wouldn’t stand in her way.
He didn’t. He stood aside as she left the cubby, Jones on her heels. As they headed toward the exit again, she heard Noah’s voice behind them.
“Quinn.”
She stopped and turned around, as did Jones.
“My offer still stands,” he said. “I strongly urge you to consider it.”
This time, there was no smile on his face.
“Well, look what we have here,” Quinn said, staring at her computer while sipping her diablo at Sidewinder.
“A way to take down that cop boyfriend of yours?” Jones said flatly.
“Stop calling him that,” she snapped.
“It ain’t good that he showed up there, of all places. He was probably following us the whole time.” He shoved his root beer away. “I don’t need this. We can’t have that guy showin’ up at the wrong time and ruining everything—”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Jones! What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry, again?”
“I ain’t blamin’ you, alright? I’m just sayin’… this guy’s a problem. I get the feelin’ this ain’t just him bein’ a gung-ho cop. This feels personal. Like he’s still hung up on you.”
Quinn shook her head. “He’s not. He’s got plenty of options, believe me. And he’ll back off once he finds bigger prey to hunt.”
“You sure about that?”
She wasn’t, not entirely. “Look, like I said, I can hurt him just as much as he can hurt me, and he knows it. Just… give it time.”
Jones shook his head, grabbing his root beer. “Real shame.”
“What is?”
“Him bein’ a lawman. ‘Cause you two are perfect for each other. Both gotta make sure you come out on top.”
“Can we move on, please?”
He nodded at her computer. “Whatcha find?”
Quinn, glad to finally change the subject, turned the computer to face Jones. “Our boy Carlson? The one who shot you that night? Pablo was right. He was a Midtowner. I traced addresses for him in Mesquite, back to his childhood.”
Jones studied the data she’d rounded up on Elliot Carlson. “How’d you find it when the cops couldn’t?”
“Because of what Pablo said about Carlson’s father being in prison. I started with him and followed that trail to some Midtown General birth records. Dad’s name is Jake Carlson, resident of Chihuahua Prison for the last seven years.” She pulled up Jake’s mug shots and showed them to Jones.
“They look alike… but how do you know it’s him? There’s lots of Carlsons…”
“Sure, but how many have fathers in prison and a Midtown accent? Plus, why would the Black Jays risk coming after me when I’m no more of a threat than you or anyone else? Yes, they could be targeting us one at a time, trying to defeat their enemy, but the threats I’ve gotten feel personal. Like they’re coming from someone angry about losing his only son. In his messages, he used “I” instead of “we” and made it clear he wanted revenge for the men I killed. Who’s more motivated than a parent? And who’s more suspicious than a felon with a murder sheet?”
“This is all real useful, Quinn… but we got one little problem.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s in prison. He can call you and send you shit, but he can’t do nothin’ else. And any phone they got in prison could be traced unless he’s in deep with one of them underground guys. And you said them packages didn’t even have postage. That don’t sound like it’s comin’ from Chihuahua.”
Quinn smiled. “It’s not. Jake Carlson got out on parole two months ago.” Jones raised his eyebrows. “He’s our guy. And… I know where he lives.”
Chapter 14
When the wind kicked up another gust, dust and debris blew against Quinn’s sunglasses and hat, and she pulled on her mask to avoid breathing in too much dust.
A dry thunderstorm. Quinn could barely recall the days when a thunderstorm actually produced precipitation. Sometimes it was just a sprinkle, other times a flash flood, but now it was nothing but particulates and electricity in the air.
But that was good for her. Again, the weather allowed Quinn to cover herself without looking like she was trying to hide from the growing number of dangerous men after her.
Quinn finally arrived at Hole, descending into the dark, cool cave as electronic music greeted her. She looked around at the tattoos and bright hair, and smiled. It felt strangely good to return to her old haunt.
Daria saw her and waved. She wore a bright pink tank with her knee-length cargoes, and she looked… happier. She stood up when Quinn approached.
“Hey, girl,” she said.
“Hey, Dar.”
They hugged, and Quinn held onto her for a few moments, hardly believing this was her childhood friend and former tech partner. She’d been so upset by Daria turning her back on her and their livelihood, and had hoped to win her back, but with time she’d come to see that Daria was never cut out for the business.
They sat down at the table, and before long Soo came over and grinned at Quinn. “Hey, girl! Haven’t seen you in a while! Too good for us now?” She winked.
Quinn laughed. “I’m still around, but I’m working north now.”
Soo made a point of clearing her throat as she looked at Daria. “By north, she means Midtown, right?”
Daria laughed. “Two diablos. The good ones. Quinn’s buying.”
“Ooh!” Soo said, her eyes wide. “I’ll be right back.”
“So how are you?” Quinn said. “How’s nursing school?”
Daria beamed. “I love it. It’s hard, though. You know I hate getting up early, and my chemistry class…” She made a face. “But I already get to work at this clinic for a few hours every week, and some of the kids have special needs, and they’re so fun to work with!”
Quinn nodded, reminded of Jeffrey.
“How are you? How’s the mind-fucking business?” Daria arched one eyebrow.
Quinn hesitated at her tone. “Since when do you call it that?”
“Since I’ve been doing legit work that actually helps people, rather
than pretending it does.”
Ah. So Daria was in that sort of mood today. Before she could respond, Soo brought their drinks and set them down, winking again before she left.
“It’s… it’s fine,” Quinn said.
“No one’s tried to kill you lately?” Daria joked.
Quinn forced a smile, not wanting to let on just how close Daria had come to the truth. “No, but give it a few days…”
“How’s your dad? Did he mention we ran into each other?”
“He did. And, he’s fine. He’s sober.”
“For Joe Hartley, that’s outstanding news.”
Quinn smiled. “That’s the truth.”
“He still dealing?”
“Yeah. But I’m trying not to be judgmental. Especially considering the reality of my life.”
Daria snorted. “Well, look who’s gotten off her high horse.”
Suddenly, anger rolled through Quinn. “What the hell is your problem, Dar? I was looking forward to seeing you, but you’re all over my ass the minute I sit down.”
“I’m just messing with you!”
“Well, don’t.”
Daria’s smirk faded. Quinn realized the gulf created by Daria’s leaving their business not only still existed, but had possibly widened when Quinn moved away.
“Sorry,” Daria said. “I guess I’m a little mad that you moved to Midtown, and thought I’d throw you a little Downtown-style razzing, just to keep you honest…”
Quinn’s anger dwindled. “You know me. I’m always honest. And even though I moved, I’m still me.”
“Have you met any nice people up there?”
“Not really,” Quinn admitted. “Well, the building maintenance worker. And this one guy… Devin. He’s been pretty nice. Plus, he has a pet iguana.” She sipped her drink. “He’s really cute.”
“The iguana or the guy?”
Quinn giggled. “The iguana. His name is Lucifer.” Daria cracked up at that. “Although the guy isn’t bad either…”
“It didn’t work out with the Midtown guy?”
“No.” Quinn never told Daria the truth about what happened with Noah. She’d always trusted Daria completely, but things were different now. “I’m abstaining from now on. Too complicated.”
“Maybe I should too. I mean, is finding a goodhearted thug too much to ask for?”
“They exist, but you have to search hard.”
“Exactly. And without you around to scare away the assholes, it’s even harder.”
Quinn laughed. They were back on track.
“Sorry if I was weird before,” Daria said. “I had a dark moment. To make it up to you, I’ll buy the drinks.”
“No,” Quinn said, shaking her head. “I’ve got it. But I do want to run something by you.”
“What is it?”
“You mentioned working with kids who have special needs. I have a friend whose brother is developmentally delayed. He wants to move, and he’s thinking about Sunnyside because there’s a clinic there for people like his brother. I can’t remember the name…”
“The Solera Clinic?”
“Yes! That’s the place. But they told him they aren’t taking any new clients and I think he and his mom are struggling to take care of him.”
“How old is he?”
“Not sure. In his twenties…”
“So he’s an adult. That’s good. Solera doesn’t take kids. One of the nurses at my clinic works there part time. Do you want me to look into it for you? Maybe find out when they can take someone new?”
“That would be great, Dar. These are such nice people—Downtownies—and they could really use the help.”
“So who is this guy?” Daria gave a cheeky grin.
“Just a friend.”
How could she explain? Daria knew how the Protectorate worked and had sworn to keep its secrets, but Quinn didn’t know if Daria had ever crossed paths with Jones and didn’t want to reveal his identity without his permission. Just asking for help on his behalf was risky enough.
“I’ll talk to Nurse Haley about Solera,” Daria said. “Let me see what I can find out.”
As Quinn left, she checked her phone and had a missed call from her dad. But when she tried to call him back, service was down. It didn’t matter. She was headed that way.
The winds finally died down just as the sun disappeared. Quinn kept her head scarf and sunglasses on, determined to remain as incognito as possible.
As she walked in the fading light, she occasionally patted her pockets to ensure her weapons were inside. She missed the days when her main concern was Downtown thugs with their probing eyes and brash comments. Now, she didn’t know who would be around the corner.
Finally, she arrived at her father’s building in Westgate and entered the code he’d given her for the building. She headed downstairs to the lower level and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer.
Finally, she banged on the door with her fist. A neighbor’s door opened then, and a scrawny man with leathery skin gave her an annoyed look.
“He ain’t there, so you can quit bangin’ on the door.”
Quinn sighed in annoyance. “Do you know when he’s coming back?”
“Nope. But if you need somethin’, maybe I can help ya…” He looked at her expectantly, a look she understood immediately.
Great. Apparently, this was the drug dealer’s floor. Easy in and out for customers.
“I don’t need anything,” Quinn snapped. “I’m his daughter.”
The man looked surprised for a moment, then shrugged and went back inside.
Quinn checked her phone. Service was back up, and sure enough there was a message. Her dad had to “go to work” for a while. He would catch up with her soon. Quinn shook her head and left. Before she was even a block away, her phone rang, and Quinn hoped it was her dad. But it was Jones.
“Hey,” she said.
“You at home?” Jones sounded rushed, like he needed something.
“No. What’s going on?”
“I gotta bead on Carlson.”
Quinn stopped walking. “How?”
“By trackin’ his phone.”
“Where is he?”
“Some bar in Coyote. He just got here.”
A tingle ran through Quinn. Then she made a face. “I’m all the way in Westgate. With no equipment.”
“Just get here as soon as you can. This is our chance.”
Chapter 15
Quinn adjusted her wig as the taxi headed Downtown. The purple wig would do this time, along with her torn-up gray cargoes and jacket filled with the equipment she would need.
But it was the neck tats—fake—that would help her most tonight.
She needed to fit in Downtown, but more importantly she needed to not look like herself. Jake Carlson couldn’t recognize her, at least not until it was too late, or the jig was up.
When the taxi stopped, Quinn handed over some cash and headed to the alleyway that Jones had communicated to her. She took a deep breath and entered the dark alley, every instinct in her resisting doing so. Heat emanated from the asphalt and concrete buildings, and the alley stank of urine.
She clutched her weapons until her knuckles ached, and her pace slowed to a crawl without her even realizing it. When she heard a noise and saw a hulking figure in the shadows, her heart began to pound.
It was Jones. Quinn let out her breath, not realizing she’d been holding it.
“You alright?”
She nodded. “Alleys aren’t my favorite. Especially in Coyote.”
“Shit. Right. Figured it was safest here…” He was right about that. People generally didn’t wander in alleyways in that infamous neighborhood.
“Did you find a back way in?”
“Yep,” Jones said. “All you gotta do is wait for him to go take a piss, send me the signal, and we got him.”
“Do I look alright? I’m screwed if he recognizes me.”
Jones glanced at her again and nodded. “Yeah. You look like a proper Coyote girl. All you need is a cig.”
Quinn smiled, patting her pocket. “Got ‘em.”
“Good girl.”
Quinn stuck the earpiece deep in her ear, so Jones could hear everything that was going on. Just as she turned to leave, Jones grabbed her arm.
“Be careful. Don’t be a fucken hero. If anything looks wrong, get out and run north. I’ll be right behind you.”
She nodded, hesitating. “Thanks. For doing this. I know it’s a lot to ask, especially when this isn’t your problem. If I can make it up to you in some way—”
“Hey, you’re my meal ticket. I can’t have you dyin’ on me.”
Quinn wondered at that. Jones was making a joke, but she couldn’t deny that there was truth to what he said. Losing her meant probably getting partnered with a Tier Two for a while, and the low pay that came with it.
She left the alley and headed around the block to the entrance of Canine. It was a small establishment in an old stucco building with chipped tan paint and no windows. It had a beat-up, faux-wood door with a mural of a wild dog with red eyes snarling at whoever entered, its canine teeth dripping with saliva. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Inside, it was barely cool enough to be tolerable. The place was long and narrow, the bar along one side and tables along the other. Music chugged in the background, overwhelmed by loud voices. The seats were filled with people with facial tats and rows of empty glasses in front of them, the air clouded with smoke of all kinds.
Several people turned to stare at her, whether to ogle a new piece of female meat or because they recognized that despite her cultivated Coyote appearance she wasn’t a regular. She donned her Downtown scowl and headed toward the bar. She suppressed the urge to cough at all the smoke.
It didn’t take long to spot him. Jake Carlson sat at one of the tables with another guy, his face lined and his hair grayed, but his frame solid and hardened, like he could easily hurt someone. Suddenly, he stood up from his seat and headed back, disappearing around the corner. He was already headed to the restroom. Quinn froze for a moment. This was her chance.
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