Finally, the door opened and everyone went silent. Yolanda emerged, followed by Marshall Talbert, a long-time ops manager with cropped gray hair and vigilant eyes.
Marshall spoke first. “We’ve lost John Romero.”
There was a collective silence, and Quinn closed her eyes for a moment. John Romero had been the first agent Quinn trained with during her mind invasion practice runs. He’d given her good tips on how to deal with the onslaught of a target’s thoughts, and had taught her to drum up pleasant thoughts or memories when things got too tense. He was a good man and a good agent, and now he was gone.
“What happened?” said Perry, a jacker with a chiseled face and a cocky way about him.
“Murdered,” Marshall said. “By the Jays.”
Quinn’s entire body tensed, and a gasp traveled through the group.
Marshall went on. “He was following a trail. A warm one. A group of men accosted him and Bodie, and took John. Bodie followed protocol and called it in. We tracked John, but they anticipated us and left the scene just before we arrived. By that time, they’d done too much damage and we couldn’t save him.”
“How do we know it was the Jays?” said Javier, another agent with dark, chin-length hair.
“Bodie said they were dressed in black and were skilled fighters. John didn’t have a chance. And when we jacked in…” Marshall hesitated, a wrinkle between his brows. “They’d taken data.”
“How much?” Quinn said.
“Everything from the last two weeks. Thanks to great blocking, they didn’t have time to get more.”
More silence in the room as everyone weighed the pros and cons of that.
“Where’s Bodie?” Javier asked.
“In treatment.”
And would be for some time, Quinn thought.
Yolanda spoke. “This is terrible news. John Romero was an outstanding agent and this is a great loss to the Protectorate. His burial will be handled, and his girlfriend will receive a stipend.”
A stipend. That was all immediate families or partners got if an agent or tech perished.
“So if they have his data and memories,” Perry said, “that means the Jays know about us.”
“Sharp as always, Perry,” Marshall said. “That’s why you’re all here.”
“You’re the only agents who were involved in this particular aspect of the hunt for the Black Jays over the past few weeks, which means you’re all compromised,” Yolanda said. “It’s possible they already knew your identities, but we’re keeping you here until we can regroup and come up with a strategy to deal with them.”
“We’re stuck here?” Javier said. “For how long?”
“We don’t know. As long as a week.”
He groaned, and several others shook their heads.
“No whining,” Marshall said. “It’s for your own safety. You’re no good to us if you’re dead. And Romero’s death did yield two pieces of important info. First, Bodie swears one of the Jays who attacked them was a woman. We’ve assumed an all-male crew based on spec ops data, but Bodie said he heard a woman’s voice and saw a strand of long red hair. Red hair isn’t common in these parts, so we got a lead.”
Quinn furrowed her brow. Red hair.
Merritt. Merritt had long red hair.
“What else?” Javier said.
“The Jays left something at the scene.” Marshall lifted his hand, and between his thumb and index finger was a small black figurine.
Quinn’s stomach lurched. She knew that figurine, even from ten feet away. She could almost feel Jones’s eyes boring into the back of her.
“It’s a black jaybird,” Marshall said. “Could have some special meaning, a token they leave to send a message. But it’s the first we’ve seen it, so it could indicate a splinter group, a group within the group. Maybe one targeting the Protectorate.”
Quinn’s mind reeled. The figurine. Just like the one left in her old Downtown apartment, by whoever was stalking her. Could it be? Did her tormentor kill Romero and leave that figurine Marshall held up to them today?
“There was a note as well,” Yolanda added. “It said, ‘There will be more.’”
Another collective silence, and Quinn could tell that even the most experienced jackers, the Perrys and the Javiers, had gotten their cockiness doused with fear.
Marshall spoke again. “Do not go outside. Stay away from the windows. And power down your phones until I say otherwise. If you need to contact loved ones, we will provide you with phones. Keep the conversations short.”
“We’ll keep you informed,” Yolanda said, and the two of them left.
Quinn paced, too restless to sit or to watch the baseball game in the living room with the others. Jones sat in a chair at the conference table, his legs spread wide as he stared ahead, an earpiece in his ear.
“I know, buddy,” he said in a soothing voice, or what was soothing for Jones, anyway. “It shouldn’t be long.” Pause. “I don’t know. Work got real busy again.” Pause. “Mom’s got your back, buddy.” Longer pause. “I know you don’t. I promise I’ll make it up to you when I get back. We’ll go get ice cream.” A tiny smile appeared as he waited in silence again, as if the promise of ice cream finally worked to assuage Jeffrey.
When he got off the phone, he set it down on the table and let out a giant sigh.
Quinn sat down next to him. “He must be worried.”
Jones nodded. “If I could give him an exact day, he’d probably be alright. It’s the not knowing that makes him nuts.” He smiled a little. “He asked about Daria again.”
Quinn laughed. “The Jones brothers have a crush on Daria.”
“That little fucker’s got me beat, too. He’s got more charm than I’ll ever have.”
“Well, he is very cute.” Then Quinn had an idea. “Hey, why don’t you have Dar check in on Jeffrey while you’re out? Maybe she can vouch for you and say that you’re okay.”
His eyes got a flicker of hope. “Think she’d do that?”
“I do. Just say you got caught up with work and won’t be back for a few days.”
“You mind askin’ her? I don’t feel right about it.”
Quinn gave Jones a shove. “I’m not asking her! You’re the one who likes her.”
“I ain’t askin’ her for a favor. It ain’t right. Especially since she already doin’ for us.”
“Oh, come on. Drop the tough guy act for one minute. She’s a compassionate person. Plus, doing a favor for you will make her see you differently, in a good way.” Jones shook his head. “You want her or not? You have to trust me on this.”
She snatched the phone off the table and shoved it into his hand.
Jones rolled his eyes. “What’s her number?”
Quinn smiled and told him.
He dialed. “Get outta here. I don’t need you breathin’ down my neck.”
Quinn did as ordered and went into the kitchen.
As Jones talked on the phone, Quinn peeked into the freezer, pleasantly surprised to find a box of ice cream sandwiches. She grabbed one and began to pace some more. She wanted to puzzle through this Black Jay figurine tormentor stuff—the connection between her case and Romero’s, how her stalker knew she’d pulled the trigger and not Jones. None of it made sense. But it looked more and more like her tormentor was a Jay.
Noah suddenly sprang to mind.
She stopped in her tracks, wondering where that sudden thought had come from. Then she realized it was her ice cream sandwich, which was chocolate chip. Noah’s favorite. He’d told her once that was what he’d always bought from Leon the ice cream man back in his Downtownie youth. That, and Noah had called while she was on her way to the safe house two days ago. She’d let the call go to voicemail, but she never got a chance to listen to the message before Marshall ordered them to power down their phones.
What would Noah think if he knew the truth about her tormentor? That it wasn’t Jake Carlson, but possibly an enemy far more dangerous than any of them had
imagined? She wondered if she should tell Noah about Romero. To keep him happy, but also to possibly enlist him to help nail an elusive, dangerous enemy.
She shook her head. Her of all people, entertaining such thoughts. She’d already violated an ironclad Protectorate rule by getting dimed by a jacker cop, telling herself it didn’t count if he wasn’t arresting her. But sharing Protectorate secrets with him? That was a much bigger violation, one the Protectorate would need to “deal with.”
Yet, at the same time, if Noah proved himself useful with the information she already gave him… he could be a powerful asset for her. For them.
It was risky, on several levels. She and Noah were natural adversaries, after all. Yet, what was the one thing that could unite two adversaries? A common enemy. An enemy that threatened them both, where both benefitted from that enemy’s defeat.
But there was nothing she could do right now. She was locked away with no way of contacting Noah, not without putting herself and her people at risk.
Just as Jones set the phone down, one of the others came in to use it. But when he went to dial, he made a face. “What’s wrong with this thing?”
“Service is down again,” Jones told him.
“Again? Fuck.” He marched out.
She turned to Jones. “Did you ask her?”
He nodded.
“And?”
“Said she’d do it.”
While Jones and the others watched baseball, Quinn spent the next few hours thinking through everything—the Jays, her tormentor, Noah, Merritt.
Merritt. Red-haired Merritt. Devin’s observations about her had gone from thought-provoking to downright disturbing.
But as the night dragged on, Quinn grew restless again. She didn’t want to be stuck in that safe house any more than the rest of them. Her only solace was the brief respite she got from watching her back every moment of every day, waiting for her tormentor to strike.
But that respite was only temporary. Every moment she remained in that safe house, her enemy drew closer.
Chapter 24
Quinn took another swig of her water as she continued reading. She realized she’d read the same paragraph three times now and finally tossed the e-reader aside.
She peered at her colleagues. They sat here and there, looking fidgety and glum as they pretended to enjoy another Demons game on TV. Their gazes shifted eagerly toward the door any time the wind rattled it.
Jones was off talking to Jeffrey again, and a few of the others would glance at him from time to time and then look at one another, as if disapproving. To them, whoever Jones spoke to every day was an attachment and therefore a weakness that, to them, made him somehow less of a pro. They had no idea Jones’s “attachments” made him better than any of them. Better than her.
When Jones got off the phone, Quinn took it and called Daria.
“Hey girl,” Daria said.
“Hey Dar. What are you up to these days?”
A pause. “You sound bored. What’s the matter?”
Quinn chuckled a little. “Nothing. I’m just between jobs.”
“Did you get in trouble again?”
“No more than usual. What’s new?”
“I talked to Hammond earlier, if that’s what you’re wondering. Jeffrey is doing fine and seemed real happy that I visited. But I could tell he misses his brother.”
Quinn raised her eyebrows. Daria called Jones by his first name. She grinned.
“Why the silence?” Daria asked.
Quinn rolled her eyes. Did the girl miss anything? “To be honest, I forgot that was Jones’s name. He was pretty adamant about me not calling him that, from the start.”
“I asked for his first name once I realized Jones was Jeffrey’s last name. I don’t like calling people by their last names.”
“How very obliging of him to do that for you.”
“Are you trying to play matchmaker, Quinn?”
“Of course not. But even if I were, would that be so bad? He’s an amazing guy. Don’t let the thuggish appearance fool you.”
“Appearances don’t fool me. Unlike you, I don’t fall for troublemakers.”
Quinn rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. Mostly because Daria was right.
“I do admit he’s cute,” Daria said.
Quinn sat up a little straighter. “How cute? Like baby iguana cute? Or like you want to see him naked cute?”
“What is it with you and iguanas?”
“I like iguanas. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“It doesn’t matter. You know how I feel about your business.”
Quinn was silent for a moment. “What do you mean?”
Daria scoffed. “Don’t play games with me. He’s with the organization.”
Quinn sighed. “How’d you know?”
“How? I’ve known you since we were kids, Quinn! I knew he couldn’t be some new friend because, well, you don’t have friends. You have work. And he’s work. My replacement, I assume. I’m surprised you chose someone so thuggy, though…”
In what rainy, water-clad universe did she believe she could fool Daria? Jesus, she really had lost touch with reality. “He wasn’t my first choice, believe me. But he’s amazing. I don’t know what I would do without him.”
“I appreciate the effort, Quinn. But I’ve got enough going on right now without adding him to the list.”
Quinn nodded and left it at that. Stubborn or no, the seed was planted. If Daria didn’t like Jones, she would have made it clear. Now it was just a matter of time.
After she hung up, Quinn went back to reading.
“Can we watch something besides baseball, for the love of the devil?” Javier cried.
“Like what?” Perry argued.
Others chimed in and yet another argument broke out. The fourth within a few hours. Quinn looked at Jones, who just rolled his eyes.
“Too many wild animals cooped up for too long,” Quinn said.
“Fucken crybabies,” he muttered.
But when the door opened and Marshall appeared with Yolanda, the squabbling ceased and all eyes focused on them.
“Gather ‘round,” Marshall said.
The agents and techs assembled, and Javier shut off the game and yelled for his tech, who hurried out of the restroom, still zipping his fly.
“I have news,” Marshall said. “Spec ops set a trap for the Jays, and we nabbed one.” A few triumphant cheers from the group. “Two of our best jacked him and pulled everything we could get. The data didn’t have all we’d hoped for—these Jays have top-notch blocking—but we got enough.” He looked around at all of them. “You’re all cleared to return to work.”
More cheers and slapping of hands.
“What about the Jay?” Perry asked. “What did we do with him?”
“What we do with anyone who crosses us. We threw him to the wolves.”
“Which wolves?” Perry said. “There’re a lot of wolves out there.”
“The cops,” Quinn offered.
Marshall glanced at Quinn for a moment, then nodded. The others looked surprised at that, and for good reason. The Protectorate never worked with the police, had always considered the EDPD an adversary, if not an enemy. Even if the Protectorate kept their role anonymous, which of course they would, handing over a perp to the police still had risks, not to mention gave the police more information about their business.
But the move made sense. Especially to Quinn, who’d already begun working with the police in her own way, even if it wasn’t her first choice. The Protectorate knew the EDPD would investigate and could be an ally in their cause, even if they didn’t know it. And now that Noah had the information Quinn had given him, he could take that busted Jay and exploit him for all he was worth. That is, if Noah was as smart as he let on.
“What are the fucking cops going to do with him?” Javier asked. “They don’t know anything about the Jays.”
Marshall frowned. “They do now.” When Perry went to argue,
Marshall held up his hand. “That’s all you need to know.”
“So we’re safe to get back to hunting these guys?” Javier said.
“We are. You aren’t. All of you will be reassigned to other projects, and other agents will take your place.”
Frowns and chuffs around the room. Even Quinn let out a sigh.
“Let me guess,” Quinn said. “You found data confirming our involvement in the operation.”
Marshall gave a nod. “You’re all compromised. Until we solve this Black Jay problem, you will steer clear of any project involving them.”
“But that leaves us with all the dumbass jobs,” Perry griped.
Yolanda finally spoke, her steely gaze aimed at Perry. “Until we discovered the Black Jays only months ago, you seemed more than happy to take those ‘dumbass jobs,’ Perry. It may surprise you to know that our mission as an organization isn’t to keep you entertained. And if you don’t want the assignments, I’m sure we can find some eager Tier Twos to take them…”
Perry scowled. “No, I’ll take ‘em.”
Quinn suppressed a smile, happy to see Perry get dinged a little. He was typical of many Tier One agents—from Midtown, privileged, doing the job for thrills. And Quinn was also glad that, for once, Yolanda was giving the smackdown to someone besides her.
“Your new assignments will come tomorrow,” Marshall said. He waved them off. “Go home and wait for our call. And watch yourselves.”
Everyone began gathering their things. Quinn did the same, feeling her own disappointment at being removed from the Black Jay op. It was the kind of op they all yearned for, and it came with good pay and status. But there was nothing they could do. At least she could get out of this place and get back to doing what she did best. Not to mention they’d finally—finally—made headway in what had seemed an insurmountable challenge.
Just as Quinn went to say goodbye to Jones, Yolanda approached them. “You two, please follow me.”
Quinn glanced at Jones, whose brows knitted together. That couldn’t be good. Had spec ops found evidence of their moonlighting on the Carlson case? Or worse, Quinn’s “meetings” with Noah? Her heart pounded as they followed Yolanda into one of the other rooms. Yolanda closed the door.
Mind Thief Page 14