“We have combed through every inch of the data we extracted from this Jay,” she told them. “Somehow, you two did not appear in any of it.”
“How is that possible?” Quinn asked.
“Your recent assignments were special, and different from the others. You’ve focused on the power players rather than on jobs designed to lure the Jays. As such, you’ve managed to remain under the radar. Which means you both can continue on this operation until further notice.”
Quinn smiled in surprise, glancing at Jones again, who nodded.
“However,” Yolanda added, “the danger factor has increased. You will both need to be even more cautious. We will arm you with weapons, also until further notice.”
Quinn nodded, somewhat surprised but never letting on that she and Jones had already armed themselves with weapons that outstripped whatever the Protectorate would issue them. She felt a wisp of doubt, and began to wonder if she should tell Yolanda the truth. About her stalker. About Merritt. Maybe even about Noah. Was it the right thing to do?
But something stopped her.
She said goodbye to Jones and hopped into a taxi. When she turned on her phone, she had several messages from Noah. They all said the same thing: it was time to meet. She cursed, deleting them all. Maybe it was time for a new phone number.
As she watched the city go by, she pondered Yolanda’s decision to arm them. It was about damned time. If Quinn hadn’t violated the Protectorate’s strict rule about weapons, she and Jones would be dead and their ashes mingling with the desert dust by now. Sure, the Protectorate hadn’t known about the Black Jays yet, but that was the point. Weapons were insurance against the unknown, at least in their world.
And the truth was, as much as the Protectorate had done for her, and Jones, their lives were as disposable as John Romero’s. If the worst happened, the Protectorate would feel bad, offer up stipends to their beneficiaries, and find someone to replace them the next day. For that reason, Quinn decided to tell Yolanda nothing.
She’d taken care of herself all her life, had learned how to survive by doing as Wyatt taught her and trusting nobody unless absolutely necessary. She didn’t trust the Protectorate with that information, and for good reason.
Quinn hopped out of the taxi and into the warm air of Midtown, glad to finally be outside again and far away from that safe house.
She walked the few blocks toward her building, her shaded eyes scanning everything around her. From now on, she would be on full alert, ready for any mugger, Black Jay, redheaded secret agent, or any other enemy who dared try to rob her of her freedom and life.
Quinn sighed. She missed the days when her biggest enemies were Downtown thugs and cops. How simple things were then.
She turned the corner to her block. When she saw a suspect-looking plain car nearby, she eyed it just in case. Sure enough, a familiar-looking figure sat inside it.
Noah.
Chapter 25
Noah stepped out of the car, looking both angry and sexy in his slacks, white t-shirt, and mirrored shades. Too hot to be a cop, too confident not to be.
She shook her head at him. “Not here.”
“You gave me no choice,” Noah said, his jaw set.
Quinn glanced around, and then crossed the street and headed around the corner. She entered an electronics store, then found her way into a listening booth and turned on some electronic music. Noah followed her in, taking off his sunglasses and hooking them onto his t-shirt.
“Do not show up at my building again,” she said, pointing at him. “Or you will get nothing from me.”
“Don’t threaten me,” he shot back. “I can still bust you any fucking time I want.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Okay. Sure. How about this? You threaten me, and then I’ll threaten you, and we can keep up this stupid little game and have yet another one of our standoffs.”
“You can stand down anytime,” he said.
“Never happen.”
His dark eyes bore into her. “You haven’t returned my calls.”
“I had good reason, Noah—”
He laughed. “What’s that? Jacking emergency?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
His expression grew serious. “Anything to do with that asshole someone dumped at headquarters? With the blackbird tattoo?”
Quinn crossed her arms. “What have you done with the information I already fed you? Find anything? Or have you spent the last several days waiting for me to come home?”
“Oh, so it’s me giving you information now?” He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe her gall.
“You want the choice cuts of meat, you have to prove you can cook, sergeant.”
He eyed her for a moment, a strange look crossing his face—almost like concern—but then it passed. “I know Carlson’s not your guy, despite the motive and timing.”
She arched an eyebrow. Maybe Noah did have the goods after all.
“But there is a guy,” he went on. “And you have no idea who it is.”
A chill ran through Quinn. “How do you know that?”
“A suspicion. Until now.”
Shit. Quinn shook her head. Her tormentor had such a hold on her that she’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Or maybe Noah really was that good. “Forget about that—”
“Tell me everything you know,” he said, stepping closer to her. “I can help.”
She sighed in exasperation as the next song came on. “Which do you want more, Noah? Details on something you can’t do a damned thing about, or the kind of juicy information you’ve been waiting for?”
Noah paused, watching her. “What do you have?”
Quinn glanced out the window of the sound booth, making sure nobody watched them. “The special delivery at your headquarters, with the tattoo… he was part of a crew who killed someone I know. Stole a lot from him, and I don’t mean his wallet.”
“A memory wipe.”
“Like I said before, these guys are dangerous. They’re the ones you want. You’ve followed up on what I gave you already, right?”
“I have. We’ve got stuff in motion.” He paused. “You know these people? The ones who brought us this little gift?”
“Does it matter?”
“Ah, so you’re not just a rogue agent. You’ve got people. Which we’ve suspected for a long time. My question is, why work with us now, after this long?” Then his eyes lit up. “These Black Jays have you turning in circles, don’t they? You need us.”
“Let’s not get carried away. Follow that lead and see where it takes you. That’s all I have—”
“Why were you out of commission for so long?” he pressed. “To hide out after the murder of one of your guys? The package isn’t talking, by the way…”
“All I know is you need to quit following me and pursue that lead. He was seen with a woman with long red hair. Which means you need to take a closer look at the maintenance worker in my building. You talked to her before, when you were looking for me.”
Noah cocked his head. “Merritt?” Then, “Ah. The red hair.”
“Just check her out, okay?”
She turned to leave, but Noah stopped her. “I’m not done yet—”
He was close enough that she could feel his warmth, smell his clean smell. She backed away. “We can’t be seen together, Noah. It’s bad for me… and it’s bad for you too.”
He narrowed his eyes. “How is it bad for me? I’m a cop, doing my job.”
Quinn bit her lip. There was no way she could tell Noah that being seen with him meant risking her job, possibly more. But more than that, she couldn’t tell him she feared for him, that being seen with her could put him at risk. Why she cared, she didn’t know. He didn’t care about her, other than the information she could feed him. And he’d made it clear he was as clever and tough as jacker cops were rumored to be. Yet, if Merritt was a problem and her overly friendly behavior just an act, she knew Noah was connected to Quinn, and hurting Noah could
be another way the Jays could mess with her. She would do anything to avoid that.
“What are you not telling me?” Noah said, picking up on her hesitation.
“You have everything you need to know for now.”
“Maybe I should check out that asshole you were at the game with while I’m at it.”
Quinn groaned. “Come on. These guys we’re after… they’re super fit and as skilled as ninjas. Devin’s got a significant limp, and I’ve been alone with him on several occasions and he’s never laid a finger on me.”
Noah contemplated that, the look in his eye one she didn’t understand. When she tried to leave again, he blocked the door.
“Let me go!” she snapped.
“How long did you know I was a cop?”
“What?” Quinn asked, confused.
“How long did you know, back when we were dating?”
Quinn grew angry. “Oh, now you want to know! Because last time we broached that topic, you wouldn’t listen and then told me I was evil!”
“How long?” he demanded.
“I saw you from inside the dumpster,” she said quietly. “The one behind Voila, the one you banged on.”
Surprise filled his eyes. Recognition. But then Noah’s jaw tightened. “If you knew, why not just end it?”
“I did!”
“No. You called me back about brunch the next day. Talked to me about work. Said you weren’t feeling well because of your period. Like you were playing a game. You didn’t end it until after all that. Why?”
Fuck. The guy missed nothing.
“Give me a fucking answer,” he growled.
“Because once I found out what you do, I assumed you’d been using me the whole time. To get information about… my kind. I thought I could play along, but realized I couldn’t do it.” She looked down, embarrassment washing over her at how stupid that sounded now.
Noah stared at her. “You thought that?”
“Until I saw you in the alley behind the Lindens’, yes.”
“You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“No.”
Noah shook his head. “That’s pathetic.”
“I know,” she said, still unable to look him in the eye.
She nudged him aside and opened the door. This time, he didn’t stop her.
Back at her building, Quinn took the elevator up to her floor, her eyes scanning constantly for Merritt. There was no sign of her. When she entered her security code and opened the door, she found an eight-by-ten envelope on the floor. Her stomach churned.
Another set of doctored photos, even more violent and obscene than the previous ones. The temptation to call Noah gnawed at her. Maybe he could run the pictures or envelope for prints, or through some other forensic analyses.
No. For one thing, it would do no good. Nobody at this level would be stupid enough to leave prints or forensic data like a rookie. And why would Noah want to help her, now that he knew the truth? That she thought so little of him—and herself—that she’d assumed he faked his regard for her? No. This was her problem, and she would deal with it on her own.
She cursed, stuffing the pics back into their package and putting them away with all the others. It was the first time the images hadn’t arrived in her mailbox. Her tormenter had grown bored of that game and taken it to the next level by delivering them right to her door, sliding them underneath so nobody but her saw them. Which meant he—she?—had access to the building.
It was a message. Her enemy was inching closer.
She ran through the possibilities. Gaining access to her building… not easy, but possible with the right skill set. Possible for the Jays. Fortunately, getting into her actual apartment would prove almost impossible without her knowing, thanks to a few modifications.
Quinn considered Devin, for no other reason than Noah’s suspicions. He had access to the building, obviously. But he wasn’t Jay material, at least not physically, and now more than ever she believed Noah’s negativity toward Devin was probably personal in nature. And by now, Devin had seen plenty of opportunity to harm her.
The strongest evidence pointed toward the Jays. The threats mentioned revenge for her killing two of theirs, and their stealth methods suggested better than average skill. Not to mention the blackbird figurine she’d found in her old apartment, just like the one found on John Romero. Yet, spec ops data had shown repeatedly that the Jays worked in pairs or small groups, never alone. And their dealings with them so far showed they didn’t play games or make threats, they simply tiptoed in, jacked you, and killed you.
No, this felt like some dark agent, working alone. Someone who took pleasure in psychological torture and fear tactics, who enjoyed the power of it all. Someone who didn’t seek data, but instead wanted to make her suffer until she did something desperate. Someone who could put on a good show if necessary, like a serial killer putting on the charm, appearing even harmless, while luring another victim to her death.
Maybe someone like Merritt.
What once had seemed ludicrous now seemed compelling. Merritt had full access to the building, a disarming way… and long red hair.
When her phone beeped, Quinn immediately knew who it was.
Get my package, Quinn? Hope you liked the images. That will be you, sweetheart. Very soon.
Now, Quinn could almost hear Merritt’s sing-song voice behind the words.
Then she did something crazy. She replied.
I look forward to seeing you. Again.
Let her tormentor think she knew. Two could play at this game.
And Quinn knew just where to begin.
Chapter 26
When Quinn’s phone woke her the next morning, she grabbed it, ready to see if her tormentor decided to take things to the next level. But it was Yolanda.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Quinn. I’ve got an assignment for you.”
“Hit me.”
“Hector Olmos.”
“The CEO of El Diablo Water? That Hector Olmos?”
“The very one.”
“Let me guess. He sought us out because the Black Jays attempted a jacking.”
“Yes and no. We spoke with Carrie Anne Halstead, who mentioned that Olmos had an encounter with the Jays, but that nothing happened. However, Olmos is unwilling to contact us, for fear of angering them.”
“Don’t you find it a little suspicious that these very capable mind thieves keep missing opportunities with these power players?”
“We considered that. But the ‘power players’ have busy lives and families, and they’re trained to watch their backs constantly, so they’re difficult to isolate. Your success was helped by an inside man at The Oasis, and having caught Miss Halstead with her pants down, so to speak. More importantly, the Jays didn’t attempt to attack Mr. Olmos. Instead, they left him a token.”
“The figurine.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Same drill, then? Sneak up on Olmos, face my worst memories, and find nothing helpful about the Jays?” Quinn knew Yolanda wouldn’t appreciate her sarcasm. But she couldn’t help herself. This would be a difficult and risky job, more so than the others because Olmos didn’t patronize pool clubs or martial arts dojos, and spent most of his time with his colleagues or family.
“I’ll give the job to Javier, then.”
“No, we’ll take the job. I just… it seems unnecessarily risky for no real gain.”
“It may appear that way, but we found certain patterns in the data from your other two targets. A third, assuming it’s consistent, gives us confidence to do what we have planned next.”
“What’s that?” Quinn asked, intrigued.
“Finish this job and you’ll find out.”
Quinn sighed. “What did you tell Halstead you would do?”
“We said we would investigate.”
Quinn nodded, but said nothing. Something nagged at her, something she couldn’t put her finger on.
“Quinn?”
&n
bsp; “I’m here. It’s just… something about this feels off.”
“How so?”
“All these power players being targeted at once, but none fully jacked or harmed. And the figurine… they left it after killing Romero, but left it for Olmos without going after him? And why didn’t the others get figurines?”
“It’s too soon to know the significance of the figurine. And, as I mentioned, isolating people like Olmos is difficult. It is also possible the Jays seek merely to frighten these leaders, then wait for them to do something desperate.”
Just like her tormentor was doing to her.
Yet, while Quinn wasn’t an easy target, she was often alone and more accessible than the CEOs. Again, Quinn wanted to mention the figurine she’d received, to tell Yolanda the truth. But doing so was risky and would encourage more questions, questions she didn’t want to answer. And with the limited information they were working with, her confession wouldn’t yield anything useful anyway.
“Whatever the case, Jones and I will take care of it.”
“Glad to hear it.”
After Yolanda hung up, Quinn paced her apartment. Maybe Yolanda was right. Maybe the Jays had planned it this way all along, had decided to switch methods. If so, it made them an even more formidable enemy.
But more importantly, Olmos receiving a figurine intrigued Quinn. Something told her mindjacking him would produce something worthwhile. Including information that could lead to her tormentor.
That, by itself, was worth the risk.
Quinn stomped on the gas, grinning as she took the corner just fast enough to slide a little, but not so fast that she lost control.
“God damn, girl,” Jones said over the whine of the engine. “You tryin’ to get us killed?”
Quinn laughed. “Just having a little fun. I haven’t ridden in a dune buggy since I was a teenager and my old boyfriend stole one for the night.”
“That’s great. But I’d like to make sure my mom and brother have an income comin’ in, so slow it down, will ya? We don’t need to be drawin’ attention to ourselves.”
Mind Thief Page 15