The Frenchman became uncharacteristically quiet. He stared out the front window, but Quinn was sure he wasn’t seeing the backs of the casinos a few blocks away.
Finally, Julien said, “Mila?”
“Yes.”
A slow turn back to Quinn. “This isn’t a mistake? Maybe someone who looks like her?”
Quinn didn’t answer. In their business, mistakes concerning other operatives were exceedingly rare.
“I…I can’t believe it.” The words were a whisper.
“What I don’t know, and couldn’t risk asking anyone, was why?” Quinn said. “Do you have any idea why someone would want to terminate her?”
Fifteen seconds passed, then half a minute, Quinn’s friend once more lost in his thoughts.
“Julien?”
Julien looked at him with a start. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Why would someone want to kill her?”
His friend seemed to consider the question. “I don’t know.”
But Quinn could see Julien did know, or at least it looked like he did.
“Is this why you wanted me here?” Julien asked, a barely noticeable shake in his voice. “To be the one who buries her?”
“Don’t be an ass, Julien. Of course that’s not why.”
“Then what?”
“What do you think? I’m giving you the chance to save her.”
“How are we going to do that? If I warn her not to come, that will only delay her death for a day or maybe a week. Even if she goes underground and stays there, they won’t give up until they know she’s dead. That’s how this works.”
“That’s true, but there might be another way.”
Julien stared at Quinn. “What way?”
The plan had come to Quinn the night before as he’d tried to sleep. Since then, he’d been punching as many holes in it as he could, then patching them with solutions. The plan still wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than burying Mila later that night.
“First off,” Quinn began, “she still needs to come to Vegas.”
CHAPTER 19
ROME, ITALY
THE FIRE THAT had been in Mila’s eyes suddenly cooled, but the anger was still there, even stronger than before. “Don’t you dare bring up Julien,” she said. “He would have never gotten in my way!”
Quinn held his ground. “He would if he thought you were about to do something stupid.”
“You have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Big picture? You’re right. I don’t. But in the here and now?” He gestured at the stairs behind him. “You go down these, and walk out of this building, you don’t think there’s a good chance the others will see you? And when they do, do you really think you’ll be able to get away again?”
In her glare, he could see she knew he was right, but she kept her lips pressed tightly together.
“You want out of here alive,” he said, “you’ll follow my lead.”
She looked away, thinking for a second, then turned back and said, “Fine. You’re the pro. Get me out of here.”
Quinn shot Nate a quick glance. “Check the street.”
Nate nodded, and headed up the stairs.
“Stay right with me,” Quinn told Mila.
He led her back to the roof, and over to the rear of the building, where he quickly took in their options. In the direction they’d been headed, they could only go for another four buildings before reaching a street corner and running out of roof. Each of those buildings presented the same problem as the one they were currently on—the only exit would be to the same street Julien’s building let out on.
What he really wanted to do was get to one of the buildings behind them that would provide access to the next street over. There would be far less commotion there, and a trio of strangers in a city always full of visitors would go unnoticed. The problem was that the space between the two rows of buildings was, for the most part, too great to jump. There was one gap between a pair of back-to-back buildings that they might be able to cross. Unfortunately, it was two buildings on the other side of Julien’s, and would force them to retrace their steps.
“The cops aren’t here yet,” Nate said, jogging up to them. “But they’re getting close. A minute or two at best.”
Quinn nodded. “All right. This way.”
He started back the way they’d come.
“Wait,” Mila said. “Why are you going that way?”
“It’s our best chance.”
“Julien’s place?”
“No. Beyond it.”
She looked dubious.
“We’re at a dead end here,” Nate said, obviously coming to the same solution Quinn had. He pointed toward Julien’s building. “If we want to get away unseen, then that’s the only choice we have.”
She looked behind them, then back in the direction Quinn wanted to go. “Dammit,” she said, still looking less than convinced. “If we’re going to go, let’s go.”
They started running—Quinn in the lead, Mila in the middle, and Nate bringing up the rear. As they reached Julien’s roof, sirens echoed up the buildings as what sounded like a dozen police cars turned onto Julien’s street. Within seconds the cops would be making their way into the building.
Two roofs past Julien’s, Quinn stopped.
“What now?” Mila asked.
He pointed at the apartment building behind them. “We jump.”
Mila looked at the space between the roofs. “Isn’t that a bit wide?”
“Ten feet, maybe eleven. Take a decent run at it, you’ll make it with a couple feet to spare.”
“If I don’t trip and fall first.”
Quinn looked at her, incredulous. “You came out of hiding, made yourself a target, something you knew would happen, and you’re worried about a ten foot jump?”
“If I’m going to get shot, fine, but I’d rather not kill myself if I can help it.”
But before Quinn could say anything more, she repositioned herself and ran hard toward the gap. At the edge was a six-inch brick retaining wall. She timed her stride so that her final step hit the top of that wall, and pushed outward, flying over the gap and landing, as Quinn had predicted, several feet beyond the edge of the other roof. But instead of stopping when she landed, she kept running and headed for the roof-access door.
“Mila!” Quinn yelled as he moved back to give himself enough running room.
Nate was already heading toward the edge. He leaped to the other side and took off after her.
Without hesitation, Quinn made his run, hitting the retaining wall at almost exactly the same spot Mila had. When he reached the other roof, though, his foot slipped and he began to fall. Curling into a tuck, he forced a roll, then popped to his feet. The other two had already entered the stairwell, leaving him the only one outside.
He raced over to the small hut-like structure and pulled the door open.
Behind him he heard someone shout in Italian. He glanced over his shoulder as he passed inside, and saw two cops on Julien’s roof, looking in his direction. As the door closed, he could see the cops heading in their direction.
Great.
Running down the stairs, he could hear Nate and Mila farther below.
He activated his comm. “Nate, we’ve been seen. Cops on the roof heading this way.”
There was a moment’s delay, then Nate’s voice came huffing back. “Got it.”
__________
CHASING A WOMAN down a staircase was not Nate’s idea of fun. Doing it twice in the span of five minutes—even less awesome.
The first time, when he caught her in the other building, she’d put up a good fight, getting in a few punches and eventually biting him in the hand before he was able to subdue her. This time, her head start had been longer, and while he had cut the distance between them, she was still a whole flight ahead. If she was able to make it outside before he reached her, his chances of catching up to her would plummet.
He could see her turn down
the final flight below. Knowing he had little choice, he jumped forward, sailing above the stairs, and barely missing the final riser as he hit the landing. She glanced back, surprised. He was less than half a flight away from her now.
Taking the remaining steps three at a time, he raced after her. When she reached the bottom, she jerked open the door, but before she could run through, he grabbed her arm.
She tried to pull from his grasp. “Let me go!”
“Che succede?” The male voice had come from the entranceway to the building.
“Let me go!” Mila yelled again.
Suddenly a man of about fifty appeared just on the other side of her. He looked surprised, then determined. “Stop!” he said to Nate, his accent heavy.
He reached over and tried to pry Nate’s hands loose. As he did, Mila twisted, and the light windbreaker she was wearing fluttered open. Nate spotted the end of an envelope sticking out of an inside pocket, and made a quick decision. At the same moment he let go of her, he grabbed the envelope and stepped back into the stairwell.
When she realized what he’d done, she said, “Give that back.”
“Stop fighting with us. We’re only trying to help.”
The middle-aged man pointed at the envelope. “Not you. Her.”
“Non sono affari tuoi,” Nate said to the man, telling him it wasn’t his business.
“Perchè la stavi afferrando?” the man asked, wanting more explanation.
Mila looked at Nate for a second, then at the man. “Lo e il mio amico stiamo solo discutendo. Non c'e' bisogno che lei si metta in mezzo,” she said. It was just an argument, and his help wasn’t needed.
“Sicura?” he asked.
“Si. Scusi il disturbo e grazie per aver cercato d'essere d’aiuto.”
Looking confused, the man shook his head and walked off.
Once he was gone, Mila said, “Give me back the envelope.”
“No,” Nate replied. “Not until Quinn says it’s okay.”
She looked over Nate’s shoulder. “Tell him to give me back my envelope.”
Nate could hear Quinn descending the final steps behind him. “We can figure that out later.” He pointed up toward the roof. “You hear that?”
Faintly from the top of the stairwell came the sound of someone heading down.
“It’s the police,” Quinn said. “We need to keep moving.”
Mila kept her hand held out to Nate. “It’s mine. Give it back.”
Nate folded the envelope and stuffed it in his pocket. “As Quinn said, we can figure that out later.”
Anger clouded her face.
Quinn grabbed her arm and pushed her into the entrance hall. “We don’t have time for this right now.”
The room was wider than the one in Julien’s building but basically the same design. Quinn kept a tight hold of her arm as they walked to the front door.
The man who’d tried to stop Nate was standing off to the side, a phone held to his ear. By the way he kept giving them sideways glances, Nate knew he was talking to the cops. Then the man did a stupid thing. He moved his phone away from his ear, and held it so its camera was pointing at the three of them. Now Nate had no other choice.
While Quinn and Mila continued toward the door, Nate veered over to the man and yanked the phone out of his hand.
“Sorry. You won’t be needing this anymore,” he said. He thought about saying it again in Italian, but it was clear from the look on the guy’s face that the message had been received.
As Nate turned for the door, he looked down at the phone. Just like he’d thought, on the screen was a picture of himself, Quinn, and Mila. The man had been in the process of texting it to someone. Nate deleted the text and pulled out the phone’s battery. He stuffed the phone in one pocket and the battery in another, then opened the door and headed outside.
Quinn and Mila were walking down the sidewalk, already a building and a half away.
Nate was only two steps past the door when—
Thup.
The sound of a bullet through a suppressor.
Instinctively, he dropped to the ground and pulled out his gun.
Behind him the door to the building opened. Before he could look back and shout a warning, there were two more thups, then the crumpled oomphs of bodies falling on concrete.
Somewhere ahead there was a scream.
Then a car door slammed, and an engine roared to life.
That was the point when he raised himself to his knees. The two injured men behind him wore police uniforms. One was unconscious but the other was rolling back and forth, groaning.
Nate shifted his gaze to where he’d last seen Quinn and Mila. Where the two had been standing, one lay sprawled on the ground.
Quinn.
On the street a sedan was speeding away. Nate got a quick glimpse of its license plate, automatically memorizing its number, but knowing it wouldn’t matter. The car, undoubtedly with Mila inside, was surely stolen.
He jumped to his feet and ran over to his mentor. There was blood on the sidewalk and all over the upper part of Quinn’s shirt. The bullet had hit near the base of his neck just above his clavicle, both entry and exit wounds no more than an inch from each other. As ugly as it was, it could have been a lot worse if it had been just a bit to the right, where it would have pierced his windpipe and shattered his spine.
People were starting to come out of their homes to see what had happened.
Nate knew he had to get Quinn out of there now. He looked down the street. Two cars were heading in their direction. The first was a taxi with a passenger, the second a sedan with a couple of kids in back.
Nate lifted Quinn to his feet, and dragged him into the street just in time to get in front of the taxi. The driver had no choice but to stop. He gestured angrily and honked, but only once. The gun in Nate’s hand convinced him another blast of the horn was unnecessary.
Nate locked eyes with the passenger in back and motioned with his pistol for him to get out. The guy seemed glad to do so, and within seconds was running in the other direction. The driver seemed slightly more hesitant to leave.
Nate took a step closer to the car and motioned again. The cabbie apparently felt his loyalty to his taxi had been fulfilled. He scrambled out the door and followed after his passenger.
Nate quickly maneuvered Quinn into the backseat, did what he could to tie off the wound using Quinn’s shirt, then climbed behind the wheel and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.
CHAPTER 20
A CLEANER WHO knows what he’s doing always has a variety of contacts in the places he has worked: suppliers of weapons, local talent, information sources, and—though hopefully seldom needed—someone who could provide discreet medical services. On his previous job in Rome, Nate had been given the number of a Dr. Pelligrini, but had never had the need to call it.
That fact had just changed.
The phone rang four times before a man sounding hurried answered. “Si?”
“I’m in need of a second opinion on a hairline fracture,” Nate said in English, reading the phrase from the notes on his phone.
The doctor paused, then gave him an address with instructions on where to park behind the building, and what to do when Nate got to the door. The man hung up.
As much as he didn’t want to waste the time, Nate knew they had to switch vehicles before they arrived at the doctor’s place. By now police all over town would have been notified to look for the cab. The last thing he needed was for it to be found parked at the medical facility where Quinn was being treated.
He called Daeng, brought him up to speed, and agreed on a quiet place to meet not far from their hotel.
Nate reached the rendezvous point three minutes later, but Daeng wasn’t there yet.
“Come on, come on, come on.”
He looked back at Quinn. His mentor was still unconscious, the makeshift bandage soaked with blood. Nate reached back and grabbed Quinn’s wrist, checking the pulse. Weak, but steady
.
Just then a Volkswagen Golf hatchback with Daeng behind the wheel screeched to a stop next to the taxi.
Working quickly, the two men transferred Quinn to the VW’s backseat.
“You want me to drive?” Daeng asked.
“I’ll drive,” Nate said.
Daeng got into the front passenger seat and twisted around so he could keep an eye on Quinn.
Nate took the quickest route to Dr. Pelligrini’s office. The narrow alley that ran behind it was easy enough to find, though the white door the doctor had mentioned was more a faded yellow.
Nate jumped out, knocked three times on the door as he’d been instructed. For several seconds nothing happened, so he repeated the sequence. This time, just as he finished the last knock, the door opened, and a short, thin, balding man with tired eyes looked out.
“Dr. Pelligrini?” Nate asked.
“Yes,” the man said. “You’re the one who called?”
Nate nodded, and led the doctor over to the car. Daeng had already opened the back door.
Dr. Pelligrini took one look at Quinn and said, “Quickly. Bring him inside.”
Draping Quinn’s arms around their shoulders, Nate and Daeng carried him inside to a small examining room near the back door.
“Are you here alone?” Nate asked. The office was quiet and he’d seen no one on the way in.
“My nurse.”
“Trustworthy?”
The doctor scoffed as he started peeling the bandage off Quinn’s neck. “Of course. She’s my wife.”
Once the cloth was removed, blood welled in the wound.
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Less than fifteen minutes.”
“Do you know his blood type?”
“A-positive,” Nate said.
“Are either of you A-positive?”
Nate and Daeng shook their heads.
“Don’t you have any here?” Nate asked.
“Yes, we have it, but I like to replace, you understand?”
“Mine might not be the same,” Daeng said, “but you’re welcome to some of my B.”
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