by Sam Sisavath
The boxes weren’t all marked, but the ones that were had LAURA in permanent marker scribbled on them. Some were sealed with tape, others just folded closed. After about five minutes of searching, Quinn came across a promising box labeled LAURA’S CLOTHES.
Laura, Quinn thought. The girl in the photos, probably, though the clothes belonged to an adult and the pictures Quinn saw were all of a young teenager. Had Laura grown up and the family stopped taking pictures, or did Laura turn into a camera-shy adult? Or were they two completely different people?
Quinn extracted the box out of the pile and flipped the flaps open. She peered in at a bundle of T-shirts and jeans before pulling out the first few articles of clothing, all of them clearly owned by the same person—young and in her twenties, by the style. When Quinn peeked at the sizes, they were all within her range.
There was a slight click as the door opened behind her. Quinn looked back to find Mary watching her from the open door frame, drying her hands with a towel. There was just enough light that Quinn could make out the blood Mary was wiping off.
“Found them?” Mary asked.
Quinn held up one of the plain black shirts. The rest were either too colorful or had something written on them. “Is this okay?”
“Take what you need.”
“Thank you. Is Laura your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Is she going to mind that I’m picking through her things?”
“No. She…passed.”
Oh, you idiot. Why the hell would she pack up the girl’s stuff and put them in an empty room if she were still around?
“I’m sorry,” was all Quinn could think of to say.
Mary gave her a pursed smile. “I think one of those pants should fit you. She was about your size. Maybe a little bigger in the chest.”
Quinn sighed. “Story of my life.”
“I don’t know where she got it from, if it helps.”
They exchanged a brief, genuine smile.
“How’s Xiao?” Quinn asked.
“She’ll be all right. She’s a tough cookie.”
“I did the best I could.”
“You did good.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“She’s still alive. That equals ‘good’ in my book.”
Quinn gave her a grateful nod, even if she wasn’t completely convinced.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” Mary said before leaving.
Quinn turned back to the pile of clothes and went hunting for a pair of jeans. She found one that did look like it would fit and took it, along with the black tee, out of the room.
The bathroom was where Mary said it was, and Quinn spent some time underneath the shower and let the hot spray wash away the aches and pain from the last few days. It wasn’t going to be nearly enough, but it was a good start.
Afterward, she spent a few extra minutes staring at the stranger in the fogged up sink mirror. It wasn’t just the hair color and the bruises, but she was noticeably more tired and haggard looking, and there were bags under her eyes. She looked nothing like the FBI photo they had been using on the news, but all it would take was someone to stare hard enough to make the connection.
She didn’t know how long she stood there looking at herself, but she was almost completely dry when she tried on the clothes. Mary was right; Laura was bigger in the chest. She did the buttons on the jeans and found they were an almost perfect fit. There was an empty shopping bag hanging on the doorknob on the other side of the bathroom door that hadn’t been there earlier, and Quinn stuffed her old clothes into it.
Xiao’s room was just down the hallway so Quinn stopped by it first, but Xiao hadn’t woken up from whatever sedatives Mary had given her. Her vitals were stronger than they had been back in the car, if the machines were any indication, which was a relief.
She saved my life. She didn’t have to, but she did.
The only person who had ever done something like that for her without expecting some kind of payment in return had been Ben. He hadn’t just rescued her, but had given her direction and a future.
And she had repaid him by getting him killed.
“It was his own damn fault. He was being nosy,” Ringo had said. “Asking too many questions, going into places he wasn’t supposed to. After a while, the higher-ups just decided he was more trouble than he was worth.”
It was because of her. She was the one who had caused Ben to be “nosy.” It didn’t matter that she hadn’t asked him to because Ben was being Ben, and she didn’t have to ask him to go to bat for her.
He was gone now.
So where did that leave her?
She smelled food—lasagna, to be exact—and came out of the bedroom hallway to find Mary in the kitchen scooping big helpings of pasta onto two waiting dishes.
“God, that smells good,” Quinn said, not even trying to hide the big smile on her face.
“Leftovers,” Mary said. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“Anything’s better than what I’ve been eating.” She looked around. “Where’s Porter?”
“He left. It’s just you and me.”
Quinn startled for a second. “Wait, Porter left?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
Sonofabitch.
“He told me he wasn’t going anywhere,” Quinn said.
“He said he’d be back,” Mary said.
“Where did he go?”
“He didn’t say.”
Of course not. Because that would be too unPorter-like.
“Did he at least say when he’d be back?” Quinn asked.
“Afraid not. But I got the sense it wouldn’t be for a while.”
Mary gave her a sympathetic look that told Quinn this was commonplace with Porter.
John-fucking-Porter, Quinn thought as she sat down and began eating, and didn’t stop until she had wiped her plate clean. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was for something other than street food until she had her first forkful of lasagna.
Mary smiled across the table at her as she picked at her own plate. “You must have been starving. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat that well in a while. At least, not in this house.”
“I’ve been busy running from my friends at the FBI to eat properly,” she was going to say, but smiled sheepishly at Mary instead, and said, “I’ve never had much in the way of home cooked meals. Ben—” She stopped short, and after a brief second or two (or more), said, “This is really good.”
“Your parents weren’t big cookers?” Mary asked.
I wouldn’t know, Quinn thought, and said, “No. I don’t think they were.”
Mary nodded, and Quinn was grateful she didn’t ask anything else. She got the sense that Mary already knew—or she could read between the lines. Maybe it even had a little something to do with her own loss.
What happened to you, Laura?
Quinn thought she was full and couldn’t eat another bite, but changed her mind when Mary got up and put another helping of lasagna on her plate without asking. Quinn didn’t even bother to mount a disingenuous protest; she dug right back in.
“Might as well finish it before it goes to waste,” Mary said and went over to the fridge. She returned with a half-full bottle of Chianti and poured some for Quinn. “Almost forgot about this. It was still good last night. Let’s see if we can get lucky again.”
Quinn smiled, even though the idea of getting “lucky” made her want to laugh. Her biggest “luck” so far was being saved by a known terrorist and his associate. She still didn’t know if that was going to end up counting as luck or just another set of problems to overcome.
But at least the Chianti was drinkable.
“I have to admit,” Mary was saying as she sat back down, “when Porter showed up in my garage with you in tow, I almost did a double take.”
Quinn had her fork halfway to her lips when she stopped and stared across at Mary.
“Yes, I know who you are,” Ma
ry said. “You’ve been all over the news.”
“It’s not true,” Quinn said reflexively.
“I know,” Mary said, and gave her a reassuring smile. Before Quinn could ask her how she knew, the older woman said, “You’re with Porter.”
“I’m not sure I know what that means.” And I’m a little afraid to find out…
“If you’re with Porter, then you already know more about what’s going on out there than the rest of the population,” Mary said. “Are you one of them?”
“One of who?”
“The Sons of Porter.”
The Sons of Porter?
Now where did she know that name from?
Right. Ben. She’d heard it from Ben, just before…
“No,” Quinn said. “Are you?”
Mary shook her head. “They’re a little too enthusiastic for my taste.”
“But you know about them.”
“I’ve met a few. They’re…an eclectic bunch.”
“They think he’s innocent, that he was framed. Porter.”
“Don’t you?”
“I don’t know anymore,” Quinn said. “If you had asked me that question a week ago, I could have answered you with one hundred percent certainty. These days…” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s the right answer,” Mary said.
“Is it?”
“The world isn’t black and white, Quinn. I wish it were; then everything would be so much simpler. Calling it shades of gray would be generous. There are things going on out there that need to be seen to believe.”
That’s what Porter said, Quinn thought, but didn’t interrupt the doctor.
“Porter recruited me two years ago,” Mary continued, “when I was at my lowest point. He opened my eyes to the truth.”
“The truth,” Quinn said. “He still hasn’t told me anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Some, but not everything. He says I can’t handle all of it at once. That it’s a process. I think it’s bullshit. I think he just likes having something over me.”
“It’s not.”
“No?”
“He’s right. The truth—the whole truth—is difficult to swallow. It’s easier to take it in small bites.”
Talk of “swallowing” and “bites” made Quinn poke at the remains of her lasagna. “But you know about them. The organization behind all this.”
“I do,” Mary nodded.
“Who are they?”
“If Porter hasn’t told you yet, he has very good reasons. It’s not my place to undermine him.”
“You do realize who he is, don’t you?”
“You mean a terrorist?”
“Yes.”
“I know what they say he is.”
“I thought you weren’t an SOP. Isn’t that one of their tenets? That Porter is innocent? That he’s just someone’s patsy?”
“Have you heard what the news is saying about you, Quinn?” Mary asked. “That you’re a killer. A rogue agent. Armed and dangerous. Tell me, is there anyone out there beyond Porter and Xiao and me who actually believe you’re innocent?”
Not anymore. Not anymore…
“I guess you have a point,” Quinn said.
“Did you do any of the things they’re accusing you of?”
Quinn didn’t answer right away, but thought about Brown and Sterling…
“I can’t be sure,” she said finally.
“It’s confusing,” Mary said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
“It’s…chaotic.”
“It can be. And you’re just at the beginning stages. It gets even more confusing and chaotic from here on.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“You will.”
What happened to your daughter? Quinn wanted desperately to ask, but she bit her tongue and finished up her second plate of lasagna instead.
“Eat up and drink up,” Mary said. “If you’re going to keep hanging around Porter, decent meals are going to be hard to come by.”
Quinn nodded and was sipping the Chianti when the doorbell rang in the living room.
“Porter?” Quinn asked.
Mary shook her head. “He would have called ahead and he wouldn’t have bothered with the doorbell.”
The older woman got up and left the kitchen. Quinn trailed behind her, but stopped at the open arch that connected the dining room with the living room. She made sure she was hidden from view as she watched Mary walk to the door and peer through the peephole.
Uh oh, Quinn thought when she saw the expression on Mary’s face as the other woman glanced back at her.
Quinn reached behind her back and drew the Glock, then shot a quick look left down the bedroom hallway at the door into the first guest bedroom, the one with Xiao lying unconscious inside right now.
When she turned back to the living room, Mary had pulled aside the deadbolt on the front door and opened it but left the chain taut. It was just enough space to see the two figures on the other side, the closest one’s navy blue uniform and bright white straw cowboy hat partially lit by the LED above the door. A second figure stood farther back in Mary’s driveway, his silhouette lit by solar-powered path lights along the lawn.
The Harris County Sheriff’s deputy smiled through the opening at Mary. “Hello, ma’am. Sorry to bother you.” He leaned forward slightly, trying to get a look inside the house without making it too obvious, and failing. “We saw your lights on from the street. Can’t sleep?”
“I was having a late dinner,” Mary said. “Can I help you with something, Deputy?”
“Actually you can. Do you own a white Dodge Charger?”
Dammit, Quinn thought, and pressed tighter against the wall separating the dining room and the hallway, while flexing her grip against the pistol in her hand.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Mary was saying. “I have a white SUV that I use for work in the garage, though.”
“Speaking of the garage,” the deputy said, “may we have your permission to take a look?”
“Now why would you want to do that, Deputy?”
“Someone spotted a white Dodge Charger driving through your street a few hours ago that disappeared around this cul-de-sac.” He pointed at one of Mary’s neighbors. “We’ve already asked those folks, and they were nice enough to let us take a peek in their garage. If we could do the same with yours—”
“Do you have a warrant?” Mary asked, interrupting him.
The deputy might have blushed. “Ma’am?”
“You want to go into my garage,” Mary said. “I assume you have a warrant.”
“Uh, no, ma’am.”
“Then I’m afraid you can’t look.”
Quinn leaned out slightly to get a better look at Mary, but all she got was an eyeful of the older woman’s back. She didn’t know what Mary was doing because Porter was already gone, so why not let the cops search the garage and leave? The only explanation would be that Porter might have left, but he hadn’t done so in the Dodge, which meant the vehicle was still next door.
“Ma’am, we’re just asking as a courtesy,” the deputy was saying.
“And I appreciate that,” Mary said.
There was no give in her voice that Quinn could detect, and she almost felt sorry for the young man, who looked to be in his late twenties. Either he was very taken aback by Mary’s reply, or he was uncomfortable talking to her through the slit in the open door.
By now the second deputy had moved closer and was even less tactful than the first when it came to sneaking a peek into the house. That prompted Quinn to pull farther back into the dining room, with the smell of lasagna still behind her, and had to be content with only listening to the conversation.
“We just want to take a quick look in the garage, ma’am,” a new voice said. The second deputy. He sounded older than the first one.
“Your partner already said that,” Mary said. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told hi
m: You’ll need an official piece of paper that says you can search my property, and on that piece of paper there better be something very specific you’re looking for.”
There was about ten seconds of silence before the first deputy said, “Thanks for your time, ma’am.”
The very solid click of the door closing and the clank of the deadbolt sliding back into place.
Mary was still at the door peering through the peephole when Quinn came out to join her.
“Don’t go near the windows,” Mary said.
“Why?”
“They’re still outside.”
“What are they doing?”
“See for yourself.”
Mary stepped back and Quinn took her place at the peephole.
There was a police cruiser parked at the curb at the end of Mary’s driveway, and while one of the deputies stood near the front bumper looking around at the houses (it was too dark for Quinn to tell which one he was, since they both wore almost identical uniforms and white hats), his partner was inside the car’s front seats. The vehicle’s ceiling light was on because the man had left the driver-side door open, and Quinn had no trouble making him out talking on the radio.
“He’s calling your bluff,” Quinn said.
“They’re not going to get a judge to sign a search warrant until morning,” Mary said. “That’s at least three or four hours from now. Which means you and Xiao need to be gone by then.”
Quinn pulled away from the door and glanced at Mary. “What’s in the garage?”
“The Dodge that Porter brought you and Xiao in.”
“Shit.”
“He borrowed my SUV.”
“Where the hell did he go, anyway?”
“I didn’t lie about that; he didn’t tell me. He doesn’t really tell me very much. He shows up here or calls me to meet him somewhere when he needs my help. Beyond that, I don’t know what he does or where he stays when he doesn’t need me.”
“You’re telling me this isn’t the first time Porter’s been in the country in five years? Or even in Houston?”
Mary gave her an almost pitying smile. “I thought you would have learned by now, Quinn: Don’t believe everything they tell you. Especially when it comes to Porter.”