CHAPTER 1
JAKARTA, INDONESIA
JONATHAN QUINN FOLLOWED Kiet’s man down the street at a dead run, telling himself Kiet had been wrong when he called. That it couldn’t be true.
They rushed across the blacktop and, half a block down, turned into an empty lot.
The others were gathered near a tree toward the back. Orlando was there, as was Garrett and Claire and Jar and Dima and Kiet.
And Nate, sitting on the ground, Liz’s head on his lap.
The earth spun a million miles a second as Quinn staggered toward them.
No, no, no.
If not for Daeng’s sudden arm around his back, Quinn would have fallen to the ground. Instead, his friend helped him kneel next to his sister and Nate.
Liz’s eyes were closed as if she was resting, but the blood soaking her shirt told a different story.
Quinn took her hand, and was surprised by how cold it already felt.
No, no, no.
He wanted to tell her to wake up. That it was over. That they’d freed Garrett and Claire from their kidnappers. But while his lips moved, no sound passed over them.
How long he sat there, he had no idea. It could have been a lifetime. When he finally turned to Nate, tears still stained his cheeks. “Was it one of Chayan’s men?”
Nate, voice cracking, said, “Chayan didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Then who?” Quinn asked.
Nate glanced toward Jar and Dima. “They saw her.”
“Her?”
“Yes. Dima recognized the shooter as one of the people who were trying to stop us in Barcelona.”
“Your job?”
“Yes.”
As much as Quinn wanted to shove Nate to the ground and scream in his face, “How could you let this happen?” he knew this was as much his own fault as his partner’s. More so, really. Liz was here because she’d been with Nate, and Nate was here because Quinn had derailed him from his assignment of escorting Dima out of Europe.
“What’s her name?”
Nate’s jaw tensed. “I don’t know. But I will find out.”
CHAPTER 2
WARROAD, MINNESOTA
FOUR DAYS LATER
“IT’S SNOWING! IT’S snowing! Do you think it’ll last this time?”
“It’ll last.”
“We can build a snow fort! And-and have a snowball fight! And—”
“Hold on, Lizzy. Might be too cold for it to stick together.”
“But…snow always sticks together, doesn’t it?”
“Not always.”
“I want to have a snowball fight. I want to build a snowman.”
“We’ll have plenty of time for that before winter’s over, don’t you worry.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
__________
QUINN SAT IN his rental car at the highway end of the long driveway leading to his mother’s house, where he and Liz had grown up.
“Let us come with you,” Orlando had said before he left their motel room. “It’ll be easier if Claire and Garrett and I are there.”
He glanced at their daughter, sleeping between pillows on one of the beds. “Thanks, but…I’ll be all right.”
What he hadn’t said—didn’t have to say—was that he didn’t want it to be easy. He didn’t deserve that.
He killed the engine and walked toward the house.
Low, gray clouds hid most of the sky, adding the appropriate dreariness to the day. Snow crunched underfoot, and once or twice he started to slip where it had turned to ice. The white cover extended over the fields on either side of the driveway in flat, unmolested plains.
The day was bitterly cold, and the first few flakes of a new storm drifted toward the ground. Too cold to make snowballs, he thought.
Halfway to the house, he caught the whiff of smoke wafting from the chimney. This was the part of the driveway where, when he was a kid walking home from where the school bus had dropped him off, one of the dogs his family had owned over the years—Lucky or Cindy or Strider or Pepper—would run out to meet him, bad weather be dammed. No dog greeted him today.
He paused at the base of the steps to the stoop, wishing he’d said yes to Orlando, that she and the kids were with him.
“Faster!” Liz’s legs were draped over his shoulders, her hands pressing against the sides of his head so she wouldn’t fall off, as he ran toward the barn with her on his back, piggyback style. “Faster! We’re going to break the record this time! I know it! Faster, Jakey! Faster!”
Quinn grabbed the railing to steady himself and let out a deep breath, the vapor cloud temporarily obscuring his view of the door.
“We’re almost there! Faster!”
He remembered Liz’s scream of delight at the end of the run, when he checked their time on his watch.
“We did it! We did it! We did it!”
They did indeed, to the barn and back in two minutes and twelve seconds. Their best run ever. The still reigning record.
He took another breath, this time exhaling in a long, steady stream. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the memories of the past or the dread of what was to come.
As it always had, the stoop creaked when he stepped onto it. He raised his hand to knock but heard footsteps inside already heading toward the entrance. A few seconds later, the door opened.
“Jake?”
“Hi, Mom.”
CHAPTER 3
SINGAPORE
NATE ACTIVATED HIS comm mic. “Anything?”
“Nothing yet,” Daeng replied.
“He’s late.”
“Only a minute.”
Nate was anxious to get things started, so a minute was too long. He eyed the café entrance from the shadows of a building across the street. Where the hell is this guy?
They’d made the appointment through the proper channels, but there was always a chance the logistics man suspected something was up. If he was still a no-show in a few more minutes, they’d have to assume that’s exactly what happened.
Nate was usually calm in situations like this. It was the only way to thrive in his world of espionage and secrets. Frayed nerves could blow a job and get one killed. But this wasn’t a job. This was personal.
Extremely personal.
“Possible target,” said one of the watchers they’d brought from Bangkok. “Taxi. Just turned off King George’s Avenue onto Horne Road. Heading north.”
Nate raised his binoculars and looked down the street. “Got it.”
The taxi continued on until it was almost abreast of the café, where it pulled to the curb. Nate didn’t get a good view of the passenger until the man climbed out. Five foot seven, medium build with a bit of a belly, graying hair cut short on the sides but left longer on top, and wire-rimmed, rectangular glasses.
“It’s him,” Nate said.
The man paused by the café window and scanned the tables inside. He casually turned and checked the street and sidewalk around him, like the experienced operative he was.
Not for the first time, Nate wished he was the one waiting inside. Unfortunately, he had no idea how much the man knew, so he couldn’t risk the guy recognizing him and bolting. Daeng was out, too, for the same reason. That left Nate with only one choice. Jar.
Jar was an information specialist who worked for Daeng’s friend Christine in Bangkok. She’d been a huge help in rescuing Quinn and Orlando’s kids after they were kidnapped and taken to Jakarta, and she’d also been present when the unthinkable happened. If it weren’t for Jar, Liz wouldn’t have been the only one to die in that empty lot. So, Nate’s concern didn’t stem from a lack of trust. It was that in his admittedly limited experience with her, she wasn’t good at casual conversation.
“We can’t scare this guy off,” he’d said to her before he sent her into the café.
“Obviously. Why would you tell me that?”
“What I mean is, every time you speak, take a second first. If I have something specific I think you should say, I’ll tell you and you repeat it.”
“You think I will make a mistake.”
“It’s not that. I just want—”
“No. It makes sense. You are the better speaker. Having you in my ear will help.”
“Um, yeah, okay. Good.”
Their conversation had made Nate feel better for a little while, but now that the logistics man was reaching for the café door, his concern resurfaced.
“Here he comes,” Nate said. “Stay alert.”
A whispered “I am alert” from Jar.
Through the window, Nate could see the man work his way around the other customers to Jar’s table.
“Miss Li?” the man said, Jar’s microphone clearly picking up his voice.
“Yes. I am Miss Li. You are Mr. Sheng?”
“May I sit?”
“It would be difficult to talk with you standing.”
Nate opened his mouth to tell her to relax, but held back.
Sheng pulled out the empty chair and lowered into the seat.
“Ask him if he wants something to drink,” Nate said.
“Would you care for tea?” Jar asked. “Maybe coffee? You may also eat if you are so inclined.”
Nate winced.
“Tea would be nice. Thank you.”
Jar caught the attention of the waitress and gave her Sheng’s order.
“Get to business while you wait,” Nate whispered.
“I assume you checked our credentials,” Jar said.
It was hard to tell from Nate’s vantage point but he thought the man gave a slight nod. They already knew the man had checked, though. Christine had handled that end of things, creating a credible history for the “organization” Jar represented and vouching for Jar herself.
“Naturally, we have checked yours, too,” Jar continued, “and we know you are very good at what you do.”
“Yes, I am.”
“As stellar as your record is, however, we do not be—”
The waitress walked up to the table, said, “Tea,” and set a cup and small pot in front of Sheng.
“Thank you,” he said.
The woman smiled and left.
“You were saying something about my stellar record,” Sheng said as he poured himself a cup.
“That is correct. We do not believe in relying solely on what others tell us. While you appear to be suitable for the operation we have in mind, we require two things first before hiring you.”
He took a drink and then said, “Perhaps I don’t want your job.”
“At double your rate for two months of work with a possible ongoing extension? I do not think that is something you will turn your back on.”
Nate was impressed. Jar had improvised that bit on her own.
The target took another sip of tea. “What are these ‘two things’?”
“This face-to-face meeting is the first. If I feel you are of the caliber we require, then we move on to condition two.”
“How old are you?”
Before Nate could say anything, Jar said, “My age is of no concern to you. I am empowered to negotiate all things for my organization.”
“You can’t be more than, what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
“Don’t overreact,” Nate said. She needed to keep him there until she could place the tracker on him.
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