The Deceived (7 page)

It didn’t take long for Quinn to catch them.

The darkness played in Quinn’s favor. A big city meant roads jammed with cars, and lots of headlights moving in and out of the flow of traffic. It made it easy to hide among the pack and remain unseen.

After a while, it became obvious the Volvo was headed back to the house on White Magnolia Lane. As they neared the neighborhood, instead of continuing the chase, Quinn turned down one of the side streets. He knew now where they were going, and while the night was great at disguising his presence on the busy main roads, he would stand out on the less traveled residential streets if he continued to tail them.

Unfortunately, the neighborhood was not set up in any logical pattern, so finding an alternate route wasn’t as simple as he would have hoped. The roads twisted and turned, some making large arcs and returning to the same road they started from, while others wound away to dead ends. Everywhere the landscape was green and lush. Where the lots hadn’t been carved out for homes, there were trees and bushes. Not quite wilderness, but not quite tame either. What it wasn’t suited for was shortcuts.

Quinn cursed to himself as he made two wrong turns before finding his way back to White Magnolia Lane. He came at it from the opposite direction he had earlier, stopping when he was about a block away from the house. He grabbed a pair of thin leather gloves, and a compact flashlight from his bag in the trunk. He felt a momentary annoyance that he didn’t have a gun. He never flew with one, so his habit was to pick up one at his destination if he felt it necessary. But things had happened so fast once he’d arrived in Houston, he hadn’t had time to track down a source.

He made his final approach on foot, using the cars parked along the street as cover. As he expected, the Volvo was already there, sitting in the driveway near the garage.

What was more surprising was that the house was lit up both inside and out. It seemed as if every switch in the place had been turned on. Even the two floodlights mounted above the garage door were on.

The minivan that had been parked in front was still there, but now all its doors were open. Quinn could see several suitcases piled in the back. The bicycles that had been on the lawn were stacked on the roof of the van and tied to the luggage rack.

As Quinn watched, a man came out of the house carrying a large cardboard box. Behind him trailed the woman Quinn had talked to. She was carrying another suitcase. Following her were two children. One was the girl he’d seen in the window. The other was a boy, maybe a few years older. Husband, wife, and kids? It seemed so.

Quinn pulled out his cell phone, switching it to camera mode. His wasn’t the normal, off-the-shelf model. It had only come available in the last few months, and even then you had to have connections and be willing to pay the price. But it was worth it. The camera alone was invaluable. Six megapixels and a zoom that provided sharp, clear images few consumer cameras could match.

As he took pictures of the man and the woman loading their stuff into the back of the van, the woman said something to the kids. Though Quinn couldn’t hear the exact words, he picked up the tone— impatient, even urgent.

When the kids didn’t move quick enough, the man barked, “Now.”

That got more than just the kids moving. One of the suits who had been in the Volvo earlier emerged from the house and walked briskly over to the van.

Quinn raised the lens again, snapping off another shot as the new man grabbed the father by the arm, whipping him around so they were face-to-face. There was a quick, one-sided exchange, then the suit let the man go and returned to the house.

The man hesitated a moment, his eyes on the front door as if he expected someone else to emerge. After a few seconds, he climbed into the van with the rest of the family and started the engine.

They pulled out of the driveway and headed down the street, right past Quinn’s position. As they passed, Quinn caught a glimpse of the little girl looking out the window. For a second, it seemed as though she had seen him, but if she did, her attention was soon drawn to something else.

With the van gone, Quinn moved closer to the house, finding a spot directly across the street, next to a Jeep Cherokee.

At first there was nothing new to see, all activity apparently taking place deeper inside the house. Quinn looked from window to window. The only one with its drapes still open was the one in the living room. But even that didn’t last long. Soon one of the suits walked up to one end of the window, and a moment later the curtain moved across the glass, cutting off Quinn’s only view of the inside.

Quinn continued his vigil. Twenty minutes passed, then thirty, then forty.

After almost an hour, lights began switching off all over the house until only the porch light and the floods in front of the garage remained on.

Two of the suits stepped out the front door and headed over to the Volvo. Quinn raised the lens of his camera and took several shots. He got good close-ups of each man, recognizing the shorter suit as one of the guys searching the gas station. He couldn’t be sure about the taller one, but when the man climbed into the driver’s seat, Quinn assumed he must have been the one behind the wheel earlier, too.

The garage floods went out, then a few seconds later so did the porch light. Quinn could barely make out the front door as it opened. Two shadowy forms emerged. One had to be the other suit who’d been following him, but he didn’t recognize the other one. His hair was light, blond probably. And he carried himself in a way that made Quinn surmise he was the one in charge. Like his friends, though, he was also wearing a suit.

When the doors to the Volvo opened, an interior light came on, illuminating the two men as they climbed in.

Quinn was ready. He took two quick pictures before they closed the door and the light went out. The impression Quinn got from all of them was the same. Cool, confident, in shape.

Ex-military. Maybe even elite.

And definitely trouble.

Quinn contemplated following the Volvo again. But he decided the house was more important.

What had been going on inside? And the family, what were they all about? The whole situation was more than just bizarre.

After sending the photos he’d taken to Nate’s e-mail address, he remained in position for an hour, watching and waiting to make sure no one had stayed behind. The neighborhood was even quieter than it had been when he first arrived. Lights inside several of the nearby homes had gone out, though many still had various forms of exterior illumination on. Only two cars had driven by the entire time he waited, neither noticing him.

Go or no go?
Quinn thought.

Again, Durrie’s voice, “Get the fuck out of there. Just walk back down the street, get into your car, and go back to the airport. You should have never come here in the first place.”

He knew it was too late to make the last flight back to L.A., but he could catch an early plane and be back by late morning. Tomorrow he could try to find Jenny through other channels. But he didn’t move.

His hunch was that Steiner had been right. The home belonged to Jenny. And something very odd had been going on there.

He looked up and down White Magnolia Lane. The street was quiet.

He slid from behind the Jeep and crossed the road at a spot where the glow of the streetlight had dropped off to darkness. At the base of the driveway, he paused long enough to make sure he was still unobserved. For a brief second, he thought he sensed someone nearby, but it quickly passed. Perhaps it had just been an animal. Maybe a possum out on its evening prowl. Still, he gave it an extra minute before moving forward.

Once he reached the front door, he placed an ear against the wooden surface, straining to hear even the faintest of sounds. As he expected, only silence. He pulled the pair of leather gloves out of his back pocket, donned them, then tried the knob. It was locked. He cursed under his breath, annoyed that he’d left his set of lock picks in his bag back in the rental’s trunk. He considered retrieving them, but that seemed needlessly risky.

Perhaps there was another way in.

He left the porch and started making his way around the house, inspecting each window he passed. His hope was that one would be unlocked, but everything was shut tight.

When he reached the side of the house, he was greeted by a six-foot-high wooden fence. If there was a gate, he couldn’t see it. He put his hands on top, then jumped up, extending his elbows so that he was suspended halfway above the barrier.

Like the front yard, the ground on the other side was also grass. Quinn swung his right leg up, catching his foot on top. From there, it was easy to swing the rest of his body up and over the fence.

Though he could only see a portion of the backyard, he could tell it was large and lush. Directly ahead of him, along the side fence, was an old wooden gardening shed. Since the bushes and trees appeared to be well maintained, he guessed the shed was put to a lot of use.

For several seconds, he waited, half expecting someone to appear around the corner of the house, but there was no one. He turned his attention back to the house.

Unlike out front, not all of the curtains were closed here. He peered through the first few windows he passed. Though dark, he could still make out the interior. Bedrooms. Perhaps used for guests or as an office. But in their current state, it was impossible to tell. Each was a disaster—papers and clothing scattered across the floor, pieces of furniture dragged haphazardly from their original locations, pictures pulled from where they’d hung. It even looked like holes had been punched into the walls.

Before he could move to the next window, his phone vibrated in his pocket. The pattern was distinctive, letting him know it was Nate on the other end. He was about to let it go to voice mail when he realized why his apprentice was calling.

“Yes?” he said, answering the phone and keeping his voice as low as possible.

“You missed your check-in,” Nate said.

“Sorry,” Quinn said. They had prearranged a time for him to call, but he’d been focused on the house and had forgotten. “Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Nate was looking for the specific phrase that would let him know Quinn was okay.

“No issues,” Quinn said.

“You had me worried there,” Nate said. “I was seconds away from calling in backup.”

“Sorry,” Quinn told him. “Things are a little more complicated here than I expected.”

He worked his way up to the back corner of the house and peeked around. More yard. He almost expected to see a gazebo in the center, but there was none.

“Quinn?”

“I’m in the middle of something right now,” Quinn said.

“Then call me back when you have a minute,” Nate said. “I’ve got something.”

“Hold on.” Quinn eased around the corner and approached the next window.

The room beyond looked like it was the master bedroom. He chanced turning on his flashlight, twisting the beam into a tight spotlight to cut down on the chances light might spill through to the front of the house.

“You figure out the code from the container?” he asked as he looked inside.

“No,” Nate said. “I haven’t a clue.”

“You’ve gotten nowhere?”

“It doesn’t fit into any of the standard codes.”

Quinn played the light across the back wall. There were three exits to the room. One to the hallway, another to what looked to be a bathroom. The third was closed.
Closet?

“So?” Quinn asked. “Try a little harder.”

In the room was a bed, queen size with an ornate white wooden frame. An armoire was across the room, also white but simpler in construction. It had been twisted away from the wall and sat at an odd angle. Next to it was a matching makeup table, also moved from its logical home. Quinn couldn’t see a dresser, but there was something under the window below him that could very well be it.

This room had also been tossed—clothes and books and makeup and shoes thrown around randomly. The mattress was stripped bare and had been sliced open, the gaping wound spewing coils and cotton batting. The walls had also been attacked. It looked as though someone had taken a crowbar every few feet and torn holes into the surface.

“I was thinking maybe I could call a little help in on this one,” Nate said.

“You shouldn’t need any help.”

Even with all the chaos, it was evident this had been a woman’s room. There was no trace of a man anywhere. No men’s clothes, no men’s shoes. Nothing that would have pointed to a husband and wife sharing the space.

Quinn knew that wasn’t proof the house was Jenny’s, but it did reinforce what he was thinking. The family he’d met earlier had been a

decoy, meant to confuse anyone coming to look for whoever lived there, and to cover the destruction that was going on inside. “You know,” Nate said, “Orlando could probably figure this out in seconds.” Quinn turned off the flashlight. “Orlando’s not the one I asked to

figure it out, is she?” “Yeah, but I could call her. She won’t mind.” “No,” Quinn said. There was a back door leading to the kitchen and a sliding glass

door that opened onto what appeared to be a family room. Both were

locked. “Did you get a port of origin on the ship?” Quinn asked. “I did.” A bit of confidence returned to Nate’s voice. “Shanghai.” “Interesting.” “Not what you were expecting?” “I wasn’t expecting any place in particular,” Quinn said. Actually,

Shanghai made sense. Most West Coast shipping came from Asia, and Shanghai was one of the busiest ports not only on the Pacific Ocean but in the entire world.

There was a smaller window just beyond the sliding glass door. Frosted. A bathroom. And it was open. The gap was only a few inches, no doubt to equalize the moisture buildup anytime someone took a shower, but even if it was locked in place, Quinn would be able to force it open.

“I sent some photos to your e-mail,” Quinn said as he peeked through the window into the empty room beyond. “See if you can get a good image of each subject. You remember how to run the enhancement software, right?”