Quinn took off her pack and handed it to him. It contained everything that mattered—her computer, the note from Noah, the ruined butterfly art, the black jay figurine, all the envelopes her stalker had sent her, storage devices, money.
“Keep this safe,” she said. “Hide it, and don’t let anyone know it’s here.”
He gave her a dubious look, only glancing at the pack.
“I’m serious, Dad.”
“I can see that.”
She shoved the pack onto his lap. “You got any paper?”
Her dad just stared at her, then the pack, then motioned with his head toward the counter, where a small pad of paper sat. She grabbed a piece, ignoring the one with his grocery list, and wrote down a series of numbers. She unzipped the pack and stuffed the paper inside before closing it up again.
“That’s everything you need, just in case,” she said. “If I wind up in the clink, the information in this bag will become useful. If anyone comes looking for you because of me, don’t tell them anything. There’s enough money in here to hire someone to help if necessary, and there’s more hidden in my apartment. I wrote down where’s it’s hidden and the code to get in, plus the security codes to my building and apartment. You got it?”
He stood up, holding the pack. “What the fuck is going on? You into something bad?”
“Yes. And tonight’s my only chance to fix it.”
He shook his head. “I’ll help you hide, but I don’t want this shit.” He held out the backpack to her. “I ain’t gonna stand around and wait for you to get yourself killed.”
“It’s the only way, Dad. You still have your gun?”
“Of course. But—”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I love you, okay?”
Quinn turned and left.
When Quinn returned to the hangar, it was almost nine. The shop was closed and her buggy waited outside.
She still had time.
She drove cautiously. She couldn’t afford mistakes… not tonight.
Her phone rang. Jones again.
By now, he would know she’d been canned. They would have told him right away, to make it clear what he could and could not tell her. And he probably knew she was up to no good, doing the thing she shouldn’t do… and alone. But there was nothing he could do about it now. He would be furious at her refusal to accept his help, but too bad. She wasn’t going to take him down with her.
Because what she was about to do was crazy. Totally lizard-shit crazy. And she knew it.
But what choice did she have? She’d lost the only job that ever mattered to her. She’d lost the income that came with it. The Protectorate would find some way to punish her for her collaboration. She had some psychopath after her. She had no future. So why should she sit back and let her life go to shit like some broke-ass Downtownie, or worse, let her tormentor kill her?
Nope. She needed answers. And she would get them tonight or die trying.
Die with your boots on.
It wasn’t long before Quinn was back in the open desert again, breathing in the fresh air. After driving a while, she spotted the hills… and then she saw them. The lights leading up to his house.
Hector Olmos’s house.
Chapter 29
Quinn slowed down, not wanting the buggy’s quiet electric hum to reach Olmos’s home. She hadn’t turned on the lights this time to avoid looking like a beacon. Besides, she didn’t need headlights. Outside the city, the starlight and the glow of the crescent moon gave her all the illumination she needed. Soon, she pulled behind one of the neighboring hills.
She checked her equipment one last time before heading toward the Olmos family’s desert home on foot. The silence out there was unnerving. Other than her soft footsteps, she heard only the occasional sound of the breeze shuffling the dry soil. She kept looking around, then behind her, feeling far more hyperaware of her surroundings in the abandoned desert than she did Downtown, despite the fact that there was nothing and no one out here. There hadn’t been in a long time.
Her excessive awareness came from being alone. Mindjackers weren’t supposed to work alone. Ever. The few times she had, she’d had Daria in her ear. But now she was off her turf, doing something crazy, and without Jones.
He would have helped her, no question. That was why she ignored his calls. Because she’d learned long ago that it was foolish to rely on others. They died. They got murdered. They let you down. She didn’t depend on anyone now, and no one depended on her.
There were times when she’d wondered if it could be different. For a moment there, she’d dared to hope it would be different with Noah. But that too was foolish. He’d cared about her more than she’d given him credit for, but that was no longer true. And by now, Jones had a reputation so solid that he’d find a new Tier One to partner with.
So tonight she was free of all attachments. Nothing and no one to worry about but herself. It was better that way.
Yet, as she walked in the warm desert air, such thoughts didn’t rejuvenate her. They made her feel empty. She pushed them away.
As she drew close to Olmos’s partly submerged home, she encountered a wall that surrounded the entire property. She sized it up, then took a running start and scaled it until her head peeked over the top.
Yup, just as she thought. Surveillance.
Quinn pulled herself over the wall and landed squarely on the other side. It was late, but if someone saw her, let them see her. She’d prepared to sedate the entire family and anyone else she encountered anyway; it didn’t matter if she did so here or inside.
But nobody came. Which meant no one saw her coming, or they did and would wait for her inside.
She disabled the security system, and it took her twice the time it would’ve taken Jones. Inside, the air conditioning hit her first, cooling her light sheen of sweat. It was dark, other than a soft light source that seemed to move and sparkle ahead, offering enough illumination to see leather furniture, imported tile, and, in the center of it all, a glass-enclosed courtyard with moonlight shining into it.
Then something hit her. Something odd, but familiar. A smell, one she couldn’t put her finger on. Not animal, not plant, but natural. Her mind suddenly flashed back to the George Hatch job, where the money elite lounged by the pool. She smelled water.
Sure enough, inside that courtyard was a pool.
Quinn halted, staring, momentarily forgetting what she was there to do. The pool was dark, not bluish like the other one, its liquid surface shimmering in the moonlight and scattering tiny light reflections around as the breeze nudged its surface.
All that water. Literally tons of it, out here in the middle of nowhere, replenished often in order to keep up with the rapid rate of evaporation in their hot, arid world. Lots of water for the CEO of water.
Quinn marveled at the cost of such a luxury, which would be astronomical. The infrastructure, the water, transporting or somehow accessing the water, the upkeep.
She was pulled from her reverie by distant footsteps. Heavy, male. She quickly hid behind a chair, her temperature rising as a new batch of sweat poured from her wigged head and padded body. A door opened to the right of the courtyard, and bright light flooded into the room. She pulled out her injector, ready to strike. Whoever it was, he was likely armed and coming for her.
She waited, listening for the footsteps growing closer. But they didn’t. Instead, she heard the sound of a refrigerator door opening. She pulled out her viewer and inched it out from behind the chair, adjusting until she had an image. It was Olmos himself, silhouetted against the fridge light, peering inside before retrieving several frosted bottles of water and wine.
Quinn recognized his hair—dark, thick, curly, and streaked with gray. But what surprised her was how trim and fit he looked under his slacks and t-shirt. Lean and muscled, like he worked out every day. She’d researched images of Olmos and noted his youthful appearance, but chalked that up to old images, cosmetic enhancement, or to the images only showing him fro
m the shoulders up.
This was her chance. Sneak up on him, stick him, then sedate the family, buying her plenty of time to jack him the right way and make sure she got what she needed.
When he faced the fridge again, Quinn silently headed to the partition that separated the kitchen from the living room, topped with a counter and lined with barstools. She crouched behind it, preparing to jump him when he left the kitchen.
The fridge shut. More sounds, like he’d loaded his beverages onto a tray. She clutched the injector and got ready to spring. She inched forward, until she heard a voice. A male voice, coming from the open door Olmos had emerged from.
Olmos had a wife and three daughters. There shouldn’t be any other men.
Quinn stayed hidden behind the partition and watched him head toward that door. She needed to strike before he headed through it, but her feet would not move. Olmos disappeared and closed the door behind him, leaving her in silent darkness.
She’d lost her chance. She’d hesitated and lost her chance.
But something wasn’t right.
After her eyes readjusted to the darkness, she began searching the main floor of the house, including the bedrooms. She peered into one of them, a girl’s bedroom with a picture of a pop star hanging over her bed. The bed was made. Quinn checked the other rooms, including the master bedroom. All empty.
What the hell?
Then she heard it. Voices. Laughter. Men, and possibly a woman. All beneath her in the subterranean part of the house. Were his wife and children down there? Were they having a party, or watching a movie? No. Those were adult voices.
Quinn knew what would happen if she went down there. She would see them, they would see her, and all hell would break loose. Instead, she needed a way to get them under her control. And there was only one way to do that.
But first, she needed to get Olmos away from the others.
She tiptoed to the door, carefully turning the knob to open it. Voices, clearer now. At least three other men and a woman. From what little she heard, they weren’t having a party. They were talking business.
She took a deep breath. “Dad?” she called downstairs, making her voice high. When it didn’t carry, she said it again, a little louder. “Dad?”
The voices quieted. She heard something about “your daughter.”
She backed away from the door. And within a moment, there were footsteps coming up the stairs. Olmos appeared.
“Alexis?” he said.
Quinn stepped toward him and injected him. The injection worked quickly, and he was out before he could get a good look at Quinn. He began to crumple, and Quinn scrambled to catch him before he tumbled to the floor, but it was too little, too late. His falling mass proved too much for her and they both collapsed to the wood floor with a loud thud.
Knowing she had only moments before the others came to investigate, she shoved Olmos away and scrambled to her feet, pulling her secret weapon from the back of her cargoes. She released the trigger on the gas bomb and tossed it downstairs, then shut the door. She grabbed the nearby dining table and shoved it toward the door to brace it as rapid footsteps clambered up the stairs. Doorknob jiggling, followed by pounding on the door.
“Hector!”
The pounding got more forceful, and Quinn jumped as an explosion of weapons blew through the door, a gaping hole appearing where the doorknob was. She pressed that table up against the door as hard as she could, muscles straining, sweat pouring from her forehead and stinging her eyes, hunching down to avoid stray fire. Then there was a big push against her, so hard she stumbled backward, but she shoved the table forward again to thwart whoever tried to escape.
Another pushback, harder this time, knocking her onto her butt. She pulled out her energy weapon, ready to stop the stranger any way she could. She aimed… and then she heard it.
Thud. Then another. The assailants had succumbed to her gas bomb and gone down.
She stayed where she was, catching her breath, waiting for the rest of them to go down. Finally, she opened the door and let the gas dissipate. When enough time passed, she headed down. A man lay slumped on the stairs, out cold, and another just below him. She stepped over them and continued down until she reached the basement.
Three more people—two slumped in their chairs and a third in the closet, feet sticking out. All unconscious. The place smelled of acrid smoke and she coughed. She took out her handkerchief and held it over her mouth and nose, just in case. Wine and water sat on the table in silver buckets, ice-filled crystal glasses everywhere.
Quinn took a closer look at their faces. She saw blonde hair and a familiar face. When Quinn realized who it was, she blinked a couple of times. Carrie Anne Halstead. From the martial arts dojo.
She recognized some of the other faces as well, including George Hatch… and, in the closet, the mayor of El Diablo. These were the people who controlled El Diablo’s energy, water, and cooling, who controlled El Diablo itself. Quinn glanced at her watch. Was it time for their monthly meeting? No. That took place during the week at the mayor’s office, not late at night in Olmos’s basement.
And that’s when she saw it. The screen filled with names. Familiar names, including hers and Jones’s. Hers had been crossed out, next to which was Perry’s name. A chill ran through her.
Quinn began looking around again. She eyed Hatch’s gorgeous, expensive watch, gracing the arm that lay on the table. She went over and picked up his arm, studying the watch before tugging it to peer underneath the platinum band.
Nothing. No tattoo.
She checked the others. No tattoos on their wrists, or anywhere that she could see. Then she remembered the men on the stairs. She checked them, not recognizing their faces but immediately noticing their well-developed and lean muscles. When she examined their wrists, both contained the familiar blackbird insignia.
Quinn stepped over them again, emerging from the basement to find Hector Olmos still slumped on the hardwood floor. On a lark, she grabbed his wrist, which was watch-free on that evening.
And there it was. The avian mark, black with red eyes… and swollen. Like the tattoo was brand new.
She stood there, her mind swirling, until it all began to coalesce.
El Diablo’s power players were in bed with the Black Jays.
The Jays weren’t using their powers to try and take down the establishment. The Jays were the establishment. And they were targeting the Protectorate.
She couldn’t mindjack Olmos now. It was too risky. She needed to get her evidence and get out before they woke up and everything got ugly. She stepped over the mayor in the closet, peering into the large space. When she saw what was inside, her eyes grew wide.
Firearms. Energy weapons. Other weapons. Lots of them.
This was their hideout, their safe house. Or one of them.
She began rooting through their pockets, looking for phones, wallets, anything useful. She took photos of everything she could think of, then found Halstead’s purse, stuffed what she could inside it, and threw it over her shoulder. Then she took another look in the weapons closet, her eyes landing on an Udi 99, a fully automatic firearm that folded down small enough to hide. She collapsed it down, found its holster, and strapped it under her shirt.
She barreled back up the stairs, stepping over the two Jays, then Olmos.
Just as she went to leave, she saw movement from the corner of her eye, out the window.
Camouflage pants and boots hurrying past. Then another set.
Someone had tripped an alarm. They were coming for her.
Chapter 30
Quinn froze, quickly trying to assess her options. Another set of boots appeared outside, possibly a third man.
She’d planned for this. For encountering multiple enemies. That’s why she’d brought the gas bomb. But now it was spent. She only had her usual defenses, against multiple enemies with a potential arsenal of weaponry. But escape meant facing them in the open desert, where she had no buildings to
hide behind, no back alley to escape through, no taxi to commandeer.
The city, with all its treachery, suddenly seemed so safe.
She wanted to slip through the door and make a run for it. But those men, whoever they were, would be waiting for her.
So she would wait for them.
Quinn snuck through the dark house, past the shimmering pool and into the control room. She peered at the displays, giving her a view of the property surrounding the house and beyond. One man was staked out at the wall, another passed by a camera, then another appeared at the front door. Three of them, then.
She returned to the kitchen area, hiding just behind the partition, and waited for him to break down the door. But nothing happened. So she waited.
One minute, then two.
Then two more.
Dread sunk into the pit of her stomach. The longer they waited, the more likely they were setting a trap.
A chime rang out, startling Quinn. Then again.
Quinn followed the sound; it came from Olmos. She found his phone and, after hesitating for a moment, decided to answer.
“Hello?” she whispered. It wasn’t hard to sound desperate.
Silence. But someone was there. Waiting for her.
“Hello?” she repeated, still whispering. “Are you guys out there? This is Carrie Anne.” Still nothing. “We’re in here, trapped. Hector is down, so are the others, and it’s just me and George. Someone gas bombed us. There are two of them, upstairs.”
“You know their location?” came the male voice.
“I hear footsteps, right above me, above the supply closet. Should I go up there?”
Onscreen, Quinn saw one of them, muscled and tattooed, gesture toward another to the south side of the house. “Negative. Stay in the safe room until we come for you.” He hung up.
Quinn went and hid behind the edge of the couch, keeping one eye on the front door. Not long after, the front door clicked and cracked open, and a man with night vision lenses peeked inside, weapon drawn. Quinn pulled back behind the couch so he wouldn’t spot her.
Mind Thief Page 17
