by Lisa Unger
He paused a minute and took a breath before entering and letting the door close behind him. Bending down toward the filthy tiled floor, he saw two pairs of black-booted feet standing side by side in one of the stalls. He removed his gun from the holster and stepped toward the stall. He stood waiting, trying to control his labored breathing and the adrenaline he felt begin to pump. After a second, the leaner man stepped out of the stall first, followed by the stockier man. Manny saw an earring and a deep scar on the face of the big guy, saw a Rolex and a Sig in the hand of the leaner guy. In his other hand, he held what looked like a Polaroid.
“Gay bar’s down the street, girls,” said Manny. The big guy moved forward but was stopped by a hand to his chest. In that moment, Manny recognized him as the man from the surveillance photo, the alleged Greyhound bus driver.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Manny said, leveling the Glock. “Let’s go have a talk back at the station.”
“Let’s not,” said the leaner man, his voice low, hard. Manny noted the same slight accent that he heard in Jenna Quinn’s voice. His eyes were blue and heavily lidded, and in them Manny saw malice and amusement. He wore a black wool gabardine suit that was clearly tailored to his body. A royal blue shirt that picked up the color of his eyes was open at the chest, exposing golden hair and the edge of a tattoo that Manny couldn’t quite make out. But Manny knew the man he was looking at. It was Sasa Fitore.
Manny regarded him and his 9-mm Sig-Sauer for a moment, then reached out for the photograph Sasa held out to him with his free hand, his curiosity getting the better of him. He kept the gun pointed at Sasa as he glanced at the photograph.
He felt fear constrict his throat as he recognized his daughter, Clarabell, sound asleep in her bed, holding tightly the stuffed blue Grover doll she’d had since she was two. Manny had tucked his little girl into bed last night, so he remembered that she had been wearing pink cotton pajamas with big white sheep on them that, from a distance, looked like clouds, the same pajamas she wore in the photograph. He looked up at Sasa, whose face was dominated by a wide grin.
chapter fourteen
Most women never realize that charm is a choice. A more effective technique than force in manipulating people and situations, it is, in fact, the primary choice of skilled predators. Bred to be conscious of how their behavior affects others, bred to be acquiescent and to ignore their own instincts, many women would rather be dead than be rude to someone charming. And often that’s the choice they unwittingly make. Nathan Quinn was a very charming man. But Lydia Strong was not impressed. And she had no problem being rude. But at the moment, she was on her best behavior, taking in his show with the same riveted attention she paid to a Charlie Manson interview.
From the moment Lydia and Jeffrey entered his office building, a not-so-subtle power struggle had commenced. They were greeted by guards in the lobby of the high-rise building that housed Quinn Enterprises. Escorted with the utmost courtesy, they were ushered under a giant globe that hung suspended from the towering ceiling, nearly filling the lobby, making everyone passing through seem the size of an ant. Emblazoned across the world was the company name, each letter the size of a Volkswagen.
“Excuse me, Lois,” Jeffrey whispered, “are these the offices of the Daily Planet?”
“Could be, Superman.”
“That’s Clark to you.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”
“ ‘It’s a bird, it’s a plane …’ ”
“That’s enough, Jeffrey.”
Jeffrey counted four surveillance cameras as they approached the elevators. The doors slid open silently without being beckoned, and Lydia and Jeffrey stepped in, flanked by the uniformed security guards. The walls were comprised of smoky black mirrors, and there was only one button above the keypad into which one of the guards entered a code. The elevator rose swiftly and smoothly. When the doors opened, they entered an elegant lobby walled entirely in glass. The Atlantic Ocean was visible to the east, and the rest of the windows provided a panoramic view of the Miami area. A stunning redheaded rose looked up at them from behind a black lacquer desk. Lydia tried not to stare at her enormous breasts, though they were obviously on display for just that purpose, protruding from a low-cut red silk blouse worn beneath her suit jacket.
“Follow me, please,” she said, smiling cordially but coldly.
They followed her, still flanked by the security guards. As the woman sashayed her generous ass, Lydia watched and thought, smiling to herself, that someone playing the rumba should be following her around. She noticed Jeffrey noticing, as well. The woman took them to a small waiting area furnished with a bar, two leather sofas, a low glass cocktail table, and a mirrored wall. Then she left without a word.
“Will you surrender your weapons, please?” asked one of the security guards as he shut the door behind them.
Lydia and Jeffrey looked at each other.
“Of course, they’ll be returned to you when you leave.”
Jeffrey was reluctant. As a law-enforcement officer, he would never even have considered it. In fact, this was the very reason why Detective Ignacio had declined to join them on their visit to Nathan Quinn. He’d already been through this whole dance and wasn’t up for it again. But Jeffrey had not been willing to leave the hotel without the Glock, due to the events of the last few days.
“I’m afraid we cannot allow you to see Mr. Quinn until you have surrendered your weapons.”
“We’ll give you our magazines,” said Jeffrey.
“And the cartridge in the chamber, please.”
“Of course.”
And so it was settled. But the whole incident put Jeffrey on edge. Why would a businessman, even one of Quinn’s stature, have such tight security? What was he afraid of? Lydia and Jeffrey seated themselves on one of the sofas and said nothing as they waited for nearly half an hour. They were both aware of the surveillance camera in the corner, the mirrored wall, and the probability of a listening device. So Lydia flipped through the dull, dense pages of The Economist, while Jeffrey sat stone-faced, staring at the wall, occasionally looking at his watch. After glancing at his watch for the fifth time, he said, “Five more minutes and we’re leaving.”
She just nodded. She knew it was a manipulation tactic to keep people waiting for this long. It was fully forty-five minutes after their scheduled appointment. Nathan Quinn was attempting to communicate that his time was more valuable than either of theirs, he knew it, and he wanted to make sure they knew it, too; he was not intimidated or impressed by either of them; and they would see him on his terms or not at all.
As if on cue, when Jeffrey rose to leave, the redheaded receptionist returned, looking cool and sultry. “Mr. Quinn will see you now.”
“How good of him,” said Lydia, not even bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
The receptionist, who stood a head taller than Lydia, gave her a pinched look through the lenses of her ultrachic glasses and said, “Mr. Quinn is a very busy man.”
Lydia didn’t respond, and they were escorted down a long hallway. As they approached the double doors at the end of the hall, the lighting seemed to dim, though Lydia thought it might have been her imagination. The doors, made of a rich dark wood, were elaborately carved with what looked like some type of forest scene, though it was hard to see because the lighting was low and the receptionist opened them by pewter handles shaped like gargoyle claws as soon as they arrived.
Quinn got up from behind a mammoth desk. An imposing man, standing over six feet tall and radiating an aura of power. Lydia would not have been surprised if he had thrown his head back and roared upon their entering his lair. But then he did surprise her.
“Ms. Strong, Mr. Mark,” he said, moving toward them with his hand outstretched. She noticed on his right ring finger a large gold insignia ring with Greek letters and a scroll covering what looked to be a sword, but he withdrew his hand quickly and she couldn’t get a closer look. “Y
ou can’t imagine how much hope it’s given me to hear my daughter’s voice. Detective Ignacio sent a copy of the tape over to me yesterday. It’s been such a nightmare.”
He was fairly gushing. Lydia tried to keep the skepticism she felt from showing on her face. He walked them over to plush sofas, a guiding hand on Lydia’s arm, and stood across from them. He wore an expression of anguish, leaning toward them as if intending to plead for their help. Lydia glanced at Jeffrey, who wore the poker face she had always admired.
Quinn turned his gaze on Lydia and locked eyes with her. She imagined that many women swooned in the power of his gaze, under the influence of his charm. But she could sense a manipulating energy that instantly brought guards up inside her. Like a predator, he seemed to sense it. He turned up the volume on his personality.
“So you do believe that the voice on the tape was Tatiana’s,” Lydia said.
“Without a doubt.”
“Because your wife felt differently,” she said, narrowing her eyes a bit, not sure whom to believe or why either of them would benefit from lying.
“She was mistaken,” he said quickly.
“If that was Tatiana, then what do you make of what she said about her mother?” asked Lydia. “What do you think she meant when she said, ‘I can’t believe she’s doing this to me.’ ”
“Adolescent girls and their mothers are always at odds, Ms. Strong,” he said with an understanding smile, as though Tatiana had simply broken curfew. “Who knows what injustice Tatiana believes her mother and I have perpetrated against her.
“I am a huge fan of your books, Ms. Strong,” he went on, ignoring Jeffrey entirely. “I can’t believe I didn’t think to call you myself. Together, I know you and I can solve this. I really don’t feel that the police have done everything they can. I think they gave up on her when they concluded, unofficially of course, that she ran away. But now we have renewed hope. Can I offer you some coffee, a soda maybe?”
“No, thank you,” said Lydia. But he seemed not to have even heard her, seemed to have forgotten that he had even asked a question.
She looked around the office, which reminded her of the library in his home, with everything about it designed to intimidate a visitor. With the high ceilings and enormous plush pieces of furniture, one couldn’t help but feel dwarfed. The furniture was soft, so Lydia had sunk into the cushion when she sat, while the giant Quinn stood, towering over them. Jeffrey, she noticed, sat on the edge of the couch. She pushed herself up and did the same.
“When I met Jenna,” Quinn said, “I had everything a man could want. More money than most people ever dream of, a successful career. I had never even thought about a family. But when Tatiana and Jenna came into my life, I realized all I had been missing. Suddenly, I was a husband and a father. I felt truly blessed. It was a difficult transition for her, certainly. To come from poverty and suddenly to have everything a little girl could want. But with love, she adapted. She was a beautiful child, growing into a stunning woman. Intelligent, warm, unspoiled, in spite of the fact that I spoiled her a little. And now … this. She’s gone. I don’t know if she ran away. I don’t know if someone,”—he seemed to choke on the word and all its implications—“abducted her. She sounded so afraid on that tape. All I know is that I want her back and that I will stop at nothing until we have found her.”
He sat down on the arm of one of the chairs and lowered his eyes, maybe suddenly conscious of how desperate he seemed to deliver his speech. Lydia watched him a moment and then glanced around the office. There was a large well-lighted portrait of Nathan, Jenna, and Tatiana on the wall above him. Nathan reclined in a large wing-backed chair, his legs crossed, while Jenna stood behind him and to the right, her hand resting on his shoulder. Tatiana sat at his feet, her legs tucked to the side, her hands folded in her lap. They all smiled woodenly.
“Mrs. Quinn gave us the impression that Tatiana was a very unhappy girl and that there was a lot of tension among the three of you,” said Lydia, deciding not to pull any punches and see what happened when people didn’t follow in the direction Nathan Quinn led them. She thought she saw his face darken for a fraction of a second, but then he chuckled a little.
“My wife, of course, is distraught. Like I said, most teenage daughters and their mothers go through a rough patch. Of course they fought. Jenna feels betrayed because she believes that Tatiana ran away.”
“And what do you believe?”
“I don’t know. I just want her found. Whether she was abducted or whether she ran away, she’s somewhere. I have to believe that with the proper amount of motivation and the right amount of resources, she will be found. I have both.”
“I’m sorry to say this, Mr. Quinn,” said Lydia, “but there’s no way to know when that message was left. Have you considered the possibility that Tatiana is dead?”
Jeffrey turned his head to look at Lydia. It was a horrible thing to say, and he knew that she was baiting Quinn, looking for him to react in some unguarded, unplanned way so that she could have a better sense of what she was dealing with. But it was a harsh tactic, even for her. And she didn’t get what she was looking for. His answer was quick and cool.
“No. Because that’s failure, Ms. Strong,” he said, shifting his body forward on the chair arm and engaging her eyes like some kind of freaky motivational speaker. “And failure is not an option here. Are you going to help me, or are we all wasting our time?”
She took a moment before she answered, watching as a muscle twitched in Quinn’s jaw. “I’m going to help Tatiana, if I can.”
“You’ll be amply rewarded,” he said with a satisfied smile.
“I’m not interested in money. That’s not why I came here.”
He seemed not to understand her and cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. “Then why?”
“Because someone wrote to me and asked for my help. Did you read the note that came with the tape?”
“Yes,” he said, holding her eyes. “And I’m in the dark about that aspect of it.”
Lydia nodded. “No ideas? No thoughts at all?”
His face darkened again and he said, “Do you think I had something to do with Tatiana disappearing? You think that note was sent by someone with insight into what goes on in my personal life? That I have some deep dark secret?”
“I know that I watched the person I suspected of sending them, your maid, Valentina, murdered before my eyes. I know that we have been followed and had our hotel room broken into.”
“And you think I’m involved?” he asked with a condescending smile, as if she were a child suggesting that the world was flat.
“I don’t have any opinion right now,” she said, lying. She leaned forward a bit, holding his steely gaze. “All we care about is finding Tatiana.”
“Well, we have that in common, then.”
“Do you have enemies, Mr. Quinn? People who want to hurt you?” asked Jeffrey, speaking up for the first time. He had grown uncomfortable with the energy between Lydia and Quinn; it was as if they were engaged in some type of mental duel.
“You don’t get where I am without making enemies,” he said, smiling. “But luckily, they are professional enemies.”
“Is that why your personal security is so tight?”
Quinn’s smile twitched a bit. “You can never be too careful, Mr. Mark.”
“I imagine that’s true,” said Lydia thoughtfully. “I’m curious, though. When whole economies collapse due to one of your business ventures, there must be some personal as well as professional hurt feelings, though. I mean, lives were destroyed. Families were destroyed.”
Quinn sighed and shook his head. He was going for the Atlas look, weight of the world and all that. For a split second, he made Lydia think of O. J. Simpson, that practiced look of innocence, so convincing that he believed it himself.
“What most people don’t realize,” he said slowly, sadly, with just a dash of condescension, “is that in high finance, as in war, there can be casualties …
human casualties. The Albanian government gambled on their future. American Equities took advantage of their naïveté. I was nothing more than an investor, and, I’m ashamed to say, ignorant to what American Equities was involved in. Anyway, I fail to see what this has to do with Tatiana.”
“How did you meet Jenna?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your wife, she’s from Albania, isn’t she?”
“Yes.…”
“So, how did you meet her? I imagine it must have been during one of your visits to Albania during the time American Equities was involved over there.”
It was a wild guess, but she could see from the look on his face that she’d hit one out of the park. And Lydia was grinning inside because she could see that Nathan Quinn hadn’t been prepared for this line of questioning. But she already had a sense of him and knew it wouldn’t be so easy to get under his skin.
“That’s irrelevant,” he said stiffly.
The buzz was like static in her ears; she could hear it and feel its vibrations in her fingertips. Nathan Quinn rose and turned his back to Lydia and Jeffrey as he went to the bar and poured himself an inch of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. He sipped from it as he turned around to face them. But he did not return to his seat; instead, he paced the length of his desk slowly.
“If you must know, Ms. Strong, my wife was a prostitute when I met her,” he said, tossing back the drink. “She had no choice after her husband died. Her family had forsaken her because she had married a man they disapproved of. She was alone with a small daughter, and there was only one way to survive. Of course, she was a marked woman in that society, but I fell in love with her. I saved her and Tatiana from that life. You should have seen how they lived.”
Neither Lydia nor Jeffrey said a word, just watched him pace. He lowered his head and his voice was soft.
“Of course, you can imagine why I wouldn’t want anyone to know that. I’ve never told anyone. For Jenna’s sake more than mine. She’s very ashamed of her past,” he said, sitting opposite them again and looking at each of them in the eye. “I tell you because I want you to know that I have nothing to hide. And I want your help in finding my daughter, even if that means, for a time, that you’ll suspect me.”
