Brett Battles - Shadow of Betrayal

She turned just in time to see a man approaching her car. His hair was short and blond, and the look on his face determined, like he would stop her at any cost. There was also something familiar about him. The hair was wrong, but she swore she had seen his face before.

And then he was gone, left behind as the Saab’s speed increased.

She worried that he might pull out a gun and shoot at her. But as she monitored him in her rearview mirror, he just stood there watching her drive away. Then it came to her. The news report that morning. The man who had killed the American official. The sketch. That’s who this guy looked like.

But before she could process that thought further, she saw something else in her mirror.

A car making a fast U-turn and heading in her direction.

CHAPTER

15

“WHERE ARE YOU?” QUINN ASKED. HE HAD HIS PHONEto his ear. Nate was on the other end, his speakerphone switched on.

“How the hell do I know?” Nate said. “I’ve never been here before.”

“You’re still behind her, though,” Quinn said.

“Yes, I’ve still got… wait. Did you say her?”

“Her name is Marion Dupuis. She’s the missing daughter.”

“You’re sure?”

“I saw her as she drove off, and I’ve got a picture right here. Same person.”

Quinn was sitting in the passenger seat of a Lincoln Continental he and Orlando had stolen a block away from the house. In his lap was Marion’s box. The contents seemed to be consistent with someone on the run, who wanted to take a few personal mementos along. Two items were of most interest. The first was a book. A French version of A Wrinkle in Time. Inside the cover, in the handwriting of a preteen, had been written: Ce livre appartient à Marion Dupuis —this book belongs to Marion Dupuis. That had given Quinn the woman’s name.

The other curious item didn’t fit with anything else in the box. A motel key for someplace called Motel Monique.

“Hold on,” Nate said. A moment later, “Shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just a pain in the ass to follow someone who knows a city that I don’t.”

“You lost her?”

“Of course not,” he said.

“Give us some street names. We’ll see if we can find you.”

“I’m on … eh … Rue Drummond. It’s one-way, but we just turned off a big street. Renee something.”

Quinn had found a map of Montreal in the glove compartment. It was old and worn, and had been buried deep under a stack of other papers. He looked down the street index for Drummond, got the coordinates, then found it on the map.

“Do you mean Boulevard René-Lévesque?” he asked.

“That sounds right.”

“Okay, I got you, then. Tell me when you change streets.”

“That’d be right now,” Nate said. “Turning onto another big street. Dammit, where’s the sign? I don’t know the name.”

“Probably Rue Sherbrooke.”

“If you say so.”

“We’re heading your way.” Quinn moved the phone from his ear and looked over at Orlando. “Back the other way, then west. They’re on the other side of the island.”

She nodded as she moved the car over to the left lane. At the next intersection she hung a U-turn.

Quinn switched his phone to speaker, then said, “Still on Sherbrooke?”

“Yes,” Nate confirmed.

“Okay. You’re basically heading north-northeast. For the moment it doesn’t look like she is heading for any bridges, so she’s still contained on the island.”

“Got it,” Nate said. “She’s behaving a little odd. She keeps looking back, but I don’t think she’s looking at me.”

“She knows you’re following her?” Quinn said.

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Then maybe she is looking at you.”

“It just doesn’t seem like it.”

Something nagged at Quinn’s mind. A memory. A flash of when Marion Dupuis drove past him in the street. Movement elsewhere in the car. Maybe it was something moving around in the back. A bag, perhaps, or another box she had taken from the house. Whatever it was, Quinn couldn’t see it clearly in his mind.

“Turning again,” Nate said. “Right. Onto … Avenue Union.”

Quinn found the spot on the map. “Got it.”

A moment later. “Still on Avenue Union. Passing a big church on my right.” Then, “Turning again. Rue Ste. Catherine. Left… dammit, here we go again. Left. Onto … I didn’t get the name.”

Quinn guessed it must be Rue Aylmer, but he said nothing.

“She’s really trying to lose me now,” Nate said. “Left again.”

Over the speaker, Quinn could hear the tires of his apprentice’s car screeching as Nate made a quick turn.

“She’s a block ahead of me now, turning left again.” More screeching. “We were on this road before, it’s the one with the church.” Several seconds passed, then, “Same turn as before. Onto Saint somebody. Can’t remember the name.”

Quinn followed the action on the map, picturing the two cars racing down the streets.

“She’s going to turn … no, wait… she’s staying on this road for now. We didn’t make the same turn again … Whoa!”

“What is it?” Quinn asked.

“A taxi just pulled in front of me. Trying to get around him, but he’s slowing me down.”

“Do you still have a visual of her car?”

“Yeah, but she’s almost a block and a half ahead of me now … she’s turning! Right.”

Depending on how far they had gone, it was either Rue Ste. Alexandre or Rue de Bleury.

“She’s out of my sight,” Nate said. “Come on, faster, jerk!” The last words meant, no doubt, for the taxi that had gotten in front of him.

“Okay, he’s going straight, I’m taking the turn. Ste. Alexandre.” The pause went on for several seconds. “Ah, shit.”

“What?”

“She’s gone. I … dammit… I lost her.”

“She’s got to be around there somewhere. Maybe she parked along the curb.”

Quinn listened as Nate searched the street, but there was no sign of the woman. Marion Dupuis had gotten away.

“I’m sorry,” Nate said.

“Meet us back at the motel,” Quinn said.

“Give him a break,” Orlando whispered.

Quinn frowned, but knew she was right. Nate had done well under the circumstances.

“You did the best you could,” Quinn said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll find her some other way.”

“Thanks,” Nate said, a hint of relief in his voice. “See you at the motel.”

The line went dead.

Quinn and Orlando drove in silence for several minutes.

“You’re being too tough on him again,” she said.

Quinn glanced at her, then looked back at the road.

“I mean it,” she said. “He’s doing everything you tell him to.”

Several seconds passed before Quinn said, “I know he is.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Quinn didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked out the side window. “I … I’m not sure he’s up to it.”

“You took him to Ireland. He did fine there.”

“He hurt like hell afterward,” Quinn said. “He even limped a little bit when we moved the bodies to the boat.”

“He lost his leg. What do you expect?”

“I expect him to be ready in any kind of situation. I expect him to be able to function at a high level at all times. I expect him to do the job just like someone who still has both legs. It’s a dangerous job, and I’m not going to put him out there if I think he’s going to have problems.”

What he didn’t add, what he was really feeling, was that he was responsible for Nate’s life. And if keeping his apprentice out of the way kept him from getting hurt, then Quinn had to do that. He had no choice.

“You’re just as bad as Durrie,” she said, evoking the name of her former lover and Quinn’s dead mentor.

Quinn whipped his head around, and started to open his mouth, but stopped himself. Why couldn’t she understand what he was going through? Why couldn’t she figure it out?

He spotted a Boni-Soir convenience store ahead. “Pull over there,” he said, pointing.

“What are you? Hungry?”

“Just pull over.”

She did as he asked.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

He got out of the car and entered the store. Knowing the clerk would be more open to talking to him if Quinn bought something, he picked up a couple of bottles of water and a box of crackers, then headed to the counter.

“Six twenty-seven,” the man at the register said.

As Quinn was pulling out some money, he said, “You don’t happen to have a phone book I can look at, do you?”

“Pay phone in back,” the man said. “It’s got a book.”

The phone book was missing several pages, but the one he was looking for was still there. After he found what he wanted, he returned to the car, and handed Orlando a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she said.

She put the car in drive and pulled back onto the street.

“We need to go in the other direction,” Quinn said.

“Thought we were going back to the motel.”

Quinn held up the key he had found in the box. “Motel, yes. Just not ours.”

The Motel Monique turned out to be such a dump that Quinn wondered if the key was more a joke than a clue. Maybe stealing a key from the pay-by-the-hour place was something of a rite of passage, the key itself becoming a trophy Marion could have had for years. But it was something you’d leave behind, not take with you when you were fleeing.

“God, I feel like I need to take an hour-long shower just for stepping in here,” Orlando said as they walked down the hallway toward room 326.

Quinn knew what she meant. He’d stayed in worse places, but none he’d had to pay for. There was the permanent smell of mildew in the air, and something else Quinn decided was best not to dwell on. The lights were all too dim, the management trying to save a few bucks by using low-wattage bulbs.

From behind several of the doors, they could hear the grunts and groans of transactions in progress. A couple rooms ahead, a door opened and a man and woman stepped out. She looked done and anxious to leave, but he looked ready for more. When he saw Orlando, he lost all interest in the woman he was with.

“Where’d you find her?” the man asked as he walked by Quinn.

“Piss off,” Quinn told him.

“Fuck you, too,” the man said. “Hey, babe, you got a number I can have?”

Orlando didn’t look back, but she did flip him off.

“That ain’t very ladylike,” he called out.

Quinn could sense Orlando tensing beside him. For a second he thought she was going to pull her gun on him.

“If he’s still out here when we leave, you can shoot him,” Quinn whispered.

The hand that had begun moving upward relaxed back against her side.

“Ah, never mind. You’re probably a pretty lousy fuck anyway,” the man said.

Quinn stopped, then turned back around. The man was twenty feet behind them, the woman he’d been with long gone.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted me to relax,” Orlando whispered.

“Excuse me,” Quinn said to the man. “Not sure I heard you correctly.”

“Wasn’t talking to you,” the man said.

Quinn took four casual steps forward, halving the distance between them.

“You think you’re going to scare me?” the man asked. “Turn around and go have your little fuck. I’ll find her later when I’m ready.”

Orlando moved up beside Quinn. “You sure I can’t shoot him?” she asked.