Iris Johansen - Quinn

An antagonism caused by that physical disturbance that she couldn’t suppress or diminish.

She might not be able to suppress it, but she blocked it when she had a job to do.

Take out the alarms.

Piece of cake as Gallo had said. She was climbing the stairs four minutes later. The door was cracked open, and no Gallo.

She glided silently into the apartment and shut the door. She was instantly assaulted by darkness and the pungent smell of pepperoni.

“No other alarms in here,” Gallo said from across the room. He was going through the drawers of a desk, his LED flashlight piercing the darkness. “Very messy. Jacobs was either a complete slob or he was in a big hurry.” He took the Rolodex from the desk and stuffed it into his pocket. “No convenient receipts for airline tickets. I don’t see any credit-card receipts either.”

Catherine went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “German beer. A California wine.” She opened the bag on the second shelf. “And some kind of pasta in marinara sauce. He has international tastes as far as food is concerned.”

Gallo was heading for the bedroom. “I’ll go through the drawers of the bedside table. You check the bathroom.”

The heavy scent of a citrus aftershave coming from a bottle on the sink… No toothbrush. A half-used lemon soap left in a green soap dish. Catherine picked up the aftershave and held it up to read the name. “Italian. Naples.”

“Nothing here but a pack of prophylactics,” Gallo said from the bedroom. “It’s nice to know the bastard practices safe sex. We’re not finding out much more than that. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Then let’s get out of here and start going through this Rolodex.” He was heading for the front door. “If he traveled out of the country frequently, then he probably had a travel agent. When you’re uneasy or afraid, then you tend to go to ground in the place that you feel most comfortable.”

“And you can’t be comfortable unless you visit a place with some degree of frequency.” She closed the front door behind her and followed him toward the steps. “So we check and see where-” She suddenly halted on the top step. “Was this too easy, Gallo?” Her gaze was wandering around the parking lot. “I know we’re both thinking of Jacobs as a second banana to Nate Queen, but it makes me uneasy that we don’t know how he thinks, which way he’ll jump. I don’t like invisible men.”

“I have a general idea how he’ll react.” Gallo looked soberly up at her from the bottom step. “And I’m not underestimating him, Catherine. He’s a cornered rat, and he’s not going to like me going after him. He’s always resented me. He likes everything neat and able to be managed and manipulated, and I stepped outside the box.” He turned and started toward the car. “But I wouldn’t worry too much. I became an expert at killing rats in that Korean prison where Queen and Jacobs sent me.”

“GALLO AND CATHERINE LING just left your apartment,” Nixon said when Jacobs answered the phone. “They weren’t in there for more than thirty minutes. They didn’t carry out any boxes or anything big.”

“But they probably found my Rolodex,” Jacobs said through set teeth. Dammit, he should have grabbed it when he’d left yesterday morning. He’d known he’d have to go on the run soon, but he’d been trying to raise a stake to see him through. When he’d gotten word that his superiors had issued orders for him to be picked up for questioning he’d been thrown into a panic. He’d only grabbed his clothes and spare stash of cash and split. “Why the hell didn’t you go in after it?”

“That’s not what you paid me for,” Nixon said. “I don’t know anything about alarms. I’m clean with the local police. I don’t want anything on my record. I watched. I reported. If you’d given me the go-ahead, I would have taken care of them.” He paused. “I’ll still do it. I’m right behind them on the freeway. All you have to do is make an electronic transfer into my bank account.”

But I don’t have the money to make that transfer, Jacobs thought in frustration. His hand clenched on the phone. He and Queen had used Nixon before, and he was the best man for a job like this. He was almost as good as Paul Black had been with none of the bizarre freakiness Black had always exhibited.

He would rid himself of Gallo once and for all. And then he’d have a chance of being safe. He was not afraid of either Army Intelligence or any other law-enforcement body. He’d be able to survive. The world was crooked, and he knew where all the bodies were buried.

But Gallo was different. He’d seen how crazy the bastard could be. He wouldn’t stop. He’d keep on until hell froze over, until he had Jacobs in his sights. Those yokel cops had said Black had killed Queen, but it was probably Gallo’s doing. Jacobs had told Queen any number of times that it was dangerous trying to manipulate Gallo. Something about him caused a cold knot to form in Jacobs’s stomach. He hated being afraid. He hated the arrogant macho bastards who’d tried to beat him down and crush him all his life.

But he’d shown them that it was brains, not brawn, that mattered. He’d plugged along and kept quiet and let them all show off how smart they thought they were. But it was Queen who had been killed. It was Gallo who was on the run.

Except, now, Jacobs was on the run, too.

“Make up your mind,” Nixon said. “Do I get the money?”

“I’m thinking about it. I can’t decide without studying all the consequences.”

“My time is valuable. I can take care of Gallo and the woman tonight and move on to my next job. Yes or no?”

“I should be able to make a decision within the next two days. Just stay close to them.” He hung up.

He mustn’t let Nixon know he was weak in any way. But Jacobs knew he’d have to find a way to rid himself of Gallo and the woman. He couldn’t dangle Nixon for more than the two days for which he’d bargained. He had to move and move-

His phone dinged to signal an arriving e-mail.

It could be the confirmation on his hotel room at the casino. They’d better confirm his reservations. He’d given them enough of his business.

It wasn’t the hotel.

I warned you, Jacobs. I warned you both. Did you think I’d forgotten? Did you think I wouldn’t find out what was going on?

You’re a dead man.

No signature. Jacobs didn’t need a signature.

SHIT. SHIT. Shit.

His heart was beating so hard, he felt dizzy.

You’re a dead man.

He had thought that his luck couldn’t get any worse when he’d found out that Gallo and the woman were on his trail.

This was worse. This was deadly.

He felt so scared, he was sick to his stomach.

He had to get control of himself. He could get out of this. He’d made up his mind that he had to disappear anyway. It was just reinforced by that damn e-mail. He would tell Nixon to take care of Gallo, and that bitch, and that would rid himself of one threat. Then he would run and hide and not surface until he thought it was safe.

But to do both of those things, he’d have to have money.

Money was always possible, always just around the next bend in the road. He’d pick a place that had always been special for him.

His luck was due to change. It always did.

And this time he was sure he’d score big enough to set him up for life.

Then he’d have the money to give Nixon.

Then he’d be able to squash Gallo and Catherine Ling as if they were vermin. Then he’d be able to keep that bastard from finding and killing him.