The Deceived by Brett Battles Read Free Book Online

realizing it, Quinn had stumbled into a turf war.
    Why Markoff had decided to save him, Quinn never knew for sure. Markoff said his job was done anyway, so giving Quinn a hand on the way out was no big deal. Quinn didn’t believe him. By all reports, Kranz had gotten away. If Markoff had finished the job, Kranz would have been dead.
    But whatever the reason, Quinn knew then what he still knew now—he would forever owe Markoff for his life.
    “I got two addresses,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. It was one of Quinn’s contacts, a guy named Steiner who worked out of a mailbox and shipping store on the Venice Beach boardwalk. Quinn had called him a couple of hours ago to see if he could find out where Jenny lived.
    Steiner’s main gig wasn’t information. He was a documents man who could assemble a set of IDs that would stand up to almost any inspection. Because of his talents, he also had a lot of contacts. Which made him a good person to know if you needed to find out something quick.
    “Give them to me,” Quinn said.
    “The D.C. one’s the most recent.” Steiner read off an address in Georgetown. It had a unit number, so it wasn’t a single-family residence.
    “And the other?”
    “In Houston. The information is a little old, but as far as I can tell, still valid.” He gave Quinn the Texas address.
    “Thanks,” Quinn said, then hung up.
    The back wall of his living room was all window, floor-to-ceiling. He stood in front of it and stared out into the distance. The day was one of those hazy, hot, early September ones Quinn hated. He could barely make anything out beyond Beverly Hills.
    He wished it was fall, and the air had cooled, and the winds had blown away the haze. Or even winter just after a rainstorm, when the sky was crisp and clean, and the city shone at night like a bundle of white Christmas lights. But he’d gladly take the hazy day if someone could have granted the wish that he had been out of the country working a job when Albina called about the body at the port.
    He should have just said no when Albina called him the previous day.
    But he hadn’t.
    He took a deep breath, then walked across the living room into the foyer and opened the front door. Nate was lying on the hood of his ten-year-old Accord, reading his flight instruction manual and soaking up a little sun.
    “Don’t get too comfortable,” Quinn said.
    Nate looked over. “We get a job?”
    “Maybe.”
    “It’s the kind we don’t get paid for, isn’t it?”
    “Just get my car out of the garage and be ready to go in ten minutes.”
    “Where are we going?” Nate said as he swung his legs off the hood and stood up.
    “You’re driving me to the airport,” Quinn said.

CHAPTER

    STEPPING OUT OF THE TERMINAL AT BUSH INTERCON tinental Airport in Houston was like walking into a wall of gelatin. The air was so thick with humidity it felt like it was pushing Quinn back, daring him to take another step forward.
    He glanced at his watch: 3:15 p.m. But that was L.A. time. Here in Texas, it was already two hours later, 5:15. End of the workday, for some anyway.
    Houston seemed as good a place as any to start looking for Jenny. It wasn’t just Congressman Guerrero’s hometown, it was hers, too. If she was on personal leave, then perhaps she had gone home.
    Quinn picked up a Lexus sedan from the rental agency, then headed toward the city. When he reached Loop 610, he took it west for a while, then south as the big looping freeway circumnavigated the metropolitan area. He got off near Memorial Park and headed west again, this time along Woodway Drive.
    He’d done a MapQuest search before he’d left Los Angeles, and had printed out directions to the address Steiner had given him.
    Not far from the freeway, he turned right and found himself in an upscale neighborhood. Quinn guessed a mix of middle class and upper middle class. No question the homes were more expensive than your typical government employee could afford.