“Everything’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Nate was looking for the specific phrase that would let him know Quinn was okay.
“No issues,” Quinn said.
“You had me worried there,” Nate said. “I was seconds away from calling in backup.”
“Sorry,” Quinn told him. “Things are a little more complicated here than I expected.”
He worked his way up to the back corner of the house and peeked around. More yard. He almost expected to see a gazebo in the center, but there was none.
“Quinn?”
“I’m in the middle of something right now,” Quinn said.
“Then call me back when you have a minute,” Nate said. “I’ve got something.”
“Hold on.” Quinn eased around the corner and approached the next window.
The room beyond looked like it was the master bedroom. He chanced turning on his flashlight, twisting the beam into a tight spotlight to cut down on the chances light might spill through to the front of the house.
“You figure out the code from the container?” he asked as he looked inside.
“No,” Nate said. “I haven’t a clue.”
“You’ve gotten nowhere?”
“It doesn’t fit into any of the standard codes.”
Quinn played the light across the back wall. There were three exits to the room. One to the hallway, another to what looked to be a bathroom. The third was closed. Closet?
“So?” Quinn asked. “Try a little harder.”
In the room was a bed, queen size with an ornate white wooden frame. An armoire was across the room, also white but simpler in construction. It had been twisted away from the wall and sat at an odd angle. Next to it was a matching makeup table, also moved from its logical home. Quinn couldn’t see a dresser, but there was something under the window below him that could very well be it.
This room had also been tossed—clothes and books and makeup and shoes thrown around randomly. The mattress was stripped bare and had been sliced open, the gaping wound spewing coils and cotton batting. The walls had also been attacked. It looked as though someone had taken a crowbar every few feet and torn holes into the surface.
“I was thinking maybe I could call a little help in on this one,” Nate said.
“You shouldn’t need any help.”
Even with all the chaos, it was evident this had been a woman’s room. There was no trace of a man anywhere. No men’s clothes, no men’s shoes. Nothing that would have pointed to a husband and wife sharing the space.
Quinn knew that wasn’t proof the house was Jenny’s, but it did reinforce what he was thinking. The family he’d met earlier had been a
decoy, meant to confuse anyone coming to look for whoever lived there, and to cover the destruction that was going on inside. “You know,” Nate said, “Orlando could probably figure this out in seconds.” Quinn turned off the flashlight. “Orlando’s not the one I asked to
figure it out, is she?” “Yeah, but I could call her. She won’t mind.” “No,” Quinn said. There was a back door leading to the kitchen and a sliding glass
door that opened onto what appeared to be a family room. Both were
locked. “Did you get a port of origin on the ship?” Quinn asked. “I did.” A bit of confidence returned to Nate’s voice. “Shanghai.” “Interesting.” “Not what you were expecting?” “I wasn’t expecting any place in particular,” Quinn said. Actually,
Shanghai made sense. Most West Coast shipping came from Asia, and Shanghai was one of the busiest ports not only on the Pacific Ocean but in the entire world.
There was a smaller window just beyond the sliding glass door. Frosted. A bathroom. And it was open. The gap was only a few inches, no doubt to equalize the moisture buildup anytime someone took a shower, but even if it was locked in place, Quinn would be able to force it open.
“I sent some photos to your e-mail,” Quinn said as he peeked through the window into the empty room beyond. “See if you can get a good image of each
“Are you sure?”
Nate was looking for the specific phrase that would let him know Quinn was okay.
“No issues,” Quinn said.
“You had me worried there,” Nate said. “I was seconds away from calling in backup.”
“Sorry,” Quinn told him. “Things are a little more complicated here than I expected.”
He worked his way up to the back corner of the house and peeked around. More yard. He almost expected to see a gazebo in the center, but there was none.
“Quinn?”
“I’m in the middle of something right now,” Quinn said.
“Then call me back when you have a minute,” Nate said. “I’ve got something.”
“Hold on.” Quinn eased around the corner and approached the next window.
The room beyond looked like it was the master bedroom. He chanced turning on his flashlight, twisting the beam into a tight spotlight to cut down on the chances light might spill through to the front of the house.
“You figure out the code from the container?” he asked as he looked inside.
“No,” Nate said. “I haven’t a clue.”
“You’ve gotten nowhere?”
“It doesn’t fit into any of the standard codes.”
Quinn played the light across the back wall. There were three exits to the room. One to the hallway, another to what looked to be a bathroom. The third was closed. Closet?
“So?” Quinn asked. “Try a little harder.”
In the room was a bed, queen size with an ornate white wooden frame. An armoire was across the room, also white but simpler in construction. It had been twisted away from the wall and sat at an odd angle. Next to it was a matching makeup table, also moved from its logical home. Quinn couldn’t see a dresser, but there was something under the window below him that could very well be it.
This room had also been tossed—clothes and books and makeup and shoes thrown around randomly. The mattress was stripped bare and had been sliced open, the gaping wound spewing coils and cotton batting. The walls had also been attacked. It looked as though someone had taken a crowbar every few feet and torn holes into the surface.
“I was thinking maybe I could call a little help in on this one,” Nate said.
“You shouldn’t need any help.”
Even with all the chaos, it was evident this had been a woman’s room. There was no trace of a man anywhere. No men’s clothes, no men’s shoes. Nothing that would have pointed to a husband and wife sharing the space.
Quinn knew that wasn’t proof the house was Jenny’s, but it did reinforce what he was thinking. The family he’d met earlier had been a
decoy, meant to confuse anyone coming to look for whoever lived there, and to cover the destruction that was going on inside. “You know,” Nate said, “Orlando could probably figure this out in seconds.” Quinn turned off the flashlight. “Orlando’s not the one I asked to
figure it out, is she?” “Yeah, but I could call her. She won’t mind.” “No,” Quinn said. There was a back door leading to the kitchen and a sliding glass
door that opened onto what appeared to be a family room. Both were
locked. “Did you get a port of origin on the ship?” Quinn asked. “I did.” A bit of confidence returned to Nate’s voice. “Shanghai.” “Interesting.” “Not what you were expecting?” “I wasn’t expecting any place in particular,” Quinn said. Actually,
Shanghai made sense. Most West Coast shipping came from Asia, and Shanghai was one of the busiest ports not only on the Pacific Ocean but in the entire world.
There was a smaller window just beyond the sliding glass door. Frosted. A bathroom. And it was open. The gap was only a few inches, no doubt to equalize the moisture buildup anytime someone took a shower, but even if it was locked in place, Quinn would be able to force it open.
“I sent some photos to your e-mail,” Quinn said as he peeked through the window into the empty room beyond. “See if you can get a good image of each
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