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Authors: Brett Battles
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subject. You remember how to run the enhancement software, right?”
“You ask me that every single time.” “Well, do you?” “Yes. I remember how to use it.” With one hand, Quinn popped the screen out. “Good. After you
get that going, I need you to run a plate for me. You have a pen?” “Yes.” Quinn recited the license-plate number from the Volvo. He doubted it would net anything useful. With people this detailed, if the car wasn’t
stolen, the plates were.
“That it?” Nate said.
“No,” Quinn said, then gave Nate Jenny’s address. “I want a comprehensive ownership history. You’ll probably have to dig a little.”
“Got it,” Nate said. “I take it you haven’t found your friend yet.”
Quinn’s jaw tensed. “Not yet,” he said.
As his hand began pushing the window open, there was a sudden movement behind him in the bushes near the back fence. Just as he started to turn toward the noise, he felt a click from under the window frame, like it had just run over some sort of . . . switch.
He took three quick steps away from the window, but that was as far as he got before the house behind him exploded.
CHAPTER
QUINN FOUND HIMSELF FLAT ON THE GROUND, HIS
chest aching from the impact. His cell phone had flown out of his hand and lay smashed in several pieces a few feet away.
He glanced over his shoulder. The house was filled with smoke. Whatever had exploded had been toward the middle of the structure, large enough to cause a lot of damage, but small enough not to bring the whole thing down. Through the now glassless windows he could see the flicker of flames. There would be little time before fire crews and police arrived on scene. He needed to get out of there, fast.
He pulled himself to his feet, then paused.
The noise at the back of the yard . The shock of the explosion had almost made him forget. He looked toward the rear fence but there was nothing.
Forget it , he willed himself. He had to get out of there. That was priority one.
Only which way? By now people from the neighborhood would have started gathering on the street out front. If he left the same way he’d arrived, he’d be spotted for sure. The immediate assumption would be that he caused the blast. He couldn’t risk that delay.
As he began scanning the backyard for an alternate exit, the bushes moved again. No possum, he realized, unless it was at least five feet tall. It was a person; he could just make out its shadowy form between the branches.
Quinn ducked down, reaching for a gun he wasn’t carrying, then swore silently to himself. Staying low, he ran quickly over to the garden shed, putting it between him and whoever it was sharing the yard with him. He chanced a look around the side. Nothing, except the vague forms of plants and grass almost indistinguishable in the half-light of the growing fire.
From the distance came the first faint sounds of sirens. Quinn started to pull back behind the shed when suddenly two hands shot up above the plants, grabbing for the top of the fence.
Quinn didn’t even think. He rushed toward the movement.
The person who’d been hiding was almost over the top by the time Quinn got there.
A woman, he realized. She was thin, agile, and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Like Quinn, she was dressed in dark clothing.
Jenny? he thought, pausing for a split second.
He lunged forward, his hand grasping at her foot. But his hesitation had cost him. His fingers brushed the sole of her shoe, unable to grab hold.
There was a thud on the other side of the fence, followed a second later by a groan.
Quinn pulled himself up and over the barrier, landing on his feet.
The woman was already heading across the yard toward a house that could have been a clone of the one that had just been destroyed. There were no lights on inside. Either no one was home, or the place was empty. The explosion would have drawn the attention of any occupants.
The woman was favoring one leg, slowing
“You ask me that every single time.” “Well, do you?” “Yes. I remember how to use it.” With one hand, Quinn popped the screen out. “Good. After you
get that going, I need you to run a plate for me. You have a pen?” “Yes.” Quinn recited the license-plate number from the Volvo. He doubted it would net anything useful. With people this detailed, if the car wasn’t
stolen, the plates were.
“That it?” Nate said.
“No,” Quinn said, then gave Nate Jenny’s address. “I want a comprehensive ownership history. You’ll probably have to dig a little.”
“Got it,” Nate said. “I take it you haven’t found your friend yet.”
Quinn’s jaw tensed. “Not yet,” he said.
As his hand began pushing the window open, there was a sudden movement behind him in the bushes near the back fence. Just as he started to turn toward the noise, he felt a click from under the window frame, like it had just run over some sort of . . . switch.
He took three quick steps away from the window, but that was as far as he got before the house behind him exploded.
CHAPTER
QUINN FOUND HIMSELF FLAT ON THE GROUND, HIS
chest aching from the impact. His cell phone had flown out of his hand and lay smashed in several pieces a few feet away.
He glanced over his shoulder. The house was filled with smoke. Whatever had exploded had been toward the middle of the structure, large enough to cause a lot of damage, but small enough not to bring the whole thing down. Through the now glassless windows he could see the flicker of flames. There would be little time before fire crews and police arrived on scene. He needed to get out of there, fast.
He pulled himself to his feet, then paused.
The noise at the back of the yard . The shock of the explosion had almost made him forget. He looked toward the rear fence but there was nothing.
Forget it , he willed himself. He had to get out of there. That was priority one.
Only which way? By now people from the neighborhood would have started gathering on the street out front. If he left the same way he’d arrived, he’d be spotted for sure. The immediate assumption would be that he caused the blast. He couldn’t risk that delay.
As he began scanning the backyard for an alternate exit, the bushes moved again. No possum, he realized, unless it was at least five feet tall. It was a person; he could just make out its shadowy form between the branches.
Quinn ducked down, reaching for a gun he wasn’t carrying, then swore silently to himself. Staying low, he ran quickly over to the garden shed, putting it between him and whoever it was sharing the yard with him. He chanced a look around the side. Nothing, except the vague forms of plants and grass almost indistinguishable in the half-light of the growing fire.
From the distance came the first faint sounds of sirens. Quinn started to pull back behind the shed when suddenly two hands shot up above the plants, grabbing for the top of the fence.
Quinn didn’t even think. He rushed toward the movement.
The person who’d been hiding was almost over the top by the time Quinn got there.
A woman, he realized. She was thin, agile, and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Like Quinn, she was dressed in dark clothing.
Jenny? he thought, pausing for a split second.
He lunged forward, his hand grasping at her foot. But his hesitation had cost him. His fingers brushed the sole of her shoe, unable to grab hold.
There was a thud on the other side of the fence, followed a second later by a groan.
Quinn pulled himself up and over the barrier, landing on his feet.
The woman was already heading across the yard toward a house that could have been a clone of the one that had just been destroyed. There were no lights on inside. Either no one was home, or the place was empty. The explosion would have drawn the attention of any occupants.
The woman was favoring one leg, slowing
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