“That’s the deal, isn’t it?” she said.
Her words seemed to satisfy Tucker. “All right.” He said nothing for a moment, then looked at Quinn. “He’s at the Dorint. Same as you were.”
“Is he okay?” Orlando asked.
“Peachy,” Tucker said.
Orlando grabbed Tucker’s arm, stopping him. “Don’t mess with me.”
“He’s fine,” Tucker said. He looked at Orlando. “He’s with Durrie. I told him I’d already done enough time with the brat when I brought him here.”
“You son of a bitch.” Orlando forced the words through her clenched teeth.
“Orlando, no,” Quinn said. She was ready to kill Tucker, and for that matter, so was Quinn. But they were still too public. And they had made a deal.
Orlando didn’t move. Quinn could see her holding herself on the brink for several seconds before finally easing off.
“You two better get going,” Tucker said. “I’m sure they won’t be there long.”
CHAPTER 42
On the cab ride to the Dorint, the wound on the back of Quinn’s thigh began to feel hot again. He wondered if it was becoming infected, but knew there wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment.
“Someday I’m going to kill him,” Orlando said softly, so only Quinn could hear.
He nodded, but said nothing. She didn’t have to tell him who she was talking about. He’d seen it in her eyes as Tucker had walked away from them, untouched and arrogant as ever.
When they arrived at the hotel, Quinn went in first, carefully scanning the lobby in case Durrie was there. As he walked up to the reception desk, one of the young ladies standing behind it looked at him and smiled in recognition.
“Mr. Bragg,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were returning. Let me check your reservation.”
“No,” Quinn said. “I’m actually not staying here.”
“Okay,” she said, a question on her face.
“I’m really just looking for one of your guests. An older man. He has a small child with him. He lent me a book that I’d like to return to him before I leave the country.”
“An American,” she said. Not a question, but a confirmation of knowledge she already had.
“I believe so.”
“Mr. Quinn,” she said.
Quinn looked at her. “I’m sorry?”
“Mr. Quinn,” she said again. “And his son, Garrett.”
The son of a bitch had hijacked Quinn’s name. No doubt it had amused Durrie to do so. But it was also brilliant, really. Of all the names in the world, that would have been one of the last ones Quinn would have expected to find here.
“Yes. That’s right. Do you know where I can find him?”
She looked down at the computer terminal on the desk in front of her, then typed something on the keyboard. “According to this, he’s checking out today.”
“Has he left already?” Quinn asked.
“No,” she said. “But we have a car coming for him in fifteen minutes.”
“Perfect. I’ll wait by the elevators for him.”
Quinn thanked her, then found Orlando tucked into an alcove near the elevators. He shared the new information with her, then located a house phone. Speaking in German, he had the operator put him through to housekeeping. From there it was simple. He pretended to be a disorganized waiter from room service and within moments he had Durrie’s room number.
“I’m going to go up,” Quinn said. “You wait here in case he’s on his way down and I miss him.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.
“Five minutes. If I’m not back by then, then you come up.”
“No,” she said. “You wait here. I go up.”
“That idea sucks, and you know it,” he said. He could almost feel the anger radiating from her. “You go up there, you’re not going to be able to think straight. Give me a minute to get into position, then call the hotel and ask to be connected to his room.”
After a quick pause, she said, “Go on. You’re wasting time.”
Durrie’s suite was one floor above the one Quinn’s room had been on. There were fewer doors here. Quinn guessed that the suites here were larger, perhaps two bedrooms. He found Durrie’s not far from the elevator, and he listened at the door. The only sound was that of a television.
The doors of the rooms at the Dorint locked automatically, so he didn’t even try it. Instead, he removed the gun from the pocket of the overcoat and aimed it at the lock. He took a deep breath, calming himself.
Just as he finished exhaling, a phone rang inside the room. Quinn held the gun steady, waiting for exactly the right moment.
There was a second ring, then a third.
Maybe they’ve already left, Quinn thought.
A fourth ring, then nothing. No one had answered.
Quinn pulled the gun back, pointing it upward out of the way. The phone started ringing again, but still no one picked it up.
Break in and see if they were still there? Or go back downstairs?
But the decision was made for him.
The door opened suddenly, swift and wide. Quinn reacted quickly, stepping backward and lowering his gun.
Durrie stood in the doorway. He was carrying Garrett, his left arm supporting the boy against his chest. In his right hand was a knife resting gently against Garrett’s back. Quinn could also see a pistol tucked into Durrie’s waistband.
Quinn lowered his gun a few inches. If Durrie had been holding the pistol instead of the knife, Quinn might have risked a shot. But with the blade where it was, there’d be no way to keep Garrett from being injured.
“You’re a real fucker, Johnny,” Durrie said.
“Are you okay, Garrett?” Quinn asked.
The boy looked over his shoulder at Quinn. His eyes were wide with terror, but he clung to Durrie tightly. Without answering, Garrett buried his head in Durrie’s shoulder.
“He’s fine,” Durrie said. “Why shouldn’t he be?”
“Because most dads don’t use their sons as a shield.”
“Ouch,” Durrie said, mockingly. “That was a good one. Now get out of the way.”
“I can’t let you go.”
Durrie laughed. “The only way you’re going to stop me is if you kill the boy. See, if this knife breaks his skin, it’s your hand that’s guiding it. Do you really want to do that? Do you really think she’ll ever forgive you for that?”
“Let him go,” Quinn said. “You don’t want to hurt him.”
“What are you going to do? Take me in?”
“I’ll make sure no one harms you.”
“Jesus Christ, don’t act like an amateur.”
There was movement from down the hall toward the elevator. It was Orlando.
“Garrett?” she called.
“Mommy?”
Garrett’s head snapped up, his eyes immediately locating his mother. Orlando started running toward them.
“Hey, babe,” Durrie said. He turned just enough so that she could see the knife.
Orlando stopped, her face frozen in shock.
Quinn knew she’d been hoping he was wrong, but now the proof was in front of her. Durrie, her long-dead lover. Alive.
She stammered as she took a few tentative steps toward them, then reached out to steady herself on the wall.
“You look good,” Durrie said. “Maybe it’s the kid.”
“Please, D,” she said. “Let him go.”
“D?” Durrie scoffed. “Is that supposed to make me feel all nostalgic or something?”
“Mommy?” Garrett asked, not in excitement, but almost as an accusation.
“Remember what I told you,” Durrie said to the boy.
The boy looked unsure, but he leaned back into Durrie.
“What did you tell him?” Orlando asked.
“I think that’s between me and the boy,” Durrie said.