Quinn was my best guy friend, and one of the last people I’d ever want to kill. But he was also the guy who’d kidnapped Alison Cilice and held her captive in his warehouse for the past three years. I knew this as well as I knew my name. Well, scratch that. I knew it as well as I knew anything. It began as a hunch, and became a near certainty after having Lou Kelly’s geeks run a full-out search on Alison. When they found that her trail dried up less than a month after I went into my coma, I measured her disappearance against my in-depth knowledge of Quinn. I’d been ninety-nine percent sure before talking to Quinn at the restaurant. By the time we’d gotten our cars, I had no doubts at all.
If Quinn had told me Alison was dead and buried in a specific place, or that she’d taken up with someone or changed her name, or given me any plausible explanation for her current whereabouts, I could have Lou follow up on it. But Quinn said all the wrong things.
He admitted to dating Alison. He also said she bolted after a few weeks, and I believed him. But I had entrusted Quinn with Alison’s care and well-being, and whether she wanted anything to do with him or not, he’d have kept tabs on her these three years.
Because he’d still be guarding her, would in fact have guarded her for the rest of her life, since that had been my last request, just as I would, had our positions been reversed. It’s how we’re wired. We keep track of the people we guard, period. So his claim that he hadn’t heard from her in three years was preposterous.
My guess is that after being spurned, Quinn tracked her down and tried to get her back. She would have refused, and he would have kidnapped her. Like Beauty and the Beast, he probably hoped in time she’d grow to love him. But of course, Beauty and the Beast were from a time and place where women had fewer options.
And it was a fairy tale.
And Augustus Quinn was a real life monster.
Quinn turned left on Clancy, and as I followed him I glanced at the compact rectangular box with the toggle that meant life and death for Augustus Quinn.
Did I have to kill him?
I could pretend I didn’t know about Alison, and hope Augustus would release her someday. Except that I knew Quinn well enough to know that the only way he’d let her go is if he killed her. Which he wasn’t likely to do, because as his captive, she’d represent everything he wants in a woman: she’d be subservient, faithful, always available, and grateful to see him return. By that I mean he held the key to her survival. If he failed to return, she’d starve to death, so of course she’d be relieved and grateful when he returned to the warehouse.
I didn’t want to kill Augustus. We’d worked together so long I could hardly imagine going after the bad guys without him. Of all my assassins, Quinn and Callie were the only ones I trusted with my life. To a point. But I needed to save Alison, and there’s no way I could save her if Quinn was alive. I’ve seen his warehouse, and I knew the room he’d be using to hold her, and it was virtually impenetrable. I’d need a great deal of time to bust her out, whether it was through the steel door or one of the reinforced walls that held her.
If I did manage to distract Quinn long enough to break Alison out of the warehouse, Quinn would make it his mission in life to kill both of us. On my own, I could probably handle Augustus, or at least stay ahead of him. But I’d have to protect Alison, and she’d slow me down in short order. We’d be sitting ducks for a guy with Quinn’s killing ability. It made no sense to rescue Alison if Quinn was going to hunt us down and kill us anyway.
Quinn stopped at a red light at Clancy and Olmstead. I could see his monstrous form silhouetted by the headlights of the cars facing us. I wondered if he suspected I knew about Alison. If so, was he already plotting my death?
I sighed. In the end it came down to this: Alison was innocent. She was being held captive because of the decision I’d made to place her in his care. That made me responsible for her, and I take my responsibilities seriously. Always have. Besides, I don’t like the idea of her being at Quinn’s grisly mercy these many years. It’s the fatal flaw part of the heroic code Nadine had spoken about, my inability to remain detached. I simply could not ignore Alison’s situation, much as I’d love to. And Quinn would never allow her to leave.
The light turned green and Quinn released his foot from the brake. When he did so, the brake light went dark and the car moved forward. I placed my thumb on the toggle switch and followed him.
Maybe I could hold off . We could bang the hookers, make a great night of it, and maybe afterward he and I could talk about Alison.
But what would we say? If he agreed to release her, and I agreed to forgive and forget, we’d still have the problem of her going to the police. Quinn would never allow himself to be a fugitive. He’d either commit suicide or die in a firefight after killing a dozen members of a swat team.
