“I’M NOT A KILLER,” QUINN SAID.

He was walking toward Little Tokyo, a more populated part of downtown Los Angeles, where he’d be able to arrange for a taxi. Under his left arm he carried the folded-up coveralls he’d been wearing over his clothes at the warehouse. His first call had been to Nate to make sure everything was going as planned.

It was.

He’d then put in the call to David Wills.

“I know you’re not a killer, but aren’t you supposed to take care of loose ends?” Wills said, irritated. “Aren’t you supposed to make sure no one finds anything?”

“And she didn’t,” Quinn said. “We were finished by the time she entered the building.”

“Did she see you carry the body outside? Did she see the vehicle that took it away?”

Instead of answering, Quinn tried to change the focus. “Whoever she was, she had to have followed the ops team in. She waited for them to leave before nosing around.”

“So you’re saying she didn’t see you remove the body? Didn’t maybe take a picture of your vehicle’s license like you did of hers?”

“If she did, it’s not going to lead her anywhere.” As always, he and Nate had taken the proper precautions. “And in case you forgot, my standard procedure when something like this happens is to follow, identify, and report. It’s one of the conditions we discussed when we first started working together. Or don’t you recall that?”

“What if she was a police officer?”

“Even better reason not to shoot her,” Quinn said, then added, “She wasn’t police.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because the cops in L.A. don’t usually speak Russian.”

Silence. Then, “What do you mean?”

“I heard her say something to her partner.”

“In Russian?” The Englishman sounded troubled, but not surprised.

“If it wasn’t, it was pretty damn close. Does that mean something to you?”

“You’re sure she wasn’t waiting there the whole time?” Wills asked.

“Yes, David. I’m sure. I was the only one who knew about the location ahead of time. When I called your ops team, I was already there, and had done several area checks. We were clean at that point. The only possibility is that she followed the others. Unless you have some other theory.”

Wills said nothing.

“I don’t like the fact someone showed up on one of my jobs any more than you do,” Quinn said. “But I did everything according to my rules. I even got you pictures.” Around him traffic was starting to pick up. “Sorry you’re not happy, but that’s not my problem. Gotta go.”

“Wait,” Wills said. “Look, I apologize. You’re right. You did exactly what you should have. I’m just feeling a lot of pressure on this one. But that’s not an excuse.”

Quinn took a moment, letting his own agitation ebb. So far Wills had been a decent client, fair even. No sense in damaging a good relationship.

“It’s fine, David. It happens.”

“I seem to be staying just a step or two ahead on this one, when I’d rather it be a mile,” Wills said. “We need to talk about the next assignment.”

Quinn looked around. Though there were more cars on the street, he was still the only one on the sidewalk. “All right.”

“After what happened tonight, I don’t want to take any chances, so I’m moving up the next phase. I need you and your team on the East Coast by tomorrow morning.”

Quinn didn’t need to check his watch to know it was almost 10 p.m. “Not possible. By the time we could get to the airport, there won’t be any flights.”

“You won’t go commercial,” Wills said. “I’m chartering a plane for you. I’ll email the details within the next thirty minutes.”

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Maine.”

Petra had told Kolya to drive straight to the airport. After leaving the car in one of the long-term lots, they grabbed a free shuttle to the terminals, taking seats in the back as far from the handful of other passengers as possible. The bus was nearing Terminal 1 when her phone began to ring. She didn’t need to look at the display. Only Mikhail and Kolya had the number.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. She’d been trying to reach him for the last half hour with no luck.

“Busy,” he said.

Petra frowned. “We’re at the airport. Did you get us a flight or not?”

“Winters?” he asked.

“Dead.”

Mikhail paused for a moment, then, “Continental Airlines 634. You leave at eleven-thirty.”

“Okay,” Petra said. “Have a car meet us when we arrive. We’ll see you at the hotel.”

“You’re not flying to New York.”

That caused her a moment’s pause. “You’ve found him?”

“I’ve narrowed it down,” he said.

“Where?”

“You switch planes in Cleveland, Ohio, then fly on to Boston. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You’d better be.”