While the admission surprised Orlando, she could see it had shocked Quinn. He would have never believed his own system could be used against him, especially by his sister.

  When Liz told them about Monterrey, Daeng said to Quinn, “Maybe you should hire her sometime. She’s almost as good as you.”

  The comment was not received in the humor with which it was meant. For a few seconds, Quinn’s anger with his sister transferred to the former monk. But by the end of Liz’s story, Orlando could see that even though Quinn was still mad, the edge had been dulled.

  “I’m not leaving,” Liz said. “I want to help find Nate. I have to.”

  Quinn, his voice much calmer than before, said, “Liz, I understand, okay? I really do. But it’s too dangerous. Whoever’s taken him has some pretty extensive resources, and know what they’re doing.”

  “You know what you’re doing, too,” she pointed out. “And I followed you all the way here.”

  “And we caught you,” he said. “Trust me. If they got ahold of you—and they would—they wouldn’t be as nice as we’re being.”

  “I don’t care. Nate saved my life more than once. I can’t just step out of the way when he’s the one in danger.”

  “I get it. But you’re not trained for this. You could get us all—”

  “You’re not listening to me. I don’t care.”

  “Liz, do you mind if Quinn, Daeng, and I talk for a moment?” Orlando asked.

  Liz looked at her and shrugged. “Sure, go ahead. But I’m not changing my mind.”

  “I think you’ve made that clear.”

  Orlando motioned for Quinn and Daeng to follow her. They walked down the road far enough so Liz couldn’t hear them.

  “She’s going back to L.A.,” Quinn said. “There’s no other choice.”

  “I don’t think the choice is actually yours,” Orlando said. “You can try sending her back, but unless you’re going with her and sitting on her lap, she’s not going to stay.”

  “I’ll hire someone to watch her.”

  “You do realize how intelligent your sister is, right? What do you think the chances are that she figures out a way to get free from whoever that might be?”

  “I know the answer,” Daeng said. “One hundred percent, right?”

  “Shut up,” Quinn told him.

  “Oh, hell, no. This is too much fun.”

  “You enjoy seeing me fight with my sister?”

  “No, but I see the only path you can take,” Daeng said. “You’ll eventually find it yourself. It’s just fun watching you get there.”

  “Oh, you can see the path, can you? What path would that be?”

  “Best if you find it on your own.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “This isn’t helping,” Orlando said.

  “She’s going back to L.A.,” Quinn said. “If I have to, I’ll have her locked in a room.”

  “And she’ll never talk to you again. Is that really what you want?”

  He seethed for a moment. “Better that than she gets killed. Look, I don’t care if she gets free of whoever’s watching her. By then we’ll be gone and she won’t be able to catch up.”

  “Think about it,” she said. “What if she comes back to Mexico and starts nosing around? Maybe the people who have Nate won’t know or care, but there are people here who could become concerned and would have reason to shut her up. Moreno, for one.”

  “He’s in no condition to do anything.”

  “You’re letting your overprotectiveness cloud reality. Moreno will have friends, and if he even gets a hint she’s associated with us, he’ll be more than happy to take out his retribution on her. You know that. And there are so many other things she could stumble on, and you won’t be there to help her.”

  “So, she stays with us? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  “Do we really have a choice? This way we’ll know where she is. I’m sure we can find some things for her to do.”

  “And when we find out where Nate is? What do we do with her then?”

  “Hope that she’s clear-minded enough to see that things will go smoother if she’s out of our way.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  Orlando looked at him, her eyes softening. “I ask you again, what choice do we have?”

  Quinn stared down at the ground and closed his eyes. “Dammit.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “It’s not a yes.”

  “But it’s not a no, either.”

  Quinn’s eyelids parted, but he said nothing.

  Daeng clapped him on the back. “See, I told you you’d find the path.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  HARRIS TOOK HIS normal position by the window as the final prisoner was brought into his employer’s office. Like him, the man was bald, but that’s where the similarities ended. The prisoner was several inches shorter than Harris, and stocky. The prototypical human bulldog.

  Janus shoved the man at the chair.

  “I can walk,” the prisoner growled.

  Even though he was older than the others they had collected, he showed no signs of being more affected by the whipping.

  The man took his seat.

  As before, Harris’s employer was watching a replay of the morning’s whipping session on his tablet computer. A few minutes passed before he turned it off and looked at his guest.

  “I think you know who I am,” Romero said.

  “Sure,” the prisoner said. “A discarded piece of shit.”

  Harris could almost feel the temperature of the room increase.

  “If there is anything discarded here, it’s you! You see, I know who you are, too. I know what you did.”

  “Congratulations. Can I go back to my suite now? I have a massage scheduled in a few minutes.”

  Romero began to shake with anger. As he tried to speak, he suddenly began to cough.

  Moving quickly to his side, Harris could see that Romero’s face was turning red as he continued to hack. Harris ran over to the water pitcher on the credenza, filled one of the glasses, and hurried back. “Drink this,” he said, holding it to the old man’s lips. “Janus!”

  The big Ukrainian threw open the door and rushed into the room.

  Harris shot a glance at the prisoner. “Take him back to his—”

  “No,” Romero croaked. He coughed again, and took another drink. “No. I’m not finished.”

  Janus looked at Harris, unsure of what to do.

  “Maybe you can continue this later,” Harris suggested.

  Romero shook his head, no longer coughing. “No. Now.”

  “At least allow me to get your nurse.”

  “No!”

  Through it all, the prisoner had watched the old man, his only movement a growing wry smile. “How much longer do you have?” he asked.

  “Longer than you,” the old man shot back.

  The prisoner snickered, his smile unwavering.

  Harris studied Romero for a moment longer, then took a step back and nodded at Janus. With a shrug, Janus walked back into the hallway and shut the door.

  The old man locked eyes with the prisoner.

  “I assume you also know why you are here,” Romero said.

  “A petty act of revenge?”

  Harris eyed his boss, worried the old man was going to lose it again, but Romero seemed to be in control now.

  “Petty is a matter of perspective. If you wish to think of it that way, be my guest. As long as you know why you’re here, that is all that is important to me.”

  Romero paused, as if expecting some kind of retort, but the prisoner merely stared at him.

  “One more thing before you return to your cell, something I want you to know and live with in the short time you have left. Since you were the one in charge and organized the…what do they call it?”

  That was Harris’s cue. “Termination,” he said.

  “Right. The one who organized the termination, you will be the last to die. That way, you can watch each of the men from the team you put together take their last breath, and know that you are the one who brought this on. You are the one killing them.”

  If the smile faltered on the prisoner’s face, Harris didn’t see it.

  The old man leaned back. “Okay. Now I’m done.”

  “Janus!” Harris said.

  As Janus reentered the room, the prisoner stood up. He gave the old man a slight nod, and did the same with Harris. As he rounded his chair, Janus latched on to his arm and guided him forcefully toward the door.

  Before they could exit, the prisoner stopped and looked back. “One thing you should probably know.”

  Both Harris and the old man looked at him.

  “You’re wrong about which one of us is going to die first.”

  “Get him out of here!” Harris yelled at Janus.

  Janus all but threw the prisoner into the hallway. Once the door was shut, Harris looked at Romero. The old man’s head was bowed, his hands tightly clutching the edge of the desk.

  “He’s just trying to—”

  Romero cut him off. “I want you to move up the start time of the next round.”

  “Of course. When would you like to begin?”

  “Right now.”

  “WHAT NOW?” ONE of Nate’s fellow prisoners whispered.

  They had once again been hooded and led from their cells into the courtyard, but instead of being guided onto pedestals, they had been lined up next to each other and told not to move.

  The cooling breeze bespoke the onset of evening, and would have felt good if not for the fact it kept blowing the new shirt Nate had been given against the untreated wounds on his back. But that was more of an annoyance. The true pain that continued radiating through his body at a steady, unrelenting pace needed no wind to aid it.

  Thirty minutes passed with no new instructions. Nate knew it was meant to weaken their minds, by allowing them to speculate what might be coming and letting their worst fears rise from their unconsciousness. But Nate—and the others, he was sure—had been too well trained for such a simple trick to work.

  In the distance, he heard the whine of the same electric motor he’d heard that morning before the whippings occurred, and now knew it must be a wheelchair bearing the old man from the office.

  This was obviously his show.

  The noise grew until it was somewhere in front of them, and then stopped, silence filling the courtyard.

  Nate expected either Harris or the man in the chair to lecture them on what was about to happen, but instead a sudden hum filled the air. Before he could even figure out what it might be, there was a loud, unmistakably electric crackle.

  There was a pause, then another crackle, this time only a dozen feet in front of him, the air nearby tingling with the charge.

  And yet another, a little farther away.

  “Who would like to go first?” Harris asked.

  No one said a word.

  “No volunteers?”

  Silence for several seconds, then the old man said, “Him.”

  The sound of bodies moving. Nate was jostled to the side, and the man who’d been standing next to him was grabbed and pulled forward.

  “Hey!” the prisoner called out. It was Berkeley. “What are you doing?”

  “On the table,” Harris said. “Strap him down and remove his shoes.”

  Nate tensed. Shoes?

  “What…what are you doing?” Berkeley asked again.

  “Remove the hood.”

  A pause, then Berkeley said, “Oh, God. No! Please, no!”

  “It’s going to happen one way or another, so there’s no use struggling,” Harris told him.

  For the next few minutes, there was only the sound of movement.

  “We’re ready,” Harris finally announced.

  “Proceed,” the old man told him.

  The hum started up again.

  “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” Berkeley repeated.

  Without warning, the volume of the hum increased, and Berkeley’s pleading became a guttural, stuttering groan. This lasted several seconds before the hum decreased. Berkeley sounded like a balloon giving up its last bit of air.

  Electroshock. There was no question. And from what Harris said earlier, at least one of the electrodes must have been attached to a foot. That was a big, big problem. While the synthetic material around Nate’s faux foot was good, it wasn’t skin. Even if they didn’t notice it, which he was sure they would, the material would melt as the massive amount of electricity shot through it.

  “Again,” the old man said.

  The hum increased, sending another shock through Berkeley’s system.

  Next up was Lanier. He made no struggle or pleas for divine intervention. The only thing he said after he was strapped in was, “What are you waiting for?”

  “Next?” Harris asked.

  “Him,” the old man said.

  This time the hands seized Nate. He let them maneuver him to a table.

  “Here. Let me help,” he said. He kicked off his left shoe before the hands moved to his feet.

  What he didn’t know was if they needed both or just one.

  As the bag was removed from his head, he looked down to see a man remove his left sock and place an electrode against the sole of his foot. His right shoe, the one on his artificial leg, was left untouched.

  He was so relieved that he barely noticed as they placed the secured electrodes to his body.

  “Ready,” Harris said.

  “Proceed.”

  All thoughts vanished from Nate’s mind as every nerve in his body caught fire. There was no time, no place, no nothing. Just a brilliant spike of white, searing pain.

  He suddenly found himself lying on the table, panting. Throughout his body, muscles contracted and stretched on their own. He could still feel the electric current under his skin like it was a living thing, randomly jumping from one part of his body to another.

  “Again,” the old man said.

  Before Nate could even register the word, oblivion descended again.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  THEY TOOK A room in a hotel near the center of Tampico that Orlando deemed to have adequate Wi-Fi coverage.

  While she buried herself in her laptop, Quinn tried calling Misty, but only got through to her voice mail. He left a message, then called Steve Howard.

  “She wanted me to stay here at her place,” Howard said. “Said she’d be back within a few hours.”

  “Where did she go?” Quinn asked.

  “To get something for you, I gathered, but she wouldn’t say where that was.”

  “You should have gone with her.”

  “Oh, I know. I actually did try to follow her, but damn if that woman didn’t give me the slip. Are we sure she was only Peter’s assistant?”

  Quinn told him to call back as soon as she returned, and hung up.

  Waiting was a prominent part of a cleaner’s job. If you weren’t good at it, you might as well find some other profession. But this wasn’t waiting for someone to give him the signal to remove a body. This was waiting for information other people were gathering for him, and it made him feel restless.

  “Anyone else hungry?” he asked, needing to do something. “I’ll go out and see what I can find.”

  “I’ll join you,” Daeng said, pushing himself off one of the beds.

  “No, I’ll go.” Liz jumped up.

  Even Orlando looked up in surprise.

  Quinn headed for the door. “All right. Come on.”

  There was no need to use the car. There were plenty of places within walking distance to pick up a meal.

  For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke as they headed down the street.

  As they neared a few restaurants, Quinn said, “Any preference?”

  “Mexican?” she said.

  “Very funny.”

  Quinn flipped a coin in his head, and the second restaurant won. They ordered four tortas de la barda, a half dozen empanadas de camaron, and some freshly made tortillas, then took the empty table near the window to wait.

  Quinn stared outside, watching the cars and checking the people on the street out of habit.

  Something touched his hand. He jerked it back before he realized it had been Liz.

  “I know that you’re upset I’m here,” she told him. She put her hand on his again. “If I were you, I would be, too.”

  The corner of his mouth ticked up.

  “But if you were me,” she went on, “you would do what I’ve done also.”

  “But I have the experience,” he countered.

  “Even if you didn’t.”

  There was no need for him to respond. She was right. They both knew it.

  “I won’t get in your way. But I need to be close.”

  “It’s dangerous, Liz. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I know it’s dangerous. Don’t forget I’ve seen how crazy things can get in your world. But, Jake, I love him. I’ll do anything for him, just like I know he’d do anything for me. Just like you’d do anything for Orlando.”

  “Or you.”

  She smiled. “Or me.”

  “So what am I supposed to say? ‘Sure, you can tag along anytime you want, just duck if anyone shoots’?”

  She laughed, natural and light, something he hadn’t made her do in forever. Though he tried to suppress it, a smile cracked on his face.

  “There are certain situations when you should probably tell me no,” she said. “But you can’t shut me out of everything. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m not someone who needs her big brother to decide everything for her.”

  Quinn tensed, knowing he hadn’t been there when she was that girl who needed him. But instead of going down that road, she said, “I know how much you care about me. I know the things you’ve done to help me. I may not always agree with your choices, but I do know your heart has always been in the right place. And…” She paused. “I love you for that. You’re my big brother. I love you. Period.”

  It was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope to hear from her lips again. He turned his hand so they were palm in palm.