Always a Thief - Kay Hooper [56]
That was a surprise, and Morgan knew it showed. “They don't know? You mean all this is unofficial?”
Quinn rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and looked at her wryly. “Morgana, Interpol doesn't have a policy of baiting traps with priceless gem collections. In fact, both Jared and I would likely land in jail if it got out that's what we're doing. Unless we're successful, of course. Because, if we're successful, no one, except those of us directly involved, will ever know it was a trap.”
“And Interpol was willing to give you that much freedom, let you loose on this side of the Atlantic with only one . . . handler, I guess he's called, holding the leash?”
“Let's just say . . . Jared gambled on his little brother. His superiors believe we're over here gathering information, trying to track Nightshade and figure out a way to catch him. Jared's responsible for me.”
Morgan eyed him thoughtfully. “I got the impression that you two were barely on speaking terms. I gather it was a deliberate impression?”
Quinn had the grace to look a little sheepish. “I told you that a lot of what I do is pretense. Jared was understandably furious when he found out who Quinn really is, but he's a man who looks forward—not back. He believes I can . . . redeem myself by helping Interpol now. He's willing to be part of that. But he really is mad at me about half the time—he thinks I'm reckless and take too many dumb chances.”
“You don't say.”
“Sarcasm doesn't suit you either, Morgana.”
She frowned at him. “Mmm. So you're the one who went to Max and asked him to risk his collection.”
“I'm the one.”
“Well, I must say I'm impressed. I knew he'd climb out on a fairly long limb for a friend, but you must be something pretty special.”
He assumed a hurt expression. “You don't think so?”
“Stop that. You know what I mean.”
Quinn smiled. “Yes, I know. And the truth is . . . Max and I go way back. Besides, once he heard about Nightshade's past activities, he thought catching the bastard sounded like an excellent idea.”
Morgan was still frowning. She was reasonably sure that Quinn was being honest with her now, but that didn't mean he'd told her everything. He had an uncanny ability to tell just enough of the truth to make it all sound right without giving away anything he really didn't want someone else to know.
It was an unsettling talent—and it didn't help her to understand him the way she needed to. The problem was, she had yet to figure out what drove this man, what made him who he was. Everyone had some core motivation, some inner force propelling them through life as it shaped decisions and choices; what was his? She thought everything would make sense if she could only figure out what it was.
Slowly, probing for the answer to that question, she said, “I think I said once that I thought you had a personal reason for going after Nightshade—now I'm sure. And it isn't because he shot you. Why, Alex? What did he do to make you so determined? How did his path cross yours?”
Quinn didn't say a word for a moment. His face was still, wiped clean of all expression, and when he spoke, his voice was low and strained. “Two years ago, Nightshade killed someone who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time—a not uncommon occurrence during one of his robberies. Only this time his victim was someone I cared about.”
From a window in a building several floors taller than the Museum of Historical Art, she studied first the museum and then the nearby building where the Interpol agent watched.
Bad night to skulk around, at least in this area, she acknowledged silently.
The place really was thick with thieves.
And cops.
Quinn had nearly caught her, damn him.
She lowered the binoculars and frowned, conscious of time passing too rapidly for her peace of mind. And her bank account. Almost everything was in place, her plan unfolding nicely so far. There were still a few minor details to take care of, of course,