Free The Unwanted by Brett Battles Page B

the thinking to me."
It was a playful argument they'd had often, each claiming to be the more intelligent one.
"I've been thinking," he said again, "about our location problem."
"What location problem?"
"The fact that you're not geographically available to me when I need you."
"Wait," Orlando said, the hint of a wicked smile on her face. "You need me?"
"Shut up," he said. "You know what I mean."
"We're a hell of a lot closer than we used to be," she said.
"True enough," he said. "But I was just—"
"Hold on." She pulled away a little. "We're not moving in together. Not yet. We've already talked about that."
"I know that."
He eased her back against him. But as he was about to explain what he meant, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Annoyed, he pulled it out and looked at the display, then glanced at Orlando.
"It's Peter," he said.
Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe you should just let him go to voice-mail."
It was a good idea. Quinn tapped the Reject prompt on the phone's touch screen, then put the device back in his pocket.
"I didn't mean move in together," Quinn said. "But I thought maybe I could get a place up there. I don't have to be there all the time. I mean I'd definitely not be there when you're in Vietnam, but when you're in town . . . you know, I could, I could be up there, too. Close by. It'll make things easier for us."
He looked down at her, expecting some resistance. What he'd learned since they'd become involved was that she had a fierce independent streak, and was very protective of her own space. A product, perhaps, of her previous relationship experience with Quinn's late mentor, Durrie.
But both her lips and her eyes were smiling. "I like that idea."
"You do?"
"Yeah. What? You thought I wouldn't?"
"I . . . eh . . . I don't know what I thought."
Quinn's phone began vibrating again.
"Dammit," he said. He pulled it back out. "Peter again."
"Let him leave a message."
"That won't work," Quinn said. "He'll just keep calling until I finally answer. He's done that before."
"Then whatever he wants, just tell him no."
"Like that's an option."
Quinn touched Accept on the screen.
"What?" Quinn said.
"I need you in New York," Peter said. "I have something for you tonight."
"I can't make it there tonight. I'm not even close."
There was a second of silence. "You're in Boston, Quinn. I have a plane waiting. You can be here within an hour and a half."
Quinn could feel his tension returning. "How do you know where I am?"
"Does it really matter? Remember our deal. No questions."
"You're a son of a bitch sometimes, you know that?"
"I'll text you with the plane info as soon as I get off."
"What if I'm busy?"
"You're not."
Quinn started to tighten his hand around the phone, but made himself stop. "This is number two," he said, knowing this would mean delaying the trip to see his parents for a few more days. But getting Peter that much closer to being off his back would be worth it. "That leaves one and we're through."
"I can count," Peter said. The line went dead.
"So," Orlando said as Quinn slipped the phone back into his pocket. "We're going somewhere?"
     
Quinn and Nate stood in the hallway of an abandoned apartment building in New York, a few feet away from a doorway that had been blown out by some kind of explosion. There was debris everywhere: splintered chunks of wood, a twisted metal door frame, and bits and pieces of plaster. The room beyond the gaping doorway was a pit. A nub that had once been the concrete landing stuck out no more than a foot and a half into the room, but beyond that there was nothing.
Shining his flashlight inside, Quinn was just able to make out a pile of wood and concrete approximately twenty feet down. It wasn't an entire floor's worth of wreckage, but it was enough for a staircase.
"It looks like the best places to attach the ropes are there and there," Nate said, pointing up at the ceiling.
Quinn looked up at the spots his apprentice had indicated, happy that Nate was talking about something