Free The Destroyed by Brett Battles Page A

had moved. She jumped up, her gun in front of her. Evans was already twisting to the side, bringing up a gun hidden within the back of his chair.
    His pistol cracked once, the bullet flying past her head and lodging in the wall behind her. Two spits through her suppressor kept him from pulling his trigger again, both her shots catching him high in the chest.
    “You asshole!” she said.
    She wasn’t an assassin. No matter how dangerous it would have been to leave him alive, she hadn’t wanted to kill him. The information was all she came for. If the Lion found out from Evans that she was alive, so be it. She’d still have the upper hand.
    She eased over to the window that overlooked the walking street. While her shots had been muffled, his single one had not. But there was no one rushing toward the building, and no one standing by the front door pushing the intercom button. The books, she realized, had probably absorbed much of the noise.
    She looked back at Evans. “Asshole,” she repeated. “Why did you do that?”
    Three minutes later, a girl in jeans and a dark green tank top descended the back stairs of Johnston’s Rare Books Finding Service, and turned down Darby Drive. Her mousy blonde hair was pulled back in a single ponytail that went halfway down her back. She knew those who saw her would think she was just a teenager enjoying the sunny day.
    If only.

CHAPTER 9
     
    THAILAND
     
    F OR MONTHS, QUINN’S daily routine had been up before dawn, breakfast, meditation, three classes in the morning, lunch, two classes in the afternoon, work on the temple—Quinn was paying for the renovations himself—dinner, read, then sleep. Any deviations, such as helping Ton and his family with the farm, were only extensions of the other things he was doing. In the half year since he’d arrived at Wat Doi Thong, he had never traveled more than a few miles away.
    Prior to leaving that morning, Quinn had apologized to the head monk for his abrupt departure, and promised he would be back as soon as possible. The money for the restorations, he assured the man, would continue to be available. His only request was that someone be sent every day to help Ton in the fields. The monk assured him that would happen.
    Now he sat in the back of a speedboat with Nate on one side and Daeng on the other, heading for the chaos of Bangkok and the rest of the world. He had known he would have to reemerge one day, but in his mind it had been in the distant future.
    Mila had forced the issue. The question was, why? Why had she come out of hiding?
    No , he corrected himself. His only question should be: What would he have to do to get her to disappear again?
    Mila , what the hell is going on?
    __________
     
    D URING THE VOYAGE, Daeng made a call and arranged for them to be picked up at Thewes Pier, just north of the Rama VIII Bridge in Bangkok. When they arrived, they found a black sedan with tinted windows waiting for them.
    The driver was on the large size for a Thai man. He was bald like the monks back at Wat Doi Thong, though Nate doubted he’d ever donned the orange robes. By the deference he displayed, it was clear Daeng was his boss.
    “Someplace with a secured Internet connection,” Quinn said to Daeng as he climbed into the backseat with Nate.
    “No problem,” Daeng said, getting into the front passenger seat. “I’ll take you to my place.”
    They drove through Bangkok for twenty-five minutes before stopping in front of a high metal gate in the middle of a dirty white wall. The driver pulled out a phone and made a quick call. Seconds later, the gate was pulled open from inside.
    The world within the walls felt like it had been transported from somewhere outside the city. The vibrant greens and reds and yellows and purples of the vegetation looked almost unnatural. It was a jungle, controlled, well taken care of, but a jungle nonetheless.
    The house was located near the very center. It, too, was different from anything else Nate