Part 16 (1/2)

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 is mad at me about half the time-he thinks I'm reckless and take too many dumb chances.” 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 a.s.sumed 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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 right without giving away anything he really didn't want someone else to know. 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, d.a.m.n him.

She lowered the binoculars and frowned, conscious of time pa.s.sing 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, before she was ready to move.

And then there was him.

Quinn.

After tonight, she was more certain than ever that Morgan West was his weakness, his point of vulnerability. On the one hand, that was good: With his attention mostly focused on her, he was more apt to make a mistake-or at the very least be less attentive, less aware.

It could cripple him, that distraction.

On the other hand, his interest in her kept him close to the exhibit and those involved with it. He was on the inside, keenly aware of what was going on.

You had to admire the son of a b.i.t.c.h. He was having his cake and sleeping with her too.

What she had a.s.sumed was an unlucky break-encountering Morgan on that fire escape-had instead confirmed something she had guessed weeks ago. Those two could somehow sense each other, and after tonight it was doubtful that Quinn would let Morgan get too far away from him.

Good. That was good.

The more he was distracted from his work, the better for her. Sort of disappointing, not going up against Quinn at his best, but there would be other chances for that.

Lots of other chances.

She turned away from the window and put the binoculars away in her backpack. For now, this was the job she'd been hired to do, and anything that made it easier or simpler for her was all to the good.

Even love.

She heard herself laughing, and wasn't surprised.

”Who did he kill?” Morgan asked slowly.

”Her name was Joanne. Joanne Brent. She was attending a party at a house in London and, apparently, wandered into her host's library very late looking for something to read. She surprised Nightshade at work-and he killed her. Left a dead rose on her body.”

”That's awful,” Morgan whispered.

”Yes.” His voice was stony. ”She was twenty-two.”

Morgan searched his hard, handsome features, suddenly afraid of a ghost. ”You . . . loved her.” It wasn't a question.

He shook his head slightly, that look of rigid control softening a bit. ”Not the way you mean. I never had a sister, but Joanne was the nearest thing. Until I came here to the States to attend college, we lived near each other in England. She was still a kid when I graduated-eight years younger-and after that I traveled quite a bit, so we didn't see each other often. When she was killed, I hadn't seen her in nearly six months.”

”Did she know you were Quinn?”

”No. I trusted her, but . . .”

Perceptively, Morgan said, ”You didn't tell her because she would have worried?”

”Something like that.”

After a moment, Morgan nodded and said slowly, ”You don't need me to point out that revenge tends to punish the one looking for it more than the target.”

Quinn smiled, but his eyes were suddenly as hard and cold as emeralds. ”I don't want revenge, Morgana. I want justice.”

”What kind of justice?”