[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

Once the guards had given him their cell phones and he'd stowed them in his pocket, he closed the door.

The clerk was already in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet lid.

'You got a phone?' Quinn asked.

'No,' the man said.

'Are you sure?' Quinn asked, his eyebrow raised.

'No phone,' the man said quickly. 'It's downstairs, under the counter.' Quinn shut the door, then with Orlando's help, he dragged the dresser in front of the two doors.

Quinn carried Nate in a fireman's hold across the empty hotel lobby, through the main entrance, and into the night. Orlando raced ahead of them and threw open the back door of the car. Carefully, they placed Nate onto the seat.

'Quinn?' Nate looked up at him, his eyes barely open. 'It's okay,' Quinn said.

Nate began to mumble something else, but his eyes closed and his head fell back.

Quinn shut the door. 'I'm sorry,' he said to Orlando.

'Where are we going to take him?' she asked as if she hadn't heard him. Quinn was silent for a moment. 'I know a place.' They climbed back into the car. After Quinn

started the car, he turned to Orlando. 'We'll find Garrett, too.' Her only response was a quick, empty smile.

Sophie was in the doorway to the bar, saying good night to one of her customers, when Quinn drove up and parked at the curb.

'I didn't think you were coming back,' she said after he got out of the Mercedes and came around to the sidewalk.

'I need your help,' he told her.

She took a few steps toward the car, but stopped as Orlando opened the passenger-side door and climbed out.

'Who's she?' Sophie asked.

'A friend,' Quinn said.

He walked to the rear passenger door and opened it. With Orlando's help, he lifted Nate out of the back. 'What's wrong with him?' Sophie asked.

'He's hurt.'

'I can see that. How?'

'It's not important.'

'Did you . . .?'

'No.'

Nate groaned as Quinn shifted his position to get a better grip.

'I don't understand,' Sophie said. 'What's going on?'

'My friend's been drugged,' Quinn told her.

'And given a beating, too.'

'Yes,' Quinn said. He started for the building, Orlando directly behind him.

'Where do you think you're taking him?' Sophie asked. 'He should be in a hospital.' 'I can't take him to a hospital.' 'Why not?' 'I just can't.' They reached the entrance to her

apartment. 'Wait.' Sophie put her hand on Quinn's shoulder. 'I can't do anything for him.'

'You have an extra bed, don't you? That's all I want. Someone else will come to take care of him,' he said.

Sophie didn't move.

'Sophie, please,' Quinn said. 'Open the door.'

She pushed past them and pulled the door open. 'What are you getting me into?' 'Better if you don't know,' Quinn said.

They settled Nate in Sophie's guest room, then Quinn retrieved some water and some towels from the bathroom. He started to use them to clean up Nate's wounds.

'Let me.' Orlando reached for the towel, then nodded toward the door that led back into the living room. 'Your friend out there probably has a few questions,' she said, her voice flat.

Reluctantly, he nodded, then let her take the towel.

He found Sophie sitting at her kitchen table, an open bottle of wine and a tumbler, half full, keeping her company. Her hands were clasped in front of her, almost like she was praying. But her eyes were wide open, staring at them, or, rather, staring through them.

He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. A closer inspection of the glass revealed the rim was dry. She had yet to take a drink.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. 'What's going on, Jonathan? Who is he?'

'I told you. He's a friend. A colleague.'

'And the woman?'

'The same.'

'Colleagues both? People you work with?'

He hesitated. 'Yes.'

'This doesn't seem like bank business.' She was referring to his cover. 'Sophie –' He was interrupted by a loud, short buzz coming

from the living room. Sophie looked over her shoulder toward the sound, then turned back to Quinn. 'Someone's at the front door,' she said, surprised.

'It's okay.' Quinn rose and headed for the door that opened to the landing at the top of the stairwell.

'Who is it?' Sophie asked.

'Help,' Quinn said.

Dr. Garber was Quinn's medical contact in Berlin. He had been in the business for a long time and was a specialist at this type of work. A late-night call for immediate assistance at some out-of-theway location. No notes taken, no records kept. Only the care of the patient, and the exchange of cash. Quinn had called him on the drive over to Sophie's.