CHAPTER 4
Knitting and Other Violence
Eliot laughed at his pack's antics from his place in the kitchen. Quinn had pulled Hardison into a headlock and was trying to threaten him but Parker kept shoving the puffball of her new stocking cap in Quinn's face so he couldn't get the threat out. He also couldn't stop Parker unless he let go of Hardison. Eliot knew that all it would take was a little more pressure to knock Hardison out for a minute or so and that would leave Quinn free to take care of Parker, but it was obvious that Quinn was enjoying the game.
The whole thing had started when Hardison noticed that there wasn't a tag in the gloves he'd received from Quinn for Christmas. Quinn had given everyone a hat or a scarf or mittens, but Hardison was the first to notice that there wasn't a tag in any of the items.
Quinn had seen the gleam in Hardison's eyes as he made the correct assumption that the knitted items had been handmade by Quinn. Before Hardison could finish the question, teasing accusation, that Quinn knitted the gloves himself, Quinn had leapt up and pulled Hardison into a headlock.
"There's nothing wrong with a man being able to knit." Sophie commented as she reexamined the scarf she'd been given.
Quinn turned his head to the side dodging Parker's latest attempt to smother him. "Damn right!"
Parker paused. "You really did make this for me?" She looked at her stocking cap again.
Quinn nodded and let Hardison go with a little shove toward Parker. "Yah." He looked around to see how much more teasing he was going to get.
"You have to admit it's an unexpected skill." Nate commented.
"Being a hitter isn't all just hitting and shooting people." Quinn sank into the couch. "Sometimes it's…"
"Choking them?" Hardison mimed before he dropped to the floor playing dead.
Quinn rolled his eyes. "Sometimes it's sitting in one place for hours or even days while you wait for your target." Quinn ran a finger over the end of a scarf that was draped over the couch. "It helps to have something to do with your hands while you keep watch."
"Where did you learn?" Sophie asked.
"Marie-Anne D'Armont. A French assassin that I knew." Quinn looked over his shoulder at Eliot. "You ever meet her?"
"Vicious." Eliot commented.
"True." Quinn said with a warm smile, obviously lost in a memory.
Hardison kicked at Quinn's shin. "You just keep them kinky thoughts to yourself." He teased.
"Can you teach me?" Parker asked from just behind Quinn making him flinch.
"Teach you what?" Quinn turned to look at her. "To knit?"
"Yes." Parker held out a half finished scarf tangled with the ball of yarn and knitting needles.
"How did you even find that?" Quinn rolled his eyes and held his hands out.
Parker handed Quinn the tangled mess and climbed over the back of the couch.
Quinn untangled the yarn rolling it up and setting it to the side. "Alright, come here." He held an arm out.
Parker scooted under his arm and let him hold her hands on the knitting needles.
"Like this." He moved the needle in Parker's right hand through the yarn. "Stab them." He wrapped the yarn around the needle in Parker's left hand. "You choke them. And…" he slid the finished stitch off of the left needle. "Throw them off a cliff."
Everyone laughed at Quinn's instruction.
"Okay. Now I can see why knitting would be a hitter's hobby." Hardison smiled while he watched Parker's concentration as she muttered.
"Stab them. Choke them. Throw them off a cliff."
. ͽϿ Ѻ Ͼͼ .
Eliot was just about ready to serve lunch when the buzzer for the back door drew everyone's attention.
Hardison pulled up the camera feed from the loading dock and alley. "Bike messenger." He frowned. "Who sends a bike messenger on Christmas?"
"Quinn, can you see what's going on." Eliot was stirring something in a pot on the stove. "If he's legit, tip him really well for coming out on Christmas."
"And if he's not?" Quinn started for the door.
"Be creative. But no dead bodies."
~~o0o~~
Quinn checked for any telltale scents before he opened the door to the loading dock. No gunpowder, no C4, nothing else that he could identify as a threat before he opened the door. Quinn opened the door and looked at a young woman wearing a messenger bag over her coat.
There was nothing remarkable about her and Quinn didn't see anything near her or in the alley to be concerned about.
"Got a delivery for Jackson E. Baker." She held her phone out. "Needs a signature."
Quinn took the phone and signed for the package. When the girl opened her bag to pull out the box Quinn caught the scent of something bitter and spicy. He felt the skin on his neck prickle.
Reluctantly he took the box from the girl and handed her a fifty-dollar bill. "Thanks for coming out on Christmas."
"Thanks for the tip." She smiled as she hurried down the stairs like she was afraid Quinn would change his mind about the fifty.
Holding the box like it might explode Quinn examined the box and felt a chill slide down his spine. The package was from Natali Ossory, Ummoon, Mayo County, Ireland.
Quinn hadn't made it all the way up the stairs when Eliot met him.
"What's wrong?" Eliot tapped at his chest and nodded at Quinn. "Hardison didn't see anything on the cameras."
"You got a package from the Black Lady, and it smells like…" Quinn wrinkled his nose.
"Magic." Eliot smiled as he took the box. He stopped as what Quinn said really caught up with him. He looked at the box and then Quinn. "Did you call her the Black Lady?"
Quinn nodded.
"Wait, you're telling me that Nati is the Black Lady?" Eliot felt stunned. Ever since his early days in the criminal world he'd heard stories about the Black Lady. A woman that killed in mysterious ways and could get to a person no matter where they were or what precautions they'd taken.
"How can you not know that?" Quinn crossed his arms and glared at Eliot.
"Cause the Black Lady ain't real. Melting the gizzards out of people using …" Eliot trailed off.
"Black magic?" Quinn arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the box Eliot was holding. The box Eliot had said smelled like magic.
"Huh," Eliot gave Quinn a thoughtful look. "I just would never have guessed Nati as the gizzard melting type." He turned to head back up the stairs.
"You're still taking that package into the loft?!" Quinn hurried after.
"Nati is a friend and I have no reason to think any differently now." Eliot knew that if he were always treated according to what he deserved by his past reputation he'd be friendless at best and most likely dead in some horrible fashion.
"Maybe you should at least take a look at it before you take it inside."
Eliot could feel Quinn's concern, bordering on fear, at the thought of taking the box into the same room as the rest of the pack. "What have you got against Nati other than a bunch of stories?"
"Nothing." Quinn couldn't hold Eliot's eyes, so he looked away tilting his neck in submission.
Eliot wanted to growl at the show of submission. "Is there something, something real, I oughta know about?"
Quinn kept his head tilted and closed his eyes. "I was the one hired to kill her sister and deliver the body to her house. I didn't know who she was until after though. I wouldn't have taken the job if I'd known."
Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shit."
He could feel Quinn's nervous fear and he couldn't tell if Quinn was scared of what Nati would do when she found out or if Quinn was scared of him.
Eliot looked at Quinn for a moment, then followed his wolf instincts and rocked forward nipping Quinn hard on the side of the neck. "Gimme a little time to think on it and work things out. I promise not to let Nati melt your gizzard… or worse." The last couple of words were grumbled.
Eliot pulled out his cell phone as he headed into the loft. "Nati, I got your package."
. ͽϿ Ѻ Ͼͼ .
Quinn felt his pulse thumping steadily in his neck as he jogged down the quiet street. The rest of the pack was settling in for a movie night and, while Quinn would never admit to how much he enjoyed movie nights with the pack, he was just too restless to watch a movie.
Eliot hadn't told the Black Lady about Quinn's involvement with her sister's death and the overall tone of the conversation had been warm, friendly. But now that he'd finally told Eliot what he'd done he felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He'd never felt guilty over the people he'd killed before.
The first time he'd been too scared. Scared of what he was doing. Scared of what he'd done. Scared that someone would find out. The next one had been easier. He'd felt like the next one had probably deserved it. And after that, well after that, there were more bodies than he really wanted to count, but he hadn't been scared like that first time, and he didn't really feel guilty. At least not about most of them.
Now he was scared. Scared of what the pack would think, because there was no way that they all wouldn't know sooner or later. Scared of what would happen when the Black Lady found out and he was sure that she would.
Worst of all he kept seeing the girl's eyes.
~~o0o~~
Gévaudan, France 2000
"You sure you're up for this kid?"
Quinn had the immediate urge to shoot the man. He hated being called kid. He'd gotten into this game at seventeen and he hadn't looked back. He'd probably killed twice as many men as Chastel had even thought about. And what kind of girly name was Jean Chastel anyway?
"If you're paying me half up front and half on proof of delivery, then yah, I'm up for it."
"One more thing." Chastel looked Quinn over. Tall, thin, puppy-ish in the way that some young men were until they filled out. The kid's suit wasn't designer but wasn't cheap either. Chastel had read the stats on Quinn and had been expecting someone more mature, someone a little older. Chastel guessed that Quinn couldn't have been more than twenty-three years old. "I'm providing the ammunition for this hit. It must be my ammunition. You won't be paid if you use anything else."
Quinn was used to eccentric clients. It seemed like the more money his clients had the weirder they got. But his guns were his primary form of income. He couldn't risk a misfire, or worse, damage to his weapon because he used ammunition, he wasn't familiar with.
"No." Quinn leveled a cold look on Chastel. "I've never had a problem with my own loads. You want the woman dead? I can do that. But I do it my way."
"Listen here." Chastel growled. "I'm paying you good money to have things done my way." He snapped his fingers and Joseph Deangelis, Chastel's right hand, stepped up with a small plastic case. "There's three rounds in that case so I suggest you don't miss. One shot to the heart, one to the brain. If you use any other ammunition, I'll know." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "Use the iron to mark her cheek. The address for delivery is in there. I suggest you don't be seen."
"I'll call you when it's done." Quinn took the envelope, the plastic case of ammunition, and headed back to the car he'd rented. He wished he could have afforded to tell Chastel to stick it after he'd gotten so pushy about the ammunition. But even though Quinn had been doing pretty well for himself for a while now, at twenty-two, he wasn't in a position yet to be able to turn down a lucrative job.
Quinn waited until he was back at his hotel before he opened the envelope.
Target: Caroline Ossory
Location: Berlin, Germany. Regency Hotel, room 405
Deliver to: 5394123 9111359
Included were pictures of a young woman with dark hair and darker eyes. One picture was a close up of her face and the other showed her standing next to an expensive sports car.
One part of Quinn's mind noted that the woman was attractive but the part of his mind that was focused on getting paid was estimating the woman's height and weight and what options he'd have for transporting the body.
He had a rough idea about where the coordinates were going to take him and if he was right, he was going to need to transport her body from Germany to Ireland.
He briefly considered running a honeypot game on her. If he could seduce her and convince her to travel with him, it would logistically be less trouble to get her to Ireland. If he killed her in Germany and had to transport the body, it would eat into his profits to pay for the private plane or bribes required to move a box or barrel with no questions.
If he got the body delivered in the next three days there'd be a hefty bonus. If he couldn't get it done in the first three days, then after that he still had four days to get the job done and collect the base price he'd agreed to for this job.
Quinn sighed and tapped the pictures together before sliding them back into the envelope. Even if he was willing to settle for the base price there just wasn't enough time to run a honeypot game with any certainty. He pulled out his phone and booked a flight to Germany that afternoon.
Christmas music drifted through the air as Quinn stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel, he'd be staying in. Looking around the street he took a second to appreciate the decorations. The only other time he'd ever seen a street that looked so quintessentially like a Christmas village, was on a Christmas card his grandmother had gotten when he was a kid.
"No one does Christmas like the Germans." The doorman said proudly as Quinn walked past.
Quinn checked into his room, and for the first time in days, really noticed what day it was. Christmas eve. He'd been in and out of time zones and that last job had been excruciatingly boring. He'd spent two days with absolutely nothing to do as he sat behind his scope waiting for the target to line up.
The excessive Christmassy greeting from the hostess, and the repeated offers of the hotel's Christmas schedule, now made more sense. It didn't really matter to him though. Christmas was just another day.
He checked his watch and went to the window. It had taken a few calls to be certain but his hotel room should be facing the target's hotel room across the street. The Regency was a newer taller building than the Luxus, where he was staying. He'd gotten a room on the fourth floor and her room was on the fifth. It was not ideal and would certainly limit his shot. Quinn opened the window. He was glad this was an old hotel that still had windows that opened. Even with the decorative grate, that prevented people from crawling out or throwing things out the window, he wouldn't have any trouble getting his rifle set up.
He'd opened the back of his suitcase and unlocked the hidden compartment that held his weapons and ammunition. He looked over everything and contemplated which suppressor he'd want to use this time. He had one suppressor that he knew would muffle the sound of the shot enough that even his neighbors shouldn't hear more than a loud snap. The other suppressor would eliminate muzzle flash but the sound of a gunshot, while somewhat muffled, would be identifiable from nearby. If someone ever made a suppressor that could completely eliminate sound and flash Quinn knew he'd give a year's pay to get one.
Something niggled at the back of his mind. He called the front desk. "Hello." He waited a moment. "No, the room is perfect. I just wanted to check. Did you say that there was going to be a Christmas parade or something tonight?"
With confirmation of a noisy crowd gathering later, Quinn chose the muzzle-flash suppressor. Sitting on the floor by the window, he assembled his rifle. He took out the plastic case Chastel's man had given him and dumped the rounds out into his hand. They were almost identical to his .338 Lapua rounds, except that they looked silver. He noticed tightly fitted fissures in the bullet head and he wondered how that would affect the bullets trajectory. With a shrug he loaded all three rounds into his magazine and settled in to wait.
He'd been waiting over three hours and his right leg was starting to go numb. He'd readjusted his position and then readjusted his rifle. He could hear the parade in the street below drawing closer and he hoped his target would come to the window to watch the parade go by. Failing that, he'd call her room and see if he couldn't trick her into coming to the window. After that he had a number of other options that he hoped he wouldn't have to explore.
If the client hadn't insisted on using his own ammunition Quinn could have just used one of his handguns and shot her, nice and easy, inside her hotel room at close range. Instead, he'd been limited to his sniper rifle and a tight enough deadline that he didn't want to do what it would take to get the better angle for this shot.
The parade was winding down and if he didn't get this shot soon, he'd have to switch suppressors and make that phone call.
Two more hours ticked by, and Quinn hadn't seen any sign of his target in her hotel room. The window was dark and had been for a while. He'd caught himself tapping a pattern against his own arm again and stopped. He needed something to do with his hands while he waited. Something he could do without looking.
The light in his target's hotel room came on and he leaned into his rifle with renewed interest. He could just make out the top of her head but it would be a risky shot. He waited. He waited and he waited. He was just about to call her room when she'd appeared in the window. He didn't hesitate. His breathing slowed. His heart rate slowed. As his breathing stopped his finger tightened on the trigger between one heartbeat and the next.
~~o0o~~
Quinn's phone rang snapping him back to the present. He pulled his phone out and tapped the screen with a smile. "Merry Christmas Paige."
"Quinn, how was your Christmas?"
Quinn couldn't help the smile on his face at the sound of his sister's voice. "Not bad. Yours?"
"Ralph got me a deluxe nail kit and a fluffy new bathrobe and Walter got me tickets to the next science symposium."
Quinn chuckled. "Did you get my present?"
"Yes. The hat, scarf, and mittens are lovely. They are so soft. I was hoping you'd tell me where you ordered them from. I wanted to get a set for Alley, Cabe's girlfriend."
"Oh, uhm, I didn't order them from anywhere. Sorry."
"Wait…" She'd heard the change in his tone of voice. She was still getting to know this man that was her brother, but they'd had a lot of phone conversations. "Did you make them?"
"I hope you don't mind. I wasn't sure what to buy you." And secretly he'd wanted her to have something that he'd made. Something that was just for her.
"Quinn you're a sweet man." Page smiled. "Thank you!"
Quinn listened while Paige told him more about her Christmas with her family. He smiled when she laughed, and asked questions when she expected him to, and generally he just enjoyed her.
After he hung up he thought about her comment, when she'd called him sweet, and it left him with a bitter taste in his mouth when he remembered Caroline Ossory dropping dead from a sniper round, Christmas eve, almost twenty years ago.